Page 64 of How to Wed a Courtesan

She had been too young.

Far too young.

The room blurred and the arm around her shoulders squeezed her slightly. ‘Lottie? Do you need—?’

She swallowed a sob and shook her head. ‘I can do this.’

But could she?

She strode forward on limbs that felt as old and rusty as the door’s hinges. The room inside was musty, with the sharp odour of dust and disuse. For that she was grateful. If it had smelled like life being lived, and the little girl she had loved, Lottie was certain she would have broken.

Once inside, the rest of the room became visible. In the corner was the desk Lottie had used for correspondence and managing her meagre funds. It was incredible now to think she had made twenty pounds last a year.

Evander remained at her side, silent and still, an awkward guest in a home where he hadn’t truly been welcomed. She swallowed around her dry throat, wishing for a bit of tea. ‘It’s small.’

‘I imagine it was perfect,’ Evander replied after a pause, as though he was filling the silence rather than speaking in earnest.

‘It was.’ Lottie nodded as she regarded the three-room cottage.

The two bedchambers were still cut off by their closed doors. She would have to rebuild her courage to open them. Or at least the one on the left, where she and Lily had slept.

Evander looked around with interest, but Lottie knew that to him the whole of it was little more than a blank page. It would be up to her to paint upon it, to show him the scenes of her life so he could truly know Lily.

She owed it to him to share her memories, so that through them he might know his daughter.

And she owed it to Lily.

Evander kept his face impassive as he looked around the cottage. In truth, it was little more than a hut. Dust coated the surfaces, casting a dull finish over a home that no longer served its purpose. He could fit the entire cottage inside the ballroom at Westix Place, the space was so small.

This was where Lottie had lived while he’d been travelling through the world imagining her dripping with diamonds and sleeping on satin.

His chest squeezed.

As destitute as he had thought his own estate, it would have afforded Lottie a life a hundred times better than life in the place where he now stood.

Suddenly, he regretted having come. She was right. There was only pain to be had in these dingy walls. And even if she didn’t hate him as she feared she might, he was beginning to hate himself.

What he had subjected her to—it was unforgivable.

‘Over here is the kitchen.’

Lottie eased out from the hold he had on her shoulders and slid her hand into his. He let his fingers fold around hers, grateful for the connection as he was suddenly finding he needed comfort as much as she.

She led him to the left side of the open room, where an old stove and a basin were set near the wall, with a few shelves that housed a teapot and some dusty teacups. A cupboard sat near the corner, with a porcelain ewer settled in a basin with a chipped rim.

‘Lily would set the table for every meal,’ Lottie said softly, her voice unsteady. ‘At least she pretended to. She took the self-assigned task very seriously, and would touch each of the napkins in turn after she’d set them.’

They strode to the table next.

‘I always sat here when I was able to be at home.’ Lottie indicated the chair nearest the cupboard.

Home.

She said it with a familiarity he felt in his soul. For this had been her home. With Lily.

Suddenly he felt a flash of self-castigation for having judged the cottage so harshly, the way any arrogant earl would—one who had never known a life that did not consist of wealth. Even when he thought himself sorely without.

‘That was where Dina sat.’ Lottie indicated the seat opposite her. ‘She was always so kind to Lily in my absence. She moved to Hastings to be with her parents after...’ Lottie faltered, losing some of her zeal for a moment and clearing her throat. ‘And this is where Lily sat.’