He signed it swiftly, before he could lose his nerve.
Yours, in earnest confusion and rising affection,
J. Deverell
He sanded the page, sealed it with the family crest, then stared at the letter for a full minute before throwing it into the fire alongside his other failed drafts.
It was mid-morning at Tolliver House, and the drawing room was already a wreck.
Hetty, luminous despite being eight months pregnant and deeply cross about it, had claimed the best chair, and was fanning herself dramatically with a folded periodical. Georgiana, with her infant son tucked under one arm, had installed herself upon the settee, all satin and smugness. Marianne sat curled by the window with a book she had surprisingly not opened once, her expression droll and expectant. Even Nell had joined, cradling her chicken as Georgie cradled her baby. In the middle of it all sat Lottie, drinking lukewarm tea and being judged with far more affection than she found at all tolerable.
“Well,” Hetty said at last, adjusting the cushion behind her lower back, “we have beeninformed.”
Lottie gave her an arch look over the rim of her teacup. “I rather assumed as much. You did not cross all of Mayfair on a Thursday morning merely to admire my embroidery.”
“I would not cross the hall to admire your embroidery,” Hetty replied sweetly. “No, Theo left a note before he left this morning. A long one. I believe he did not wish to tell me in person, likely for fear of inducing an early labour. I skimmed it, of course.”
“I annotated it,” Georgiana said cheerfully, bouncing the baby on her knee. “For the family archive.”
Lottie stared. “You are maintaining an archive now?”
Georgie gave a modest smile. “Only of our scandals. I have arranged them chronologically. There are appendices, naturally.”
“Is there a volume just for Lottie?” Mari chimed in.
“Oh, there shall be,” said Georgie.
Hetty waved a dismissive hand. “In any case, there is no need to repeat our husbands’ lectures. It seems between them, they have thoroughly scolded you, and quite frankly—”
“—we have all discovered that scolding you never accomplishes anything,“ Georgie finished. “You tend to do exactly as you please, whether we approve or not.”
“Indeed.” Hetty shifted, groaning softly as she attempted to rearrange her spine. “And there is no use involving Mama in this small indiscretion. So let us proceed to the useful portion of the morning. Tell us, Lottie—do you feel… free with Mr Deverell?”
Lottie blinked. “Do I… what?”
“Free,” Georgie echoed, her tone gentler. “Unrestrained. Most like yourself, perhaps?”
“I…” Lottie hesitated, glancing around at all four of her sisters, each watching her with varying degrees of curiosity, amusement, and condescension. “Yes. I suppose I do.”
“Hmm,” said Hetty, settling back with great satisfaction, hands resting atop her rounded belly. “Interesting.”
Georgie turned to her and raised one perfectly arched brow. Hetty returned the look. It lasted less than a second, but it was far too familiar not to be noticed.
“Do not think I cannot see the glances you are exchanging,” Lottie said sharply. “If you are implying that I am in love with Mr Deverell, I mostcertainlyam not.”
“They duelled naked,” Nell chimed in brightly from the chaise, where she was now upside down with the chicken in the air.
“We absolutely did not!” Lottie snapped.
Nell grinned. “I was only checking. It would explain quite a lot.”
“I despise all of you.”
“You do not,” Mari said gently, not even glancing up. “And for the record, everyone can see it. Everyone but you, that is.”
Before Lottie could produce a suitably outraged rebuttal, the drawing room doors burst open with their usual lack of ceremony and in swept Lady Tolliver in a flurry of lilac muslin, pearls, and delightfully unfiltered maternal joy.
“ “My girls!” Lady Tolliver cried, clasping her hands dramatically to her chest. “What a picture you all make! So much beauty, so much brilliance.”
