Page 64 of Dare to be Wicked

Once the lady was gone, Mama turned to Lottie.

“Did you know?” she demanded.

Lottie shook her head. “She wasn’t meeting him, Mama, I’m sure of it. It was just that one time, when Miss Dudley saw her, and I’m certain that was… well, accidental. Certainly it wasn’t planned. It couldn’t have been. She left the picnic early. It was after Cassius had told her they were not to be married and she rode off alone. She was terribly upset when she left.”

“You think Mr Demarteau followed her?”

Lottie swallowed. She was not about to break her sister’s confidence and tell Mama that Eliza was infatuated with the man, yet she did not want Mr Demarteau to be implicated in… in what? Could he have been there when Eliza fell? Could he have been responsible, or have left her injured? No. No, she would not believe that.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But Eliza returned safely and did not mention having seen him.”

“And she tells you everything, does she not?”

“Yes. Usually,” Lottie said, knowing that Eliza had certainly not told her everything, and she could hardly remonstrate as she had kept secrets from her Eliza, too.

Yet Mama was exhausted with worry, and she could not bring her more anxiety by telling her that she feared there was more to it.

“Well, Eliza will explain it to us when she is well, but I do not think she will see Mr Demarteau again. Your father has taken against his brother as it is and, in comparison, Louis César is almost respectable.”

There was a look in her mother’s eyes Lottie well recognised, and she sighed. Papa was overprotective and Mama was stubborn, but then… so was Eliza.

Chapter 20

Dear Cassius,

We are so delighted to hear Eliza is well again. What a splendid wedding gift for you and Lottie. Of course we will come to Holbrook for the ceremony. Nothing would keep us away.

―Excerpt of letter to Cassius Cadogan, Viscount Oakley from Mr Ashton Anson—son of Lord Silas Cavendish and Lady Aashini Cavendish.

20th September 1838, Holbrook House, Sussex.

“Oh, Lottie, you look like a fairy princess,” Eliza said, beaming at her.

Lottie grinned and did a twirl as the proprietress of Maison Blanchet looked on with satisfaction. Madame Blanchet was a beautiful, elegant woman in her late thirties who was a fine advertisement for her own wares. The Marchioness of Montagu had discovered Maison Blanchet last season and secured the new Parisian fashion house’s future, as she was still a leading figure in the stylish world of the ton. If Matilda said something was fashionable, it was.

Madame Blanchet gestured to the gown. “You see, my creation is a delicate blue grey satin that brings out the colour of Lady Charlotte’s eyes. There is a pattern of floral sprays and vines. The short sleeves are adorned with furbelows and lace trim, the wide boat neck with a blonde lace bertha, and we have created a deep waist point with three rows of piping. The skirt is full with two deep gauze flounces set in furbelows, lined in stiffened gauze, and the results….”

Madame sighed happily as she looked at her creation with obvious pride.

“It is perfection,” their mama said, wiping her eyes.

“Mama, you are not crying?” Lottie said in astonishment, for their mother was a practical, no-nonsense woman who was not given to tears.

“Oh, it’s the baby,” she said, patting her rounded belly and sniffling. “You know I turn into a wretched watering pot whenever I’m breeding.”

“Mama,” Eliza murmured, shaking her head in despair at her mother. “One does not speak of breeding any longer.”

Lottie sniggered.

“Oh, lud,” the duchess said in disgust. “I cannot be doing with all this sensitivity. Why can we not just call the thing what it is without causing young women to fall into a swoon? I declare it was bad enough in my day, but this excess of propriety will become intolerable if we do not have a care.”

“Yes, Mama,” Eliza said, her lips twitching as she caught Lottie’s eye.

Lottie felt her heart lift to see her sister smile. She was still frail and horribly weak, with little energy. This trip to Maison Blanchet would likely send her to bed for the rest of the day, but she had been determined to come along for Lottie’s last fitting.

“Well, Madame Blanchet, let us go over the list for the trousseau and ensure we have forgotten nothing,” Mama said, taking Madame Blanchet out of the fitting room with her.

“I’m so happy for you, Lottie. It will be the perfect day,” Eliza said, her pleasure obvious and genuine.