Page 27 of How to Wed a Courtesan

She had kept it all these years.

Hope flared anew within him.

She still loved him. Or at least she had before she’d realised how obsessed he’d become with his findings—like the former Earl had been, hunting treasure with dogged determination.

In truth, it was perhaps the first time Evander understood his father’s devotion to obtaining dusty relics and stones. But it was in that moment Evander also knew he was not like his father. Because he would not allow himself to be torn from those he loved to obtain more. Rather the opposite—he would do whatever he could to make things right.

He shifted his focus towards Lottie. No matter what it took, he would fight for her. While, regrettably, he could not change the past, he had some control over the future in how he acted and what he did.

He vowed to make things right with her—to win back her broken trust even if it took finding every splintered piece and carefully piecing it together. After all, there was no worthier cause than the love of Miss Charlotte Rossington. And he knew that better than anyone else.

Chapter Nine

May 1816, London, England

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.’