Making the Marquess by Van Nichole

Author:Van, Nichole [Van, Nichole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 3453054784
Publisher: Fiorenza Publishing
Published: 2021-03-02T23:00:00+00:00

14

Was it possible to die from mortification?

Lottie feared it might be.

Worse, the one person she could pose the medical question to—namely one Dr. Alexander Whitaker—was the very source of her embarrassment.

How could she have kissed him? Why had she done it?

She had rushed out of his bedchamber as if her skirts were on fire. Which, given the heat of her skin in that moment, was a legitimate concern. She took supper in her rooms and then lay awake for half the night, marinating in acidic mortification.

What should she do?

She could not avoid Cousin Alex forever.

Or, rather, she did not want to avoid Cousin Alex forever.

But she did need a small amount of distance.

Time to clear the darts of attraction and temptation from her brain.

Time to sort through the wonder of their conversation and wrangle her wayward emotions into order.

She tossed and turned in her bed, unable to fall asleep. The clock in her bedchamber struck two.

As was typical in the middle of the night, her thoughts twisted through strange paths.

She mourned Papa and Gabriel and little Anne. She never forgot them.

Some days, she still expected to hear Papa call out to her—Lottie-love, have you seen my spectacles? Or to feel the mattress sag as Anne sneaked into her bed for a cuddle. Or to watch Gabriel layer paint on a canvas.

Their absence was a gaping hole, and Lottie struggled to rebuild the shambles of her life around the chasm of their loss.

Of course, pondering her ever-present grief did not logically follow from her mortifying kiss.

However, they were connected for her.

It was the oddest thing. But after nearly two years of pain and grief, melting into embarrassment over an ill-advised kiss felt almost . . . normal.

As if the very act of kissing Alex had awakened something within her. Something that longed to stretch its wings and truly live once more.

She laid on her side, cheek resting on her palm. The pulsing glow from the banked fire painted the room in quivering shadows.

The beginnings of that kiss had likely been kindled when Cousin Alex had listened.

What had she said about Theo?

He found the weight of my love onerous, both my love for my family, as well as my love for him.

Theo had only heard what he wished in her words, the bits that corroborated with the life he wanted to lead. He gave every appearance of listening, yet had not, in fact, heard her.

But Cousin Alex was Theo’s opposite in this, was he not? When she spoke, Alex listened, hearing meaning even in the words she did not say.

Somewhere in the middle of all this . . . she finally fell asleep.

She woke to fitful sunlight slipping through the shutters.

Mortification still fluttered in her chest.

But somehow part of her was freer.

For once, she didn’t wish to don black or gray or even lavender. She was ready, she realized, to let go of her mourning colors. It was time to move onward.

Her maid blinked in surprise when Lottie asked to wear a favorite cornflower-blue frock from years past.

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