Page 51 of How to Wed a Courtesan

‘Forgive me, lovey...’ Sarah moved back from the door and allowed Evander to go in.

He turned the handle, pushing aside the small voice in his head screaming at him that this was a bad idea.

The curtains were drawn, shading the room in heavy shadows. Lottie stood off to one side of the room in a plain white muslin gown, her long, dark hair unbound. Her arm hovered in front of an easel; a brush was poised in her hand. A small candle flickered on the table beside her, illuminating the painting as well as part of her face.

‘What are you doing here?’ She stiffened. ‘Sarah.’

‘Forgive me, love, but I don’t think you’ve told him,’ the maid said. ‘And pardon my saying so, but you need to.’

The door clicked closed behind Evander with the maid on the other side, leaving him alone with Lottie.

Evander whispered her name and set the flowers aside on a small table near the door. His vision adjusted to the partial light as he approached her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy—further evidence she’d been crying.

‘Please leave.’

‘I’m worried about you.’

‘You’re worried about me?’ She gave a mirthless chuckle as she exhaled. ‘I told you I didn’t want to see you. Not today of all days.’

‘Because of what happened last night? Forgive me, but I couldn’t stand by and allow Lord Devonington to speak to you in such a way.’

His blood simmered with rage even as he thought of it. Were the man in front of him now, Evander would punch him all over again. Except this time he wouldn’t stop.

Her brow furrowed.

‘It isn’t that, is it?’ Evander asked slowly. ‘It’s something your maid mentioned...something that you need to tell me.’

Lottie sagged backwards, her gaze distant and listless ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said sadly. ‘I asked you to leave me be.’

‘Whatever it is, however difficult you think it to be, I want to know so that we can face it together.’

He glanced at the painting to find an image of a cottage with a cluster of trees behind it, and the beginnings of a small garden boxed in front with a simple fence.

‘This isn’t Binsey,’ he said. ‘Where is this?’

‘Evander.’ Her eyes sparkled with tears in the candlelight. She shook her head. ‘Please.’

There were more paintings on the floor—all of that same small cottage from various different angles. Close-up views of a garden filled with pink geraniums and daffodils, another of vegetables climbing up stakes thrust into rich, dark soil, still others of a view of the forest from a window presumably inside the cottage.

He bent and lifted one that appeared to have been painted from inside the home. ‘Where is this?’ A knot formed low in the pit of his stomach. ‘What are you not telling me?’

She drew in a shuddering breath as a tear fell from her eye and left a wet trail glistening on her cheek in the candlelight. Her hand pressed to her heart and she began to sob. The sound was soft, as if she had previously exhausted herself of tears but her hurt was still just as intense.

He went to her and put his arm over her shoulders. ‘Please, Lottie.’

‘That was the last place I was truly happy,’ she said, in a hoarse, tired voice.

Truly happy? He frowned. ‘After I departed?’

She nodded; her gaze fixed on the image of the cottage. ‘It’s located just outside London, close enough that I could visit as often as was possible.’

Was this where she’d met one of her protectors, perhaps? ‘I don’t understand.’

Lottie sucked in air hard, as if it hurt even to breathe. ‘That’s where she was born.’

Evander’s heart caught in his chest. ‘Where who was born?’

‘Our daughter.’