Page 63 of How to Wed a Courtesan

She pulled her hands from Evander’s and shifted on the blue velvet bench, edging closer to the window. There it was, the thatched roof gone grey with age and lack of upkeep, the whitewashed walls, and the simple locked wooden door whose key sat like an anvil in her reticule.

The fence surrounding the cottage had begun to sag, as if sighing towards the garden, which was in sore need of tending. Lily had always loved that garden, delighting at each new thing that began to grow. But at that time she’d been delighted at everything in life.

Something stirred on the ground. For a brief moment Lottie’s heart leapt with the hope that it might be Lily, lying among the flowers as she once had, her fingers outstretched towards the sun as she sang a song she’d spun in her head.

Lottie touched the glass. The chill of it against her fingertips surprised her, and pulled her to her senses once more. She blinked, and a fat brown rabbit hopped from the former flowerbed into the surrounding forest.

Her shuddering exhale fogged the glass.

‘Lottie...?’ Evander said in a tender voice.

She shook her head to brush him off. ‘This day is certain to be one of the most difficult I have endured.’

‘I understand.’ He shifted from his seat to hers and took her hand. ‘I am fully aware of how difficult today will be.’ His thumb ran over the back of her fingers. ‘Thank you for this.’

‘You have a right to know as much of her life as you can.’ She swallowed thickly, but it did little to clear the lump in her throat.

When she looked out of the window again the cottage was directly in front of them and the carriage pulled to a stop. She didn’t want to exit the cabin, but could not stop her feet from moving down the single step and onto the dry, crackling grass underfoot.

The familiar scent of damp, rich soil mingled with the sweet hay of the thatched roof and the perfume of the various flowers that had managed to survive among the weeds in their garden. The air held notes of a perfect summer’s day, with the sun shining down and bringing the earth’s aromas to life. It smelled like picnics and laughter and a beautiful little girl with auburn curls chasing butterflies while being cautioned not to over-exert herself.

Lottie’s ribs constricted her heart and made breathing nearly impossible. This was where the laughter had stopped, where those gasping wheezes had gone quiet, where her Lily had died.

The weight of it was too great.

Lottie’s knees buckled. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be here, remembering these painful memories, subjecting herself to the greatest emotional agony of her life.

A firm grip caught her shoulders, strong and true, comfort when she needed it most.

‘I’m here with you,’ Evander said in her ear.

Lottie lifted her head to find him staring earnestly down at her, his face set with a fierce determination.

‘You are not alone, Lottie. Not this time. I’m here.’

She nodded and withdrew the key from her reticule. Her fingers shook so badly she could not close the clasp. Evander took the bag from her, clicked it closed and handed it to his coachman.

He held out his hand. ‘Would you like me to do it?’

She considered his offer, but in the end declined. If she was to do this, she needed to maintain as much control as was possible.

They made their way up the small front path, now overgrown with weeds that crawled over the stonework. From their new vantage point the fence was in even worse condition, bowing low enough to the ground at the far end that it actually lay on a ratty bed of snarled plants that had once grown peas and beans on slender wooden sticks. The flower garden was likewise a tangle of growth, some alive, most dead, with an errant bloom peeking through here and there.

Lottie stopped in front of the door and slid the key into the thick metal lock.

She stopped.

On the other side of that door would be pain.

Evander said nothing as she stood there, steeling herself to confront the power of those memories. He remained with his arm around her shoulders, his patience as solid as his strength, waiting for her.

She drew in a hard breath and let it hiss out between her teeth. In a swift move, before she succumbed to her dwindling courage, she turned the key with a click and pushed at the heavy oak.

The door groaned open on ungreased hinges and revealed the place that had once been home. The place where she had once been truly happy.

She couldn’t move to cross the threshold. Her feet were rooted in place as she took it all in. The wooden kitchen table where Lily would ‘help’ shell peas. The slender glass vase still at its centre, filled with wilted wildflowers bent over at their slender necks, their stalks now dry, dusty husks.

There were three chairs by the fireplace. One for Lottie and one for Dina, the kind woman who had cared for Lily in Lottie’s absence, and a small one for Lily. Lottie’s gaze fixed on the tiny chair, recalling how her daughter would always stretch her bare toes towards the fire on cold nights. Her feet were so tiny, soft and pink, not yet callused by life.