Aunt Belinda, who had contrived to appear over her shoulder as she read, emitted a small sound of horror. “London? Have they learnt nothing?”
“Oh, on the contrary,” Lottie replied, smiling as she folded the letter. “They have learnt precisely how much they miss me.”
Her aunt swayed as though struck. “This is folly. My brother has always been a weak-minded fool. You will be devoured by temptation!”
“Then it is fortunate that I have developed such a taste for it.”
Outside, the geese hissed furiously at the post horses, as though protesting her deliverance, but Lottie scarcely heard them. London awaited, glittering and wicked as ever, with gossip and laughter, and men who did not smell of poultry!
She was in such a magnanimous mood that she even forgave Aunt Belinda for the slight against her father, for all readers know that Lord Tolliver is a most odd but delightful man, indeed.
Miss Charlotte Tolliver—fallen, feathered, and soon-to-be free—was returning to theton, and she had no intention whatsoever of behaving.
Chapter 2
Charlotte Tolliver returned to London before dawn, the hired carriage rolling up to the Tolliver townhouse without announcement. She slipped through the servants’ entrance as quietly as a thief (or more accurately, a daughter who knew precisely under which flowerpot the key was kept). She knew too, exactly which stair creaked and which did not. The servants’ hall was mercifully quiet; even the housekeeper’s footsteps had not yet begun their daily march.
With a grin, Lottie went directly upstairs to her own bedchamber. Oh, how she had missed it!
Her riding things were exactly where they ought to be.
She had half-expected otherwise, for her elder sister Georgie had packed and sent off her trunks to Aunt Belinda’s with such a quantity of muslin that it bordered on offensive. Georgie had packed modest dresses for church, modest dresses for calls, modest dresses for teas, and one particularly egregious pelisse. Lottie’s riding habit had likely been deemed entirely unsuitable,and thus she had been forced, during her exile, to make do with walking dresses pinned up to her knees.
Lottie dressed with haste, and when she caught herself in the looking glass, she smiled. Only then did she slip back downstairs, cross the yard, and head to the stables, where her own beloved horse greeted her with a huff of recognition and a stamp of reproach.
She rode hard through the waking streets, turning her mount towards Hyde Park, where the gates were open and the hour forgave almost anything. The air was whipping, and the ground still damp with dew. There were a few officers riding with grim concentration, a groom or two exercising valuable stock, and one young woman who rode as though she had been starved of it. For a blessed half hour, Lottie Tolliver belonged to no one at all.
It was upon her return that the housekeeper, Mrs Finch, encountered her. “Miss Tolliver! You’ve arrived at last. Oh! Your poor mama will be beside herself—your boots muddied so. You must make yourself fit to be seen before she lays eyes upon you!”
Lottie surrendered her riding hat and gloves. “How thrilling. I have been longing to be judged again, Mrs Finch.”
“Do not jest so, Miss Tolliver. Her ladyship’s nerves have been in quite a state at your return. There’s been valerian in the tea these last three days.”
Lottie hummed thoughtfully. “Three days? She must be very excited indeed.” She kicked off her boots without bending, leaving specks of mud upon the rug.
Mrs Finch gasped. “Miss Tolliver!”
“Oh, hush,” said Lottie with cheer, wiggling her toes as she walked away. “If Mama is to scold me, I should prefer to be comfortable throughout.”
Lottie, of course, had assumed Mrs Finch was horrified at her lack of shoes within the house, and was entirely naive to themore practical matter of who, precisely, would be made to scrub the mud from the rug.
But if the reader should wonder whether such conduct from our heroine is meant to be redeemed—whether Charlotte Tolliver might learn, through the improving influence of love and misfortune, to be softer, sweeter, or more agreeable—it must be said that redemption is not always a matter of becoming pleasant. It is not, despite what certain modern reading guides may insist, a lady’s prerogative to be likeable.
Lottie would, in time, learn to notice whose hands scrubbed the mud from the rug, but she would not, under any circumstances, become less troublesome—and I thank you, dear reader, to stop asking it of her.
Lottie paused upon the threshold of the breakfast parlour, her stockinged feet feeling rather cold without shoes. The dogs were barking joyously, and the table was full of Tollivers.
Home, she thought, and very nearly cried.
Instead, she lifted her chin and swept into the room. “Ah,” she said. “The very hounds of Hades.”
“They aremyhounds,” her younger sister, Nell, replied stoutly from her seat, where she was quite shamelessly feeding one of the dogs beneath the table. “And they are perfectly splendid.”
“They are perfectly filthy,” said Lottie, as the dogs lifted their heads, and then bounded towards her. “And I have missed them dreadfully.”
Nell beamed and rose. “Montmorency, Pickle, Lady Marmalade! Get down at once!” She swatted at the hounds, who obeyed, and thenflung her arms around her sister. “Oh, Lottie.It has been terribly dull without you. No one argues with me as you do.”
Lottie grinned, hugging her tight. “Then I shall endeavour to remedy that at once.”
