Chapter 1
Miss Charlotte ‘Lottie’ Fitzwilliam stood by her bedroom window, her gaze one of deep sorrow and despair as she fixed it on the front driveway below. There, a single carriage was gently pulling onto the road, its destination set north toward the bowels of London city.
Although Lottie could not see inside the carriage, she knew that its occupants took pleasure in the fact that they were headed toward the city while she was stuck at home.
Not that I think of this place as ‘home,’ nor will I ever …
Beyond where the carriage traveled, Lottie took note of the city’s skyline, one bathed in dark amber hues and purples as the sun gently set on another long and lonely day.
Soon night would fall, and while said occupants of the carriage were sure to enjoy their night, as they had spoken of little else all week, Lottie was left to lament her place in the world, and where she might go from there. Nowhere good, if history was any guide.
“My Lady …” A voice spoke gently from behind Lottie. “Oh, do not do such things to yourself. You know how it upsets you.”
Lottie turned from the window, just as the carriage vanished, and forced a smile as Blanche, her aunt’s housekeeper, swept toward her. She was far older than Lottie’s eighteen years, close to sixty or so, but possessed a motherly presence for which Lottie was desperate.
“I told you, do not call me ‘My Lady’,” Lottie sighed. “Lottie will do.”
“You are a member of the ton,” Blanche said as she reached her, “even if others refuse to admit it. Was your father not a viscount? Your mother a viscountess? That makes you a noblewoman, and you ought to remember it.”
“Perhaps …” Lottie looked back to the window as if she could still see the carriage. “Although try telling my aunt as much. What good is a title if nobody knows or cares? If it does nothing for me at all.”
“Oh, come here, child.” Blanche wrapped a loving arm around Lottie. “This evening was always going to be difficult. Let us not make things worse by rubbing salt into old wounds.”
“You are right,” Lottie agreed. “I need something with which to distract myself. Any suggestions? Or did you come here to make sure that I hadn’t broken down into a million little pieces by now?”
“Oh, I knew that was not the case,” Blanche said with a soft chuckle. “You are far too strong for that.”
“I wish I was …”
“Follow me …” Blanche took her by the hand. “I wish to show you something. Something that I am sure will turn your night around.”
Lottie laughed. “Lead the way, Blanche. It is not as if I have anything else to do.”
Blanche looked at Lottie worriedly. As sad as it was to admit, such a look was felt in Lottie’s chest in a way that almost made her feel better. It was nice to be reminded that there were people in this world who cared for her, even if those people were few and far between.
“This way …” Still holding her by the hand, Blanche led Lottie from her bedroom.
It was important to note that Lottie wasn’t always this depressed, and even when times were at their worst, she was often the type who searched for the good, determined to make the best of a bad situation. Where Lottie’s life was concerned, bad situations were all that she knew.
She was just twelve when her mother and father died in a tragic carriage accident, leaving her to be adopted by her aunt, Lady Danvers.
But what should have been a blessing soon turned out to be a curse, as Lady Danvers had a daughter of her own, the same age as Lottie, and she seemed to think of Lottie as an imposition who needed to be put down and ignored lest she somehow steal the sunlight from her daughter.
For this reason, Lottie was treated like an intruder in the house where she now lived, rather than a loved niece, and not once since she came to live there had she felt as if she belonged.
And not once has my aunt tried to change this perception.
Take tonight, for example. Lottie’s aunt, Lady Danvers, and her cousin, Rosalind, were the ones who rode in that carriage headed for London.
Their ultimate destination was a debutant’s ball hosted by Lord Ironvale, a must-attend for all young ladies of the ton.
Not attending meant not announcing oneself to the world, thus risking being forgotten.
One’s future would be erased and worth nothing.
By rights, Lottie ought to have attended with her cousin. As Blanche had rightly pointed out, she was the daughter of a viscount, and were her parents alive, a night like tonight would have been the crown jewel of the entire Season.
Alas, her aunt had denied Lottie this right, signaling once and for all that Lottie would never be what she was born to be, and the best she might hope for was …
Honestly, I do not even know what my future might be after this.
“Blanche, where are you taking me?” Lottie asked as Blanche led her through the townhouse hallway, up the steps, and toward the attic.
“Almost there,” Blanche said with a tinge of excitement in her voice.
“I am not in the mood for games,” Lottie sighed. “Might you just tell me?”
“Now, where is the fun in that?”
They reached the attic, and Blanche let go of Lottie’s hand and hurried toward a trunk tucked into the corner. She literally shook with excitement, and Lottie smiled, finding that her misery slowly faded because Blanche was impossible to be sad around.
“I know your aunt said that you cannot go tonight,” Blanche said as she fussed with the trunk. “Remind me, what was the reason again?”
Lottie exhaled sharply. “Oh, a great many of them. Mostly, she chose to focus on the fact that I do not have anything to wear, so to turn up in rags, as she put it, would bring embarrassment onto her and Rosalind.”
It was such a frustrating argument, too.
Indeed, Lottie did not own a gown that would suit a debutante’s ball, but that was not her fault.
Her aunt might have taken her in, housed and fed her, but she refused to do more than the bare minimum.
Most of Lottie’s clothes were older, pre-owned dresses, whereas Rosalind’s were all newly bought and tailored.
To make things even worse, Lottie’s parents had left her their fortune, but it was currently being kept by Lord Blackwell, a friend of her father’s, until a date to which Lottie had not been made privy.
Ironically, there was more than enough in that inheritance to buy Lottie all the gowns she would ever need, but by the time she was given access, it would be too late.
“I thought so,” Blanche said as she stood back up, carrying a length of what looked like colorful cloth. “So, if you were to have a gown …” She turned, her eyes wide and excited, as she held the cloth out.
Lottie frowned at the cloth that Blanche held. Its color was emerald and gold, shaded dark at the bottom and growing lighter toward the top. A little dirty, Lottie could see where moths must have nibbled at the edges, but as her eyes adjusted to it …
“Is that …” She gaped in surprise.
“I found it yesterday,” Blanche explained as she flicked the cloth out, holding it properly, revealing it to be a gown. “Amongst some of your parents’ old things. I believe it was your mother’s.”
“Blanche …” Lottie gaped at the gown, seeing it now for what it was. Dirty, yes. Certainly not ornate or lavish. But it was a gown fit for a lady, and perfect for a ball. “That is … I cannot … it is dirty.”
“It can be cleaned,” Blanche said. “And mended. I have looked it over already, and most of its wear will not take long to adjust and fix. Truly, within an hour, perhaps two, it will be as if it were made for you, Lottie.” She hurried toward Lottie, holding the gown out for her to take.
“And I just know that your mother would have loved to see you wearing it.”
Lottie stared at the gown as if it were a snake that might bite her.
“My aunt … she said that I was not to attend. She made it clear that … to do so … she would be angry.”
“She has no right to deny you,” Blanche said. “As you have every right to be there tonight. If you arrive dressed in this and tell everyone who you are, you will be welcomed with open arms, Lottie. You deserve this.”
Deserve this … do I?
Fear struck Lottie like a bucket of cold water thrown over her body. She could picture her aunt’s reaction if she were to attend the ball.
She could imagine her cold words, the anger, and the consequences sure to come. It would make her life afterwards a misery; there was no denying it. Then again, was her life not already a misery? Could things be any worse?
Slowly, the fear disappeared. Slowly, excitement took its place. And slowly, but surely, a gleeful smile spread up Lottie’s face that reached her gray eyes so that she glowed.
“Two hours, you say?”
“At the most,” Blanche said. “That will give us time to send for a hackney carriage to take you.”
“My aunt will be furious,” Lottie said with a wicked smile.
“Let her be,” Blanche said. “Just as you must let her see you, Lottie. Let her see who you are and that nothing she does or says can change that.”
There was no point in arguing. Just as there was no point in pretending that Lottie did not want this. She was a lady of the ton; tonight was her right, and it would not be taken from her.
And maybe, just maybe, once tonight was done with, things might start to change for Lottie Fitzwilliam. Truly, it was about time that they did.
***
“Your name, please,” the footman asked as Lottie approached the front door of Ironvale House.
“My name …” Lottie stammered awkwardly.
The footman looked at her with great reproach. His lips curled, and his right eyebrow lifted as he noticed her gown, one that was surely not as decadent as those the other ladies were wearing.
“Yes, your name,” he said again. “So that you might be announced. And so that we know who you are.”
It was a simple enough request, but it struck fear through Lottie such that she considered turning and climbing back inside the carriage before anything might go wrong. In her mind, wrong was the only possible outcome.