Page 73 of Any Rogue Will Do
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Agatha’s words ran across the forefront of her mind like some kind of banner. Her father could reconsider. If she told him the full tale about Montague, Father might feel guilty for pushing the match and listen to reason about Ethan. Ironic that Montague might have done her a favor—not that she would send him a thank-you note anytime soon.
There might be hope. Father could change his mind. Ethan might forgive her if they were alone long enough for her to apologize and explain. The second day in a traveling coach packed to capacity was hardly the time or place for a private conversation.
Without letting herself overthink it, she held her hand out to Ethan, resting palm up on the seat between them. Bless him, he didn’t ask for an explanation, just intertwined his fingers with hers, then went back to staring out the window. That he allowed her to touch him again sent hope barreling through her veins.
His hand was her tether as she wandered through tangled thoughts. The comfort of this simple contact with a specific person brought one word to mind. Love. The emotion of poets and stupid men who rode into battle—willing to die in the name of some fair maiden they probably had no right to in the first place. Love had destroyed more than one country. She prayed it wouldn’t destroy her too.
Her parents had been so in love they’d talked only to each other instead of their children. So in love they’d chosen to spend their days secluded in their rooms instead of following through on long-forgotten promises of picnics by the pond. The carriage passed through the familiar gates of Stanwick Manor and continued down the drive. Soon, the pond in question would be visible over the crest of the sloping lawn to their left.
Whatever Lottie’s own feelings, they bore no resemblance to the example provided by her parents. As she examined their relationship from the outside, given this new perspective on love, a tiny bud of happiness bloomed within the dark memories. Mother and Father were not perfect by any means, but they’d known love. Yes, their mistakes had shaped her childhood, but it was high time she took responsibility for the poor decisions she’d made, instead of laying them at her parents’ feet.
Ethan’s accusation the day before stung—that she chose money over him. The truth of it only made it worse, and she had to face that. Which left the question of what to do. Defying her father didn’t scare her as badly as it had mere days before. Marrying whomever she pleased and riding off into the sunset sounded better every moment.
Stanwick Manor came fully into view, with its comfortably predictable lines that never veered toward frivolous or decorative. Woodrest’s gargoyles, curves, and stained-glass windows appeared to have been designed by demented fairies in comparison.
She owed Ethan an explanation and apology, but they were mere moments from facing Father. Squeezing his hand, she faced him. “Please. I know there are things to say between us. But trust me one last time. Let’s talk to Father together. Present our case in person, like Aunt Agatha said. He might listen.”
“It’s about bloody time,” Agatha muttered. Darling clapped and bounced on the seat, but Lottie kept her gaze on the stone-faced man by her side. With a small nod, he squeezed her hand.
At last, the carriage drew to a stop before Stanwick Manor’s great double doors. Ethan stepped down, then held out a hand for Lottie.
It felt great to hold his hand again. The way his long fingers wrapped so entirely around hers never failed to make her feel safe. He tugged her closer. Smoke, sweat, and road dirt made her nose tingle. The poor man needed a bath even more than she did.
“Lass, we’re goin’ tae speak with your father. An’ then you and I will have a talk about that letter.”
***
He’d once told Lottie that her brain was a dark and twisty place, and he stood by that statement. Only God knew what was happening in her head, but when she’d reached for his hand in the carriage, he’d taken it. At this point he couldn’t help accepting every last touch.
That she wanted to talk to her father with him, showing a united front, sparked hope within him where there’d been only pain for the last few days. He didn’t know if showing up together would work, or if her father would listen.
Back at Woodrest, Ethan had managed to wash only the bare minimum before reading Lottie’s letter. Within moments his clean shirt had absorbed the lingering smoke clinging to him. After chasing a carriage up the Great North Road on horseback for two days, there wasn’t a single bloody inch of him that was presentable. Without a change of clothes, a bath would have been a waste of time. And without a bath, purchasing clothing would be throwing good money away. Sure, he could have ordered a bath along the way at any of the inns, for an exorbitant fee. But at some point, he’d become too exhausted to care.
He was in traveler hell. And he still didn’t have a damn hat.
Every bit of grime on his skin itched when the carriage doors opened. This wasn’t how he’d imagined meeting the earl again. Nevertheless, it seemed he had the chance to meet her father and say his piece—in all his travel dirt and disreputable hatless state. Shortly after that, he’d likely be thrown out on his ear.
Lottie’s fingers tightened around his as they entered the house.
The Earl of Brinkley’s library was everything a library should be. The warmth from the crackling fireplace enhanced the perfume of leather, ink, and paper that greeted him like an old friend. Unfortunately, the earl himself was not as welcoming.
“Charlotte? What are you doing here? And Lord Amesbury in the flesh. I see you’ve brought half the dirt between here and London in with you. Is this how you pay a visit in Scotland?” the earl said.
Biting the inside of his cheek to stop the words he wanted to say, Ethan glanced over at Lottie to see how she wanted to handle this. With Lottie by his side, he took a wide-legged stance before the elaborately carved wood desk.
“We received your letter,” she said. A bubble of hope grew within him. She’d asked for his trust one more time, and he had to wonder what she had up her sleeve.
“What, I wasn’t clear enough? Why on earth would you bring him here?” the earl asked, then turned away to shelve the book in his hand. “I thought I made my opinion of you clear years ago, Amesbury. This isn’t the first time you’ve asked for my blessing, and my answer hasn’t changed.”
Lottie wrinkled her brow and asked Ethan, “What is he talking about?”
“The day after the prime minister’s assassination, when I told you I’d call—”
“I waited and you didn’t come. Yes, I remember. But that’s ancient history, Ethan.”
“Lottie, I was there. The butler took me tae your father instead of you.”
