her place.
‘I think Silas is on his way home to England even as we speak. I think he wants to surprise us.’ She tried to place assurance into her words though at this moment she was feeling far from such faith.
‘I think you have an imagination that is over-fertile and impossibly optimistic, Lottie, but then I suppose you always did.’
Mama chose that moment to bundle into the room, her arms full of fabric and her dark wavy hair coming a little loose from the pins that held up the thickness of it. ‘I have just found this in one of the trunks your father brought from his family house years ago. I had forgotten about it completely, but it shall be perfect for us to make gowns with for Lady Alexandra’s party in a fortnight.’ Her eyes were wide with delight and Lottie thought for the thousandth time how beautiful her mother was even at the grand old age of forty-five.
But then Lottie’s heart fell. Lady Alexandra Malverly was her father’s cousin and both the daughter of a duke and the wife of a viscount. Many of the guests at the Christmas party would be well off and odious and they would also have a keen sense of the Fairclough family’s lower social standing.
Likely sensing the disenchantment in her daughters, her mother carried on.
‘I know you are not as thrilled about the invitation as I am, but it is important for us to make an effort, for who knows which handsome unmarried man might make an appearance this year? We could definitely do with the hope of it.’
Millie blushed and Lottie frowned.
‘I know you do not particularly enjoy venturing to see Alexandra, but she has always been kind to me and I like her company. Besides, it is only for a few weeks and the celebration of the Christmas season will lighten things up.’
Privately Lottie thought it would also mean Lady Alexandra would drink more, but for Mama’s sake she rallied. Papa had been dead for almost ten years and her mother still talked about him as if he had died only yesterday. A love match. A perfect union. Two halves of a whole. Exactly the thing that Millie would never be allowed to experience should she marry the son of the local vicar, Mr Gilbert Griffiths.
Yet as she stood there a new thought began to form. A startlingly dangerous plan that made her heart race. Could she risk it? Would it work? The ghost of her father sat there, too, in the room beside her. Henry Fairclough, the fourth son of an earl, would never have allowed his older daughter to make such a compromise. No, Papa would have fought for something shining and wonderful, Lottie knew this completely.
Well, she would, too, but in her own manner. The last time she could remember her sister being excited in the company of a man was eight years ago after a ball in which Amelia had been asked to dance by the mysterious Mr Jasper King. Lottie remembered seeing him through the banisters from the upstairs landing when he had come to pay his regards to her sister the day after. Although Lottie had only been very young at the time, she’d nevertheless understood that she was in the company of a man who had presence. He was tall and dark headed and more than handsome, but it was his certainty and his confidence that she had been struck by the most.
When he had looked up and caught her eyes he’d smiled. To her eternal shame, Lottie had lived off that particular moment for years afterwards. A Prince Charming who had come to rescue them with love and who looked just as she had imagined one would.
But Millie failed to persist with him and Mr King had disappeared from their lives, vague references coming only from Silas, who revered the ground the older engineer stood on. Her brother had worked for the Kings as an apprentice in London for a time before being seconded to their main office in Liverpool, so the ties between Jasper and her family had pretty much been broken, then.
Lottie did know Jasper had a sister who lived on the other side of the city and she had heard a rumour that he would attend a charity Christmas event in London with her in just over a week’s time. Even though she knew Amelia was the one who deserved him, she hadn’t broken the habit of listening for snippets of information about the man.
The strands of the chance of happiness for her family had begun to unravel and disconnect and just when all seemed to be lost she saw a way of threading them back together again. Could she find Mr Jasper King and lead him in the direction of her sister?
The daring of the escapade worried her a little bit, but Nanny Beth had always said great deeds were usually wrought at great risk. Lottie couldn’t remember why Nanny would have had reason to say this, but she had certainly shared it with Lottie many a time before she had passed away at the age of sixty-eight.
Just the thought of such sage advice made her feel better about her whole idea.
‘You look like the cat who has the cream, Lottie.’ Her mother made this observation and Millie glanced over and frowned.
‘What new crazy scheme are you dreaming up now, Lottie? Remember how the last one turned out when you decided to help Mrs Wilson claim her right to be the main character in last year’s Christmas pageant at the Foundation?’
‘Well, how was I to know she would suffer such dreadful stage fright and nearly put the whole show in jeopardy?’
‘It was lucky Mama knew all the words and that there was a second plan in place that we could revert to.’
A second plan? Well, that was a thought. If by chance she should fail in her intention of dangling the charms of her sister under the nose of Mr Jasper King, she could at least plead she was there to ask if he had any news of her brother.
The day brightened considerably.
‘This is your colour, Lottie, for it will bring out the gold in your eyes.’ Her mother held the tawny silk before her and Lottie stood still. Unlike Millie, she had never been that interested in fashion and had no true opinion as to what suited her and what didn’t. ‘I will use the same pattern I found last year with the high neck and wide sleeves. A new dress for each of us will take no time at all and will be so good for one’s confidence.’
Lottie looked up at that. She would need confidence to pull this plan off and if this dress gave her an added edge then she was all for it.
‘I will help you cut the fabric, Mama. Let me just find my glasses and my pins.’
Early December 1842
Jasper King lay in bed at his town house on the west side of Arlington Street in Piccadilly overlooking Green Park and watched the smoke rings from his cheroot rise towards the high ceiling and its ornate centre rosette.
He’d moved into this house because he’d felt he needed a base and after years in Liverpool he’d wanted to come home to the city he’d lived in as a child and finally rest for a while. His father would have approved, he thought, smiling as he remembered the man who had brought his children up almost singlehandedly after the death of his wife. Arlene Susan King. His mother. He had not known her so his memories were only from stiff etchings, the sepia images giving little away as to the true nature of the woman. She had always felt like a stranger.
He shook off such melancholy, his thoughts returning to the day at hand. His elder sister Meghan had said she would meet him after two in the afternoon at a Christmas party she had helped organise so he still had a few hours to use up in the meantime. As a man who had been busy for so many years with
