Evander finally returned to London, having stayed longer in the country than intended. In truth, he had intended to return to London long before, but his mother had been ill. Gravely so.
There had been a chilling moment when he genuinely feared he had lost her. The physician had arrived swiftly, and had managed to revive her, but the memory had seeded itself in Evander’s mind and rooted there—a reminder of how ephemeral life could be and how tenaciously one must hold on to those one loved.
Not only was he reluctant to leave her side, he knew she felt more at ease with him nearby during her recovery. Even if he had already been home for more than two years.
His mother had become a changed woman in the time when he’d been off re-establishing their fortune. There was now a softness about her, a quiet affection that touched her eyes, whereas before she had been cool and unaffected. He had noticed the same in Eleanor.
Whatever had transpired within them, he knew it had much to do with Lottie and her lessons with Eleanor. His sister had evidently been Lottie’s first student at her scandalous school for ladies.
Evander walked up Fleet Street and stopped in at Aphrodite & Cherub. The fresh perfume of hothouse flowers greeted him, as well as the cheerful bidding of the shop girl. The young woman appeared within a second, her blonde hair bound back in a simple twist, as she always wore it, and she regarded him with large doe-brown eyes.
‘Good day, Lord Westix.’ She smiled. ‘Welcome back to London.’
He examined a bunch of violets—a symbol of faithfulness. Their blue-purple petals were brilliant even in the dismal grey light of yet another rainy day. Perhaps they might be ideal for Lottie upon his return. Nearly losing his mother had taught him there was not a moment in life to waste when one knew what one wanted.
And, above all else, he wanted Lottie as his wife.
‘Thank you, Miss Flemming,’ he said to the shop girl, who had worked there since his first visit to the establishment, two years past. ‘I trust you’re well.’
‘I’ve told you to call me Bess.’
Perhaps water lilies for purity of heart, so that Lottie would know he would never waver. ‘Thank you,’ he replied distractedly.
‘Another bouquet for Miss Rossington?’ Miss Flemming asked.
Miss Rossington. Even her name made Evander’s chest go tight. ‘Yes.’
‘You’ve been sending them to the lady for two years now, my lord.’
A cluster of myrtle caught his attention. Once upon a time he’d been so bold as to add a few of those delicate white flowers to a bunch he’d intended to give Lottie. That first time he’d called on her, just after they’d first met.
‘Forgive my boldness, my lord, as I mean no disrespect, but perhaps the lady doesn’t return your regard.’ Miss Flemming stepped closer.
A purple flower caught his attention. Hyacinth. Sorrow. Forgiveness. There was a darkness in him that longed to send Lottie a vase filled with them, so that she might know the extent of the hurt he still suffered over losing her.
‘There are no doubt any number of women who find you extraordinarily attractive. Women who would welcome your esteem and who aren’t averse to a mere dalliance.’ Miss Flemming touched his gloved hand.
Evander was startled, and regarded her wide brown eyes as she gazed up at him expectantly.
‘Red roses, I think,’ he said. While not especially imaginative, how could a chap go wrong with flowers that spoke of passionate love?
Miss Flemming lowered her head. ‘We recently received some china roses. For eternal beauty and grace.’
Ah, now, there was a rare and enchanting flower—much like his recipient.
‘Yes, perfect.’ He glanced at his pocket watch, noting it was nearly three—almost time for his meeting with several investors regarding a silver mining operation, for which he was the prime contributor. Another venture that would guarantee an impressive return. ‘Preferably red.’
‘Of course.’ Miss Flemming looked up.
The smile on her face somewhat diminished for some reason, he thought, although he could not hazard a guess as to why.
‘And hyacinths.’
She faltered. ‘With red china roses? Perhaps white roses instead?’
Purity. Evander immediately shook his head. He would not remind Lottie of the absence of her innocence, of what he had cost her. ‘You will make it look pleasing. You always do.’
The smile was back on Miss Flemming’s face. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?’ She moved closer to him once more. ‘Anything at all?’
He frowned at her curious action. ‘The flowers will do well enough. Thank you, Miss Flemming.’ He would have just enough time to make it to the meeting. ‘Do forgive me, but I must go.’
Miss Flemming nodded. ‘I’ll see you next week, for another bouquet for Miss Rossington.’
And that was why he appreciated Miss Flemming. She could craft a fine bunch of flowers and she always anticipated what he would need.
The bouquets would not make things right with Lottie, he knew. He was not so daft as to anticipate such paltry things would win her heart. But they were a symbol—not only of his ever-present sentiments towards her, but of his loyalty to her. The flowers were delivered each week without fail—a reminder to her that he was not that foolish young man any more. That he was steadfast in his determination to win her back. That he would spend his entire life trying to make up for his egregious behaviour and find a way back into her heart.
‘Indeed,’ he replied. ‘Good day, Miss Flemming.’
With that, he left the shop and rushed towards his appointment.
In the years that had passed since he’d first arrived back in England, he’d sold the spices, fabrics and other treasures acquired on his travels for even more than anticipated.
It should have been enough.
Yet somehow no amount of fortune ever seemed as if it was. There was always another investment to be had, another pocket of wealth to unearth.
What’s more, he was damn good at it. It was something tangible. Something he could control. All his efforts yielded reward.
He climbed into his carriage and leaned his head back as it lurched onward. If only his efforts with Lottie would prove as successful.
Lottie made her way down to the drawing room to meet with her first and only male student: Viscount Rawley. Ironically, Lady Caroline, the object of his affection, was another student of hers. The young lady was a black-haired beauty whose dark eyes shone with infatuation every time she mentioned Lord Rawley.
It should have worked out impeccably, and yet attempting to put the two together was about as easy as blending oil and water.
The issue was due in large part to the Viscount’s misgivings—which Lottie knew would require the most work.
He lurched to his feet as soon as she entered the room. ‘Thank you for seeing me with such expediency, Miss Rossington.’
His normally immaculate attire appeared a bit dishevelled. His cravat somewhat crooked and his brown hair a mite ruffled.
To anyone else, these minor disruptions would be easily dismissed. But Lottie had come to know Lord Rawley well after the months she’d met with him. Those small changes indicated a catastrophe of monumental proportions.
‘Of course.’ She smiled affectionately, so he knew she was not mocking him. ‘Has something happened with Lady Caroline?’
‘Yes.’ Lord Rawley rubbed the back of his head, leaving a tuft of hair jutting out. ‘No. I confess, I am entirely unsure. But then, I do have a keen skill for bumbling everything.’
‘Truly, what is the worst that could happen?’ Lottie asked. ‘Especially when you know she wants you with her?’
He huffed a heavy sigh. ‘The usual things, I suppose. Unknowingly ingesting something that contains shrimp and being violently ill before her. Tripping down a set of stairs and accidentally pulling her down with me. Saying something ridiculous. It’s foolish, I know, but she’s always so very witty and pleasant. I’m such a dullard by comparison.’
‘You are certainly no dullard, and I imagine the occurrence of any of those events to be highly unlikely,’ she said encouragingly. ‘Lady Caroline is important to you, is she not?’
Lord Rawley regarded her with an open look of sheer desperation. ‘She is the most important thing in all my life.’
Lottie liked the Viscount very much. He didn’t regard her in a libidinous fashion, as did so many men of the ton. He respected her as much as he would the daughter of a duke. And he would do anything for the woman he loved.
Perhaps in that way he reminded her somewhat of Evander. His loyalty to the woman of his choice was unwavering, his purpose steadfast. Lottie’s heart flinched at the recollection of Evander. He had yet to return to London after his years in the country, where he tended to his ill mother.
Perhaps that was for the best. Seeing him never became easier.
‘I would suggest that if Lady Caroline is truly important, you treat her as such,’ Lottie said. ‘Make her know what she means to you. From what you’ve told me of her, I believe she will be overjoyed at your affection.’
Of course Lottie could not reveal that Lady Caroline too was one of her students. Identities must be kept confidential, no matter the circumstance.
Lord Rawley nodded to himself, lost in deep thought, as though already formulating a plan. And truly Lottie hoped he was. Poor Lady Caroline was besotted with the Viscount, and wanted nothing more than for Lord Rawley to open himself to her.
Speaking of the lovely Lady Caroline, her session with Lottie was next—but thankfully she would have a bit of time to herself before the lady was due to arrive.
It was in that respite that Lottie studied her drawing room, revelling in a spell of silence before she once more assumed her role as tutor to the ton. She ran her fingertips over the strings of the harp sitting in the corner and a gradient melody rippled from the instrument. She didn’t play, but her mother had. It was for that reason Lottie had gone to the expense of purchasing the item and keeping it in her drawing room. Likewise, the diamond-patterned Brussels weave carpet had been bought with her father in mind. As though pieces of them still followed her, even in a world they wouldn’t approve of.
A knock came from the double doors and Lottie’s maid, Sarah, breezed in. Of all Lottie’s staff, Sarah was the most trusted. Not only did she see to the running of the house, but also to the hiring of staff—all of whom were selected with great care, as Lottie required the utmost discretion from her servants.
‘More flowers from the Earl of Westix,’ Sarah said in a bright chirp.
Lottie shot her an exasperated look. ‘I don’t want them.’
‘You never do, lovey.’ Sarah set them on the smooth marble surface of the side table, turning the bouquet this way and that as she assessed each angle with a careful eye.
‘Yet you always insist I keep them.’ Lottie grudgingly looked upon the flowers as the familiar constriction tightened in her chest.
They were lovely. They always were. But flowers could not mend old hurts. They could not bring back trust. Nor could they make a lady out of a courtesan.
‘That man loves you.’ Sarah handed her a small note. ‘Perhaps I harbour hopes you’ll find happiness with him again.’
Lottie scoffed, but still accepted the note. ‘Perhaps?’
Sarah shrugged with a cheeky grin and disappeared out through the doors, closing them behind her as she left.
Lottie fingered the small note as she studied the deep red and purple arrangement. The roses were extraordinary, with rippled petals, in a red as brilliant as a geranium. No doubt the card would explain it.
She lifted the small flap and found the same familiar neat script which always accompanied the flowers.
China roses for everlasting grace and beauty. Hyacinth for sorrow and forgiveness.
If only forgiveness could come so easily.
‘Excuse the intrusion,’ Sarah said.
Lottie startled, not having heard another knock or the doors opening again.
‘You have a guest.’
Sarah looked like a cat that had swallowed a canary. Which meant the guest was not Lady Caroline arriving early—a fact confirmed by a glance at the gilded bracket clock, which revealed there was still a half-hour before Lady Caroline’s appointment.
‘Your visitor is not Lady Caroline.’ Sarah raised her brows. ‘It’s Lord Westix.’
‘Tell him—’
‘He knows you’re at home.’ Sarah batted her long-lashed green eyes innocently at Lottie.
The older woman was impudent, but she knew Lottie would never put her out. Perhaps that was why she was so bold. Though if Lottie were being grudgingly honest, she knew it was because Sarah was her friend.
They had known each other for years, having met at the opera. Sarah was just ending her career as Lottie was beginning hers. Sarah had been in despair as to where life might cast her, with her youth having faded, and Lottie, who well understood what it felt like to be lost, took her on as a lady’s maid once she obtained her first protector. They had been together ever since, and Sarah had proved herself invaluable time and again.
‘So there’s no hope for it, then.’
Lottie’s pulse spiked, the way it always did when he came to call. Their conversations were always the same—him begging for another chance and her declining before asking him to leave.
She shot Sarah a peevish look. ‘Are you pleased?’
‘Delightfully so.’ Sarah didn’t bother to suppress her smile. ‘And, anyway, if you put him off, he’ll only come back in an hour.’
Lottie sighed.
‘You know I’m right.’
‘You’re very outspoken for a maid.’
‘You mean I’m the only one who will not mollycoddle you.’ Sarah nodded her head once, as if confirming the accuracy of her own statement. ‘I tell you what is what when you need to hear it. Like now.’
Lottie eyed her maid warily. ‘Out with it, then.’
Sarah inspected the new bouquet with exaggerated interest. ‘You get hothouse flowers once a week. I’ve never had them once in my whole life.’ She lifted her gaze to Lottie. ‘That man loves you the way every woman wishes she could be loved. Give him a chance.’
Lottie frowned. ‘You don’t understand.’
Sarah approached her and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I took care of you, remember? I don’t understand like you do, but I know better than most.’ She lowered her hand and strode back to the doorway. ‘Some day he may stop sending flowers. Or worse...’
Lottie waited for her to finish the warning.
‘He may send them to someone else.’
Much as Lottie hated to admit it, the words made something in chest twist at the thought. Not that she would allow Sarah to know her words had affected her so deeply. The maid would truly be incorrigible if that happened.
Instead, Lottie feigned a lack of concern and waved to her maid. ‘Please have Andrews see him in.’