Page 38 of How to Wed a Courtesan

‘I’d prefer to stay.’ Andrews lifted his chin with the haughtiness all butlers seemed to bring to their profession.

Lottie had kept her composure in the privacy of the hack she’d been able to acquire. But now, in the sanctuary of her own home, that resolve began to crumble. Rather than argue with the stoic butler, she nodded and allowed Sarah to guide her upstairs.

‘Did you see him?’ Sarah asked.

Lottie nodded.

‘Was he cruel to you?’ There was a sharpness to Sarah’s tone.

Lottie shook her head, and a sob escaped her as Sarah swiftly opened the door to Lottie’s bedchamber.

‘What happened?’ Sarah pressed.

Lottie shook her head, not wanting to speak of it.

‘Tell me,’ the maid insisted as she removed the pins from Lottie’s hair and helped her undress.

Blast Sarah for her inability to be put off.

The shame of it rushed at Lottie in a hot wave. ‘It will never be the same. Not with the ton, who will never accept me, and not with Evander, who I don’t know if I can allow myself to open my heart to again.’

Sarah helped Lottie into a warm nightrail and guided her towards the bed. ‘Come, love, get into bed while I fetch you some tea.’

In truth, tea did sound lovely. She crawled into the large bed, with its sheets that felt like cool silk, where there were no witnesses to her humiliation, no one to judge her. There she gave way to the torrent of tears she’d managed to dam. Tears for the innocence she had sacrificed, for the life she had lived, for her terrible, terrible loss.

A cold, wet nose nudged her after a while, and her grey tabby, Silky, butted her furry head against Lottie’s. Sarah had found the cat three years ago, when Lottie was near her own wits’ end. The thing was nearly starved to death and scarcely weighed anything at all. She had bonded with Lottie immediately—two broken souls finding one another—and a sense of comfort formed between them as a result.

The door creaked open and the sweet scent of tea followed the quiet whisper of footsteps. Finally Lottie explained what had happened, her fingers idly stroking through Silky’s thick fur while Sarah listened.

Only when Lottie was done did the maid speak up. ‘Lady Norrick’s husband has a new mistress. One he holds in high regard, if the time and wealth he spends on her are any indication. From what I understand, Lady Norrick has been quite miserable.’ Sarah gave a sad smile. ‘She loves her husband, you see.’

Lottie regarded her maid with appreciation, seeing Lady Norrick in a new light in the understanding of her suffering. ‘It’s rather disconcerting, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘How freely servants speak?’

‘Not me.’ Sarah winked. ‘But I do like to listen.’ She eyed Lottie’s empty teacup. ‘More tea?’

‘No, thank you.’ The hour was truly late now, and Lottie’s eyes were gritty from her tears. Heavens, how she hated crying.

‘And regarding Lord Westix,’ Sarah said hesitantly. ‘You have not given yourself the chance to recover from what happened, and you’ll never be open to him if you don’t.’

Lottie shook her head, not wanting to talk about the topic. It was still far too tender.

‘Feel better?’ Sarah asked.

‘Yes.’ Lottie smiled at the woman who had become so dear to her over the years. Bless Sarah for her inability to be put off.

‘If I may...?’ the maid hedged.

‘When has my lack of permission ever stopped you before?’ Lottie scratched under Silky’s chin and the cat’s low, lazy purr intensified.

Sarah’s grin answered that question. ‘Don’t let anyone ruin your chance at happiness. Even yourself.’

Lottie nodded, but said nothing. Because it wasn’t simply about how Devonington and those awful women had made her feel, it was also the delicate topic of allowing herself to heal, which would mean facing her hurt head-on.

It was far too great a thing to do. Perhaps even greater than she could manage.

Evander had long since abandoned discretion in his search for Lottie. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been dancing with Rawley.

Kentworth, having no one to entertain him now Rawley was preoccupied, had fastened onto Evander, regaling him with tales from a house party he’d attended over the Parliamentary break. The Marquess was in his cups, as was typical of him, and he went on at length about the various games he’d won.