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Then Sir Alfred narrowed his eyes. “I suppose I didn’t see whyyoushould have been any different.”
Alec had long assumed Sir Alfred’s strict discipline stemmed from dislike, but the man had simply been holding him to the same impossible standards he’d set for himself. There was a time when Alec would have been bullied into agreeing with him; now he could only hear the resentment lacing those words.
“But Iamdifferent, sir,” he said with absolute certainty. “If given the chance, I would have always chosen her. Over everything. Every time.”
Alec knew where Lottie was. And there wasn’t a moment to waste.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Though Lottie’s childhood predilection of climbing out of windows had finally proved useful, she still hadn’t mastered her fear of heights. Sheer panic had fueled her shaky descent down a conveniently placed lattice while she focused on the brick wall in front of her.
By some miracle she landed safely with only a few scratches and had taken enough money for a ticket to Surrey. It was poor form to leave Valentina behind, but Lottie knew she would only dissuade her. She would find a way to make it up to Valentina later, when the threat of marriage to Mr. Wetherby wasn’t quite so imminent. After she arrived at the tiny village train station, Lottie took a shortcut through the forest. It was late afternoon by the time she reached Haverford, bedraggled, famished, and cold; but the sight of the sprawling Tudor mansion, home to six generations of her mother’s family, warmed her with relief. Mr. Wetherby could not touch her here.
Lottie must have looked worse than she felt because Ailish, a housemaid, gasped at the sight of her while Ben, a footman, begged her to sit and immediately fetched Mrs. Houston. She had been working for the Lewis family for nearly three decades now, beginning as a scullery maid. There was no one Lottie trusted more on this earth than her.
“My goodness, Miss Carlisle!” she cried out, her large brown eyes as wide as a startled doe’s. “Don’t tell me you came all this way onfoot?”
Lottie ran a sheepish hand over her hatless head and pulled away a twig. “Only from the train station.”
Mrs. Houston tsked as she cast a worried gaze over her. “Come with me. Ailish, make us some tea, then.”
Lottie followed Mrs. Houston to her sitting room where they could talk privately. She had always loved this cozy little space and whiled away many rainy afternoons by the hearth listening to Mrs. Houston’s stories of her youth spent in Ireland’s West Country. For a time Alec had joined them, until he grew too old for such things. Lottie’s throat tightened at the rush of memories.
The events of the day suddenly pressed down upon her and Lottie slumped into an overstuffed armchair clothed in faded green velvet. Mrs. Houston took the one opposite, her brow puckered with worry. She still retained much of the striking beauty of her youth, though her dark brown hair was now heavily streaked with gray. There had never been a Mr. Houston, and not for the first time Lottie wondered what had kept her here all these years, when she could have had a husband, a family, and a home of her own.
Ailish promptly arrived with the tea tray. Once they were alone again, Mrs. Houston began to pour. “Now,” she said as she handed Lottie a steaming cup and saucer, “am I right in supposing Alec found you?”
Lottie nearly dropped the china.
“No one else knows about Florence,” Mrs. Houston added.
Lottie’s eyes fell. “I know it was childish to leave the way I did, but I couldn’t spend another minute with Mrs. Wetherby. And Uncle Alfred was putting so much pressure on me to marry.”
Mrs. Houston gave her an understanding nod. “Where did you end up?”
Lottie let out a breath. “I went to the village my parents visited on their honeymoon.”
“Oh, my dear. No wonder Alec found you.” The sadness behind her words turned Lottie’s heart inside out. “But, he did not return to England?”
Lottie fiddled with the edge of her saucer as her throat tightened. “He thought it for the best,” she said hoarsely. “We…we quarreled before I left.” She had to look away from Mrs. Houston’s sympathetic gaze. “But that’s not why I’m here. It’s Uncle Alfred. He isn’t well.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
“I know,” Mrs. Houston said. “But he’s being taken care of. I hired Mrs. Ragmoore myself.”
“But why did he sendyouaway?”
A faint tremor of emotion passed over the housekeeper’s face until she mastered it. Mrs. Houston swallowed hard. “I must respect his decision.”
“His or Mr. Wetherby’s?”
“You weren’t here, Lottie,” she frowned. “It was only natural for Mr. Wetherby to handle the arrangements. The doctors thought it best if your uncle had as much peace as possible until he regained his strength.”
Lottie shook her head as her mind whirled. There was so much Mrs. Houston didn’t know. “This morning Uncle Alfred told me I was to marry Mr. Wetherby. This afternoon.”
Mrs. Houston’s teacup clattered against the saucer. “What?”
Lottie explained her uncle’s reasoning, along with Mr. Wetherby’s role in the charade. “I think Uncle Alfred has been in decline for much longer than anyone realized,” Lottie added, voicing the theory she had been piecing together since the previous night. It was the only thing that could explain his increasingly erratic behavior over the past year. “Mr. Wetherby likely knew from the start because they work so closely together. That meant he could manipulate the situation for his own gain.”
Which explained why Mr. Wetherby’s aunt, of all people, had been deemed a proper companion for her. And why they needed to be married while her uncle still had some control over her finances.
