‘Is there some particular reason you are in Gretna Green?’
‘Passing through, but I am most surprised to find you in a hellhole like this one. I would have thought you were more accustomed to staying at the finer coaching inns.’
‘I have my reasons.’
‘And it doesn’t have anything to do with the beautiful blonde you were with—a real looker, that one. Golden curls, blue eyes and curves. You can pass her along to me when you’ve finished with her.’ McGowan gave a coarse laugh.
‘She’s my wife.’
‘Please give Lady Thorngrafton my compliments.’ McGowan’s leer told Tristan that he did not believe a word. ‘Do she have a sister or three?’
‘I will see that she gets your compliments.’ Tristan gritted his teeth. He had no intention of explaining his actions to McGowan, an acquaintance from those long-ago days when he had taken great pleasure in making sure his name was as scandalous as possible. The difference between them was now marked. Once McGowan had been considered handsome, but now he showed the signs of overindulgence and too much high living.
‘How came you to be let in the pockets?’ McGowan fingered his chin. ‘The last I heard you had done very nicely out of railways. One of the railway kings.’
‘People talk too much, but I have no money worries.’
‘Then why are you here? In this inn?’
‘I have my reasons.’ Tristan turned back to the barman, motioning for another pint. ‘Allow me to pay for the next round.’
‘Do you have time for a game of cards?’ McGowan persisted. ‘For old times’ sake. I can remember how you and I would play until the dawn broke. You always knew when to stop, though. You had the coolest head I have ever seen.’
‘You still play cards?’
‘Avidly—you should have seen the money Saidy won off some high-flaunting lord lately returned from India. The nabob thought he were a king at cards, but we got his vowels in the end.’
‘I will watch you play.’ Tristan smiled as an idea on how to teach Peter a lesson came to him. Simple. Neat. It simply took a cool head and a steady nerve. The same approach he had to use with Lottie. ‘There is a proposition I wish to put to you and Saidy. A little job that will put your…skills to good use, but you will be amply rewarded.’
‘You interest me greatly.’
Dearest Henry and Lucy,
I cannot tell you what a splendid wedding Tristan and I had. You have never seen the like! You would have been so proud. My step never faltered and I said my vows so all could hear.
Lottie turned her face away from the letter and wiped a tear. She would allow no blotches on the paper. They would never know her wedding was anything less than marvellous. The shame would be unbearable. With a shaking hand, she added a few more lines enquiring about Mama’s nerves, and her nieces and nephews. Then she sealed the letter and handed it to the serving girl.
‘Will that be all, ma’am?’
‘Your assistance is no longer required.’ Lottie took the last few coins from her reticule. ‘You have been most helpful. This should pay for the stamp as well as a little extra for your trouble. I do appreciate your help with the dress.’
The girl made another curtsy and left. Somewhere in the distance a door banged and loud footsteps sounded on the stairs. She hurried to the bed, dove in and pulled the sheets up to her chin.
‘Where are you, Tristan? Why did you leave me alone?’ she whispered and willed the door to open and her husband to appear.
Nothing.
A second set of footsteps came up the stairs, and several drunken voices argued about how much money was left in their purse and whether or not one or two of the lovely ladies downstairs would care to warm their beds.
Lottie clutched the sheet to her, and looked wildly about the room for a poker, for anything to defend her honour with. Her whole being longed for Tristan to appear and to cradle her. But when no one entered the room, she forced her hands to relax.
Her last waking thought before sleep overtook was that Tristan had not bothered to return. He was not interested in her. She wiped away a few tears and refused to cry. Crying only turned her nose red.
How everyone would laugh if they knew—the incomparable Lottie Charlton spending her wedding night alone in a filthy flea-infested coaching inn, fearful of drunken drovers and abandoned in favour of a card game by a husband who had married her out of duty. Married in a torn dress, a crushed bonnet and with an iron ring for a wedding band.
This was not how her life was supposed to go—at all.
Lottie slammed her fist into the pillow and resolved that, somehow, she would triumph. She would make this into a glorious match, if she could only figure out a way. She wanted a diffeent way. She deserved better. She would find that way.
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