Lorelie Brown (29 page)

“Why don’t you two go home to dress. I’ll make sure everything gets finished up here. We’re almost ready as it is.”

Victoria rose and took Lottie’s hand. “We want to be here for you.”

Her kindly strokes up and down Lottie’s arm were both relieving and frightening and even a little bit annoying. Lottie wanted to draw into herself, not be comforted. She’d crumble if given the slightest bit of encouragement. As subtly as she could manage, she pulled away. “You’ll help me best by making sure you’re ready to take over if I need you to.”

Sera stood as well. They flanked her, one on each side. She wanted to sag. After all, they’d hold her up. But then nothing would put her back together again. “We only want you to know that we’re here for you. That we love you. With enough time, everything will pass.”

Braced between her two best friends in the world, she could admit to herself she desperately missed Ian. That wouldn’t pass. Even if she still couldn’t say the words to anyone else, she knew it. She missed the way he’d drop by the school unannounced, offering information about Patricia’s whereabouts or the likelihood that she’d be found in any particular place. Or the times she’d finagled him into returning for tea. Those had gone better once her mother wasn’t throwing herself into ponds.

She missed talking with him. He’d been steadying. Calming. A safe harbor, a place she could return to and count out her treasures. She missed touching him and kissing him and knowing that she had a measure of connection in the world. She missed having someone who relished her attentions.

Mother hadn’t been out of her room for the two weeks since the ball. Some days, she never made it out of bed. She claimed to be recuperating and reading, but many days she didn’t turn on a lamp, and she kept the curtains closed against the encroaching sun.

Lottie was going to lose control soon. So very soon.

She smiled first at Sera and then at Victoria. “Go, ladies. I’m well. I promise.”

And they believed her.

Of course they did. It wasn’t as if she had pushed him away for pure caprice. This constant, unrelenting pressure inside her head was proof of that if nothing else. She was riding the sharp edge of madness. There was no reason to inflict that sort of pain on anyone else.

With plenty more low-pitched words and assurances they’d return before the event started that evening, Sera and Victoria gathered their cloaks and departed. Lottie was left with the half dozen servants and school-goers she directed toward making the room acceptable. The event would go on. This was balance. This was what she’d put her energy into over the years.

The school would go on no matter what. They operated below the rungs of her usual societal acquaintances. So long as they kept their accustomed people, everything would be normal. She hoped.

Fifteen minutes later she waved Maria away so the girls could return to the school and get dressed in their finest clothing, which had been specifically sewn for the occasion. How thrilled they all were. They walked away in a giggling, twisting spill of happy voices.

Lottie envied them. She shut the door and set about gathering up the last few scraps of ribbon and tulle on the floor. The room was large and empty. Low ceilings weren’t particularly attractive, but they’d done their best to make the space pleasant. Once it was filled with eager gentlemen and the ladies Lottie had helped create, it would be entirely different and more enjoyable.

She went home reluctantly, but she had nowhere else to go. She stopped by her mother’s room on her way upstairs. Darkness pervaded, of course. Mama was little more than a pile of blankets and pillows in the center of the bed.

Lottie stroked reddish strands of hair that streaked across a lace-covered pillow. “Mama? How are you today?”

She smiled, though it seemed forced to Lottie’s practiced gaze. When she squeaked open her eyes, they were reddened. Watery. “Pleasant enough. I’ve plans for tomorrow. I’m going to paint by the river.”

Lottie didn’t believe that at all. Mama didn’t believe it either. She could barely muster the smallest bit of conviction. But Lottie smoothed back her hair and then straightened the ribbon marking her mother’s place in a book. “Mary Shelley? Is that really what you should be reading?”

Her mother’s expression fell. She pressed her cheek into the pillow, and her eyes drifted near to shut. “It distracts me.”

Lottie’s chest pinched and her spine fused. She never intended to hurt her mother, but she had, hadn’t she? She’d hurt herself too, but worst she had pushed Ian away forever. Maybe he’d be better off without her, but one thing was for certain.

In this darkened room, facing her mother’s unbearable sadness, Lottie knew she needed Ian. She needed his strength and the way that he’d believed in her.

She’d lost him. It had been her fault, as most things seemed to be. “I’ve a social tonight. I’ll be out of the house late.”

Mama tried weakly to push up to a sitting position against the pillows. Carefully, she rearranged her features into a pleasant scheme of concentration. Her mouth smiled and her eyes were fixed on Lottie, but she wasn’t there. Her sadness had taken her wandering, until she was lost with no way home. She nodded anyway. “You must ensure all the girls are seen home safely. Anything less wouldn’t be you.”

Lottie was crumbling under the weight of her own fears.

If it weren’t for Lottie, her mama would be completely alone. Having a man in her life was no help with the way Lottie’s father ran at every opportunity.

Was that what she truly feared? Not the fact that she’d slip into madness herself, but that she’d be alone when it finally happened? Fear licked across her palms in a clenching tingle and streaked up her forearms. Her eyes filled with tears at the very idea, which in itself indicated there might be truth.

The irony was terrible. Awful. If that were the very thing she most feared—she’d ensured it would happen all on her own. All but guaranteed it.

Ian tried to convince himself he was looking forward to the school’s soiree simply because they had every reason to believe Patricia would be there. Tonight he’d have his hands on the erstwhile woman and soon after he’d have the proof of Etta’s indelicate marriage. Everything tied up in a neat and pretty bow.

How unfortunate that bow didn’t include Lottie in any way.

It would be bad enough he’d soon be forced to see her. Though he wouldn’t care, shouldn’t care.

He had no need for such an example of womanhood. Her beauty and charm meant nothing if everything beneath her surface was false. He’d thought her more than that. He’d thought her someone remarkable and beautiful all the way through.

She’d fooled him, of course, but she had also seemed to fool herself.

The devastation on her face had been awful. She’d refused to talk. Kicked him out. Forced him away.

He’d tried to hold her when the tears started. She’d literally held him at arm’s length. There’d been nothing more to do after that, and words failed to break through. He’d sent the carriage off and walked the streets the rest of the night. Part of him had nearly hoped for an attacker. A footpad after a good row. Anything to fight against.

After the whole tumultuous night, Ian would have loved to have been able to plant a fist in someone’s face. Anyone’s. But there were no enemies in a situation like this. Not when he knew exactly how badly Lottie hurt.

How goddamned stupid she’d been as well.

He had very few hopes with regard to the evening. Finding Patricia and seeing her immediately punished was the most he could look forward to.

Two months ago, that was the only thing on his mind. Now it seemed small consolation as he straggled into the foyer of his house, drawing on his gloves and gathering his top hat from a servant.

His mother appeared in the library doorway. “Good luck, Ian.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I need no luck. Every bit of information I have directs me toward Patricia tonight. You know how grasping she is.”

His mother nodded, but the lines that drove between her brows didn’t ease. “You’ll see Miss Vale tonight too, won’t you?”

“I will.” He missed her despite how much he shouldn’t. Being so decidedly unwanted and venturing forth anyway seemed foolhardy. “Our interactions will be kept to a minimum. You have no reason to fear.”

“Good. You need to stay away from that woman.” She gave a sad shake of her head. “I never would have thought it the first time I met her, but she’s obviously a bad sort. Her mother must be unbearably disappointed in her.”

Ian’s teeth ground together. “No, Mother. I won’t tolerate such talk.”

“It’s truth.”

“I don’t care to hear it.”

And yet that was all he could do in her defense. Lottie had decided she didn’t need him in her life. But what would be worth fighting her stubbornness for? Why did part of him keep slamming up against that wall in his mind, over and over again?

He should have given up already.

There was no
reason
for this.

He bade his mother farewell and let the carriage convey him to the address he’d previously obtained from Lottie. The reception room was in a middling sort of area of town. Below stairs was a tailor, a butcher and a confectioner. Upstairs, Ian found three women gathered around the entrance. He nodded. “Ladies.”

“Gor,” one of them whispered as he passed. “If they’re all like that, I’ll be coming every time.”

Inside was more crowded. Men and women stood about in groups. A general atmosphere of awkwardness was found in forced giggles and the stiffness of men’s shoulders, but it was also mixed with a healthy dose of excitement. The air fairly swirled. The decorations, while simple, had transformed the large room into a taste of anticipation.

Ian stood inside the double doors and looked about.

He saw Lottie, and then he knew why his mind had been unable to let her go.

She looked beautiful. The pale lilac of her dress played to her creamy complexion. It seemed she’d tried to mute her beauty, because the dress was absent of any sort of decoration or adornment. There was no helping it. She was the most beautiful woman in the room to Ian.

Because he loved her.

What a bloody fool he was. No halves or almost about it. Nothing should have been able to push him away. Not if he’d had a scrap of awareness. Or if he’d realized how much he needed her. She lit him up from within.

And yet he could see the strain in her. She held herself carefully. The smile she flashed was not real as she slipped through knots of her girls and introduced them to men. Not really. Her skin was whiter than her usual cream, barring two hectic flags of red high on her cheekbones. The pinched way she walked made each step brittle.

It only got worse when she saw him. She tossed away the smile she’d been clinging to as if throwing it into a coal bin. Discarded.

Loving someone who was determined not to be loved seemed an exercise in futility. He’d never been the sort, but he’d found no shortcut to get rid of these feelings. His arms burned with the need to wrap around her.

Except she was all prickles and nerves as she approached him. “You’re here.”

“Did you expect any different?”

Her gaze darted over his face like she was looking for something. “Fletcher’s men are already here.” She flicked her fingers in a little circle about her shoulder. “Here and there. Dressed to fit in.”

“And Finna?”

“Waiting in the corner.” She pointed to where the young woman sat, her hands folded in her lap. “Patricia will come. Either for money from you, or from the sympathetic gentleman.”

His fingertips curled against the impulse to touch her throat. That vulnerable length was beauty and strength, with a flutter at the base above her collarbones. She wasn’t comfortable.

He ought to feel bad about that. He didn’t. He wanted her uncomfortable. He wanted her as miserable as he was. If he were to be alone in love, he’d not be alone in the pain. “Have you been well?”

She turned large, liquid eyes up toward him. Her voice was husky. “You’re not the sort to be unnecessarily cruel. I know you better than that.”

He needed her desperately. This all seemed ridiculous. “Maybe I don’t know myself.”

“I know you.” She looked out toward the crowds as she spoke, and kept her voice so soft he almost thought he’d imagined it. “I know you more than I know myself, I think.”

Except he hadn’t any chance to follow up. A tiny flurry of activity near the back of the room caught his eye. Finally. Something to
do
. Someone he could direct all this rage at. “I see her.”

He found himself grinning with feral intent as he stormed across the room.

Patricia must have felt his focus upon her, because she flinched and turned. It was certainly her. That she was well put together and nicely dressed only aggravated Ian further. For someone who had been on the run for two months, she had a healthy flush in her cheeks. Her eyes flashed wide and her mouth dropped open—but she didn’t look surprised. She looked…pleased.

She ran.

Patricia’s movements were rushed and flailing. When another woman accidentally stepped into her path, Patricia shoved her to the side. The blonde fell to the floor, but she was quickly surrounded by plenty of friends.