An Impulsive Debutante

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‘Gretna Green is but a few miles from here.’

The entire crowd fell silent.

‘You mean to elope?’ Mrs Charlton’s shawls quivered. ‘You are proposing to elope with my daughter.’

‘It is the most sensible solution in the circumstances,’ Sir Geoffrey said, giving a decisive nod. ‘I will vouch for this man’s honour, madam.’

‘My sister is to elope? Married under Scottish law?’ Henry Charlton’s face expanded and he bore a distinct resemblance to a walrus. ‘Do you know what you are on about, man?’

‘I have agreed to do the decent thing and marry the woman, but it will be at Gretna Green, and not in some church wedding.’ Tristan straightened his cuffs. ‘It will save gossip.’

He took great pleasure in watching Henry Charlton’s mouth open, but have no sound come out. Three times he started to say something, but somehow the words would not appear. He tried jabbing with a finger. ‘You…you bounder. You will create a scandal if you marry her in that fashion.’

‘I have agreed to marry your sister. I am hardly a bounder. And there is already a scandal of sorts.’ Tristan gave a shrug. ‘I am sorry if the terms of my offer are not to your liking, but there they are. You must decide which is the greater scandal—your sister unwed but kissed, or your sister married at Gretna Green.’

‘But…’

‘You must decide. Or, better yet, let your sister decide. It is her life and reputation we are discussing.’

‘I suppose you do have a point.’ Henry Charlton gave a harrumph. ‘Carlotta?’

Tristan watched Lottie. What would she do? Would she risk it? A wild exultation grew within him. The risk. The gamble. What would she choose?

‘Thank you for allowing me to make the choice, Henry.’ Lottie came forward and tucked her hand into Tristan’s. He glanced down at her, impressed with her dignity in the face of her brother’s blustering and her mother’s shrieking. She appeared to have accepted her fate. ‘Mr Dyvelston is correct. Banns and the like will simply point to a harum-scarum marriage. I will make a runaway match. Far more romantic.’

Chapter Four

‘Not the watercolours, Lottie. And only one satchel, you heard Mr Dyvelston.’ Lottie’s mother hurried into the room where Lottie sat packing. ‘You will need a complete new wardrobe now that you are married. I dare say that he plans to buy it. It is the best way.’

Lottie tucked the watercolours and brushes into her bag. The first words her mother had said to her were a complaint. ‘I heard Mr Dyvelston the first time, Mama, and I intend to paint on my wedding trip. I am being practical.’

‘You have dashed all my hopes and plans for your future.’ Her mother gave a loud sniff. ‘And now all you can talk of is painting. Have you no consideration for my nerves? For what you have done to your brother? To me? You were supposed to wed a titled man. It was to be the culmination of everything.’

‘I am getting married, Mama. He is connected to a title.’

‘Yes, but will anyone know? I should never have let Sir Geoffrey sway me. I should have insisted on a proper marriage.’ Her mother buried her face in a handkerchief. ‘Lucy warned me that you would come to a bad end with your tricks and you have. You are a lucky woman that Mr Dyvelston turned out to be a gentleman. Goodness knows what you were thinking…Sir Geoffrey had made an offer for you. How could you do this to me?’

Lottie slammed another pair of stockings into the satchel. She refused to dignify her mother’s remark with a reply.

‘Well, Carlotta, what do you have to say for yourself? How can you explain away what you did? The man has no title, nothing to recommend him. Why did you kiss him?’

‘You were quite prepared to marry me off to Jack Stanton.’

‘Lottie, you ungrateful child!’ Her mother gave a sharp intake of breath, went white and she waved her hand in front of her face, choking. ‘My medicine, Lottie.’