alike than either of them had realised.
No woman was worth the pain love inflicted. Nicolas was determined that he would never again offer his heart to have it crushed beneath a woman’s dainty foot.
‘Foolish…’ he muttered and went out of the French windows. Love was a waste of time. A marriage of convenience was much safer. It was best to keep his mind on practical matters. He would walk down to the stables and speak to the head groom to discover if there was a suitable horse in their stables for a lady to ride.
‘Now you must be good, Kitty,’ Lottie said and stroked the kitten’s fur. It still felt a little spiky and rough but with good food and care she did not doubt it would recover in time. Now that that the soot had gone, she could see that the kitten was a pretty tortoiseshell in colour. ‘If you must wet, use the sand tray as I showed you.’
‘You talk to her just as if she can understand,’ Rose said and laughed. ‘She will learn to use the tray in time. My mother puts the cats out to teach them, but they still wet in the house until they get older. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to take her down to the kitchen?’
‘I shall keep her here until she is better,’ Lottie said. ‘If you would pop in and look at her now and then…’
‘I’ll come before I help with the dishes, miss,’ Rose said. ‘Cats are loners, you know. I dare say she will wander off when you let her outside. My mother says dogs are the best companions for they give love in return, and cats don’t.’
‘My aunt has a large and fat tabby that she adores,’ Lottie said and laughed. She had taken to the young maid and was pleased that Rose was to look after her. ‘I must go down now for the gong sounded five minutes ago. I do not wish to keep the marquis waiting.’
She went out, leaving Rose to tidy up. It would take a little time to get used to the idea of a maid waiting on her. At home they had a cook and one maid of all work, also Muffet, who had come with Aunt Beth and would turn her hand to anything. This meant that Lottie was accustomed to doing dusting and kept her own room tidy. She often cleaned her aunt’s room, too. Living here with so many servants to care for just her and the marquis would seem strange—though of course they would probably entertain friends much of the time.
Lottie realised that she was beginning to rather like the idea of living in this wonderful house. She wrinkled her brow, because if she went through with this deception it would mean living a lie for the rest of her life.
Was she cheating the marquis?
She could not help feeling a little guilty. When she had taken Clarice’s place, Lottie had tried not to question her motives or admit that she was doing something underhand—and when the marquis first greeted her so arrogantly, he had made her angry and she had felt he deserved all he got. However, her conscience was beginning to nag her. Perhaps she ought to tell him the truth before things went too far?
She was wearing a gown of green silk that evening. It had a dipping neckline, but was not low enough to show the little mole just above her right breast. Lottie was very conscious of the fact that in the more revealing gowns that Clarice wore it would have been easy to see that she did not have such a blemish.
As she approached the bottom stair, she was aware that the marquis had come out of the room to the right of the hall and was gazing up at her.
‘I was about to send someone in search of you, Lottie.’
‘Oh…’ She blushed. ‘Forgive me. I did not mean to keep you waiting for your dinner. I was talking with Rose and forgot the time.’
‘Talking with Rose…you mean the parlour maid?’
‘She is looking after me. We were talking about cats and dogs. Rose’s mother prefers dogs, but Aunt Beth loves her cat—’ Lottie broke off and laughed. ‘You will think the subject obsesses me. I am sure you are used to far more stimulating conversation in London. I fear I do not know any amusing tales of the Regent to tell you. I have never mixed much in society…’ She realised that she had made a mistake. ‘Apart from the trip to Paris with Papa, of course.’
‘You seemed perfectly at home there.’ His brows met in the middle. ‘Tell me, Lottie—is this an act for my benefit? If so, you are wasting your time. I am not a fool and my memory works perfectly.’
‘I would never think you a fool, my lord…’ She sensed there was a deeper meaning behind his words and wondered whether he had seen through her disguise. Clarice had sworn she had met him only once and that he would not know the difference between them, but was there something her sister wasn’t telling her about her time with the marquis? She crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘I am not sure I understand you?’
‘No, then perhaps I should refresh—’ He turned his head as the butler came into the hall. ‘Yes, yes, Mann. We are coming now.’ His eyes narrowed as he looked at Lottie once more. ‘We shall speak of this another time. Dinner is ready and Cook will not be best pleased if we keep her waiting.’
‘No, that would not do at all,’ Lottie said and laid her fingers tentatively on the arm he offered. ‘I think it would be best if we talked soon, my lord. I believe there is something I ought to—’
A loud knocking at the door interrupted Lottie. The footman opened it and a lady entered, accompanied by several servants and a small King Charles spaniel, which barked noisily and jumped from her arms to rush towards Nicolas. He bent down and stroked it behind the ears, looking at the new arrival with rueful amusement.
‘Henri! You can hardly have had my letter more than a day. I intended to invite you to stay, of course, but this is a surprise.’
‘A pleasant one, I hope?’ The diminutive lady laughed confidently up at him. ‘I decided this morning I would visit you and here I am—and this young lady must be your intended bride?’ The lady bustled towards Lottie, exuding lavender and a warmth that seemed to envelop all she touched. ‘You are Miss Stanton? I am delighted to meet you. I have waited for this day too long.’ She laughed and seized Lottie’s hand, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘You are wondering who the devil I am, of course. This wretched godson of mine has not thought to introduce us—Henrietta, Countess of Selby. You may call me Henrietta.’
‘Ma’am…’ Lottie made a slight curtsy. ‘I am very pleased to meet you.’
‘And I you, though I really know very little about you my dear, not even your name?’
‘It’s Clarice, but everyone calls me Lottie.’
‘Well, it suits you, though I did not think your name was Charlotte?’
‘Clarice’s second name is Charlotte, which is why she often goes by Lottie. Anyway, enough chatter, Henri. We are late for dinner. Will you join us—or shall I have something sent up to you on a tray in half an hour or so?’
‘I shall rest this evening and will take a little soup in my room,’ she replied. ‘You may come in and see me for a few moments before you retire, Lottie—if it will be no trouble to you?’
‘No trouble at all, ma’am.’
‘Then I shall not keep you longer. Nicolas has a decent cook. You will not wish to lose her…’ She looked behind her, summoning a woman who looked as if she might be her companion. ‘Give me your arm, Millicent. That staircase looks daunting after a day spent travelling.’
‘You
