Once a Mistress

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

Histories are more full of examples of the fidelity

  of dogs than of friends.

  Alexander Pope, 1688—1744

  The trip to London was the longest journey Drew had ever made. Lord and Lady St. Jacque had a three or four hour head start on him, but they were traveling in an older, heavier coach pulled by a team of older, heavier, and slower horses while he and Kathryn and their solicitor, Martin, were traveling in a lighter, well-sprung coach with a continuous relay of faster teams. Drew had sent Riley and two grooms to ride ahead of the coach and arrange for fresh horses at every stop on the Old Roman Road.

  They arrived in London while the lamplighters were still at their appointed rounds, lighting the way on the city streets. They bypassed Drew’s town house and went straight to the St. Jacques’ home. Drew leaped from the coach and bounded up their front steps before the vehicle rolled to a stop. He pounded on the front door and kept pounding until the St. Jacques’ butler admitted him.

  “My lord, the household has retired for the evening.” Porter tried to block the entrance.

  Drew pushed his way past him and started up the stairs. “Then we’ll just have to wake them, won’t we? The doors of the St. Jacque home are always open to the hero who saved Master Julian’s life and who continued to provide for his care, remember?”

  “Of course, my lord,” Porter replied, “but the master and mistress forbade me to open the doors to anyone this evening.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Porter,” Drew said. “I’ll make certain Lord and Lady St. Jacque and the magistrate know you did your best to prevent me from collecting my son.”

  “Your son, my lord?” Porter was aghast. “I was given to understand that young Master Kit is the grandson of the house.”

  “Not unless my parentage is in question as well,” Drew told him grimly. “His mother and our solicitor will be arriving any moment. Please show them inside.” He stood on the landing of the first floor and shouted, “Now, where the bloody hell is my son?”

  “In here, Drew.”

  Drew opened the door to Julian’s room.

  “If you’ve come to kill me, you’re years too late.” Sitting propped up on a mound of pillows was the shell of the handsome, vibrant young man who had once been Julian St. Jacque.

  Four years ago, he’d had chiseled features and sparkling brown eyes and thick, dark brown hair that curled on his forehead. He’d had expensive taste and a tendency toward dandyism, but Drew had never minded. Now, his face was hollowed and sunken, his complexion was gray, and a sheen of perspiration gave him a waxy cast. He was dying.

  But not quite fast enough.

  “Where is he?” Drew demanded.

  “There.” Julian pointed to the foot of the bed, where Kit was lying sound asleep.

  Drew walked over to the bed and lifted Kit into his arms.

  “I thought I was first,” Julian remarked snidely. “But I see you were first after all. He’s the mirror image of you.”

  “Yes, he is,” Drew said. “And your parents could have spared us a great deal of terror and heartache if they hadn’t been blind to the resemblance.”

  “They didn’t want to see it,” Julian said. “Or they were willing to overlook his parentage to claim him as theirs. I’m not. Take him and be damned.”

  “You be damned, you bastard.” Drew was glad he was holding Kit or he would have choked the rest of whatever life remained in Julian out of him.

  “I’m afraid not.” Julian laughed. “He’s your bastard, Drew, not mine. And I have no intention of claiming him. The whole point of my encounter with Wren was to produce a bastard you’d be forced to claim.”

  “Why?” Drew asked. “For God’s sake, Julian, I loved you like a brother. Why would you rape the woman I was going to marry?”

  Julian shrugged. “I wanted her.”

  Drew was stunned. This was a side of Julian he’d never seen and would never have guessed existed. “But you knew she was mine.”

  “That’s why I wanted her,” Julian said. “Because she was yours. Don’t look so surprised, Drew. Or so shocked. You were always bigger, better, smarter. You had everything. A more prestigious title, more wealth, a better position in the War Office. You were always better than I was. I wanted to best you in something, just once. I wanted to be first where it counted.”

  “You raped a woman to get back at me for imagined faults?”

  “I raped her because I could,” Julian said, “because I knew she’d never tell you and that even if you found out she was raped, you’d never suspect me. You’re too loyal, Drew. Too trusting. You take it for granted that everyone likes you and is like you. Some of us despise you for being so damned perfect.”

  Drew shook his head. “I was never perfect. Nor did I ever pretend to be.”

  “You didn’t have to pretend,” Julian sneered. “You’ve never made a wrong step in your life.”

  “And you’ve never made a right one.”

  “So nice of you to finally notice.”

  “I always noticed, but you were my friend and I did everything I could to help you—even going so far as to save your miserable life on the battlefield.” Drew fought to keep from choking on his disgust. “We’ve been friends for five and twenty years and I never knew you at all.”

  “You knew me better than anyone,” Julian said. “But like most noble men, you saw what you wanted to see. You saw the friend you wanted. So tell me, Drew, what do you intend to do now that you’ve seen Wren again and learned she had your child out of wedlock rather than mine?”

  “I did what I always planned to do. I married her.”

  Julian began to laugh. “You married her? When?”

  “Five days ago.”

  “You are a fool, Drew.”

  “I was when I was listening to you,” he said, “but not anymore. I married Kathryn because I love her.

  Because I’ve always loved her and I always will. If I’m a fool it’s because I trusted you so much I was willing to risk losing her. And let me tell you, Julian, nothing—not even a lifelong friendship with you—is worth losing her.”

  Julian snorted in contempt. “And what if she had presented you with my bastard nine months after you married? How noble would you have been then? I know you, Drew, and I know that you’ve plenty of pride in yourself and in the family name. You wouldn’t have been as willing to accept another man’s son as your own as you think.”

  “Yes, I would. Being a father is more about rearing a child than siring it. And any child born of Kathryn’s body would be as much my child as hers because I’d want it.” Drew smiled down at Kit.

  “That’s what you say now. Too bad I didn’t leave a bastard on her six years ago, then we could have put your convictions to the test.”

  “You did. His name was Ian Wesley Stafford.”

  Julian looked up to find Kathryn standing in the door. “You’re looking well, Wren,” he said. “Exceptionally well.”

  The way he leered at her body made her skin crawl, but Wren refused to show it. “You look exceptionally evil,” she said. “And all but dead.”

  Her comments stung. Julian had always taken his exceptional good looks for granted. He’d never had to develop inner strength and character because he had such a handsome exterior package. Julian liked to think he was sensitive, but the truth was that he was shallow. He turned to Drew and snapped, “Get her out of my house. She has no right to be here.”

  “As long as you have my son, I have every right to be here,” Wren told him. “But now that I’ve seen what you’ve become, I think that facing my fear of you and learning to look evil in the eye without running and hiding would have been reason enough to come here—even if you hadn’t held my son hostage.” She looked Julian in the eye. “Kit is not your son, nor is he related to you in any way.” She turned to Drew and smiled at him. “He’s ours.”

  Drew placed Kit in her arms and draped his arm over her shoulder and held her close. “Let’s go home.”

  Julian
ignored him. “You said something about a child.”

  “Yes, I did,” Wren said. “But you don’t deserve an explanation from me.”

  “What about us?”

  Wren turned to find Lord and Lady St. Jacque standing in the doorway. “You don’t deserve my consideration either,” she said. “You stole my son and brought him to the man who raped me!”

  “He didn’t…”

  “He did. Two days before my wedding. He deceived Drew and tricked me. He attacked me in the coach on the way home, raped me, then dropped me off at the front door of my aunt’s town house as if I were rubbish. I prayed I’d never have to set eyes on him as long as I lived. I prayed I could forget what had happened, but that was impossible because your son left me with a child.” She stared at the older couple. “Ian Wesley Stafford was born nine months from the day of the rape and he died eight months later.”

  “How?” Lady St. Jacque demanded. “Tell me how he died.”

  “You’re in no position to make demands of me,” Wren reminded her. “And when this day is done, I will never speak to you or utter your name again.” She turned away from Lady St. Jacque and Julian and fixed her gaze on Lord St. Jacque. “I didn’t ask for him, but I loved him. Unfortunately, Ian was born with a bleeding disease. My father told me that that horrible affliction sometimes occurs in our family. Boy babies with Markinson blood in them don’t always live very long. Ian was eight months old and attempting to crawl when he bumped his chin and bled to death.”

  Lady St. Jacque gasped. “The babies I bore before and after Julian suffered the same affliction.” She looked at Julian. “My son’s sin was visited upon his child.”

  Drew was shocked. He’d never known there had been other children. “No, madam. Julian’s sin forced his conception, but it went no further than that. Ian was an innocent baby and had his mother been able to marry me, I would have claimed him as mine and given him a home and as comfortable a life as possible. I don’t believe God punishes children for their fathers’ sins.”

  He looked at Julian. “I can’t pretend to understand why you did what you did to Kathryn or to me, but I want you to know that you have my undying contempt and my pity.”

  “I don’t give a bloody damn for your contempt and I don’t need your pity!”

  “You have it nonetheless,” Drew told him. “You earned it. You wasted your life envying me and coveting what I had instead of making a life of your own.” He reached for Wren’s hand and took hold of it. “My wife and son and I are going home.”

  “Wait!” Lady St. Jacque reached out and touched Wren on the sleeve. “Where is he buried?”

  Wren didn’t answer.

  “He was our grandson. We have a right to know.”

  Wren faced the other woman, her voice cold and uncompromising. “You have no rights—to my memories of Ian. They belong to me.”

  “What of him?” She nodded toward Kit. “He has no grandparents. We could fill that void.”

  “Kit is a Ramsey. He doesn’t need you to be his grandparents, he has us.”

  Kit opened his eyes at the sound of his name. “Mama?”

  “I’m here, my darling.”

  “Can we go home now? I don’t like it here. I want to see Lancelot and Jem and Ally.” He yawned widely and stretched.

  “We’re on our way.” Drew pressed his lips against Kit’s forehead as they approached the bedroom door.

  “There is one more thing.” Drew turned his full attention on Lord St. Jacque. “You and your wife are guilty of kidnapping, my lord. And if either one of you or your miserable son attempts to come near my family or contact me in any way for any reason ever again, I’ll see you prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Julian’s crime has already cost us six years of our lives. That’s long enough. I’ll brook no more interference from you.”

  “What about me?” Julian shouted as Drew ushered Kathryn and Kit out of the bedroom. “What do you intend to do about me?”

  “I’m going to wait for you to die your slow, painful death. And then I’ll murmur a prayer for your immortal soul, because I can’t bring myself to waste the effort of hating a man who’s little more than a pitiful husk.”

  “You’re a fool, Drew!” Julian called out to him. “You always were. Have you any idea what sort of woman you’ve married?”

  “I have a very good idea. I married a lady, Julian. The finest lady in all the world.” He leaned down and covered Kathryn’s lips with his own.

  “I’d like more children,” Wren said, when she and Drew and Kit were settled in the carriage and heading home to Swanslea Park.

  She and Drew sat side by side in the carriage. Kit had fallen asleep. He lay sprawled across them, with his head in Drew’s lap and his feet in hers. Wren retied his bootlace and traced the tip of her finger down his leg.

  A rush of tenderness surged through Drew when Kathryn met his gaze and spoke those words. “So would I.”

  “I’d like very much to have your children.”

  “I’d like that too,” he said. “But…” He frowned, unable to put his concerns into words.

  “Drew, I know what could happen to our babies. I know there’s a chance that they might suffer the same fate as Ian. But there’s an equal chance that they won’t and I’m willing to risk it.” She smiled up at him. “I’m willing to trust that everything will be all right.”

  “And if it isn’t?” he asked.

  “We’ll still have each other and Kit,” she said. “And the love we share.”

  Drew nodded. “And we can always adopt.” He reached over and covered Kathryn’s hand with his own. “I’ve asked Martin to try to locate the other mistresses. My father charged me with their care,” he reminded her. “And they may have need of us.” He shrugged. “And there may be other children who have need of us.”

  She smiled. “We could fill the house with Ramsey children,” she said. “Half-brothers and sisters and all of them miniatures of you.”

  “It’s possible,” he agreed. “But not very likely.”

  “We could fill the house with Ramsey children anyway.”

  “Kathryn?” He looked in her eyes and saw his dreams reflected in them.

  She nodded. “We don’t have to confine ourselves to George’s offspring. There’s a world of children in need of a home, a family, and parents who love them.”

  “Then we’ll see that they get them,” Drew told her, leaning down to plant a kiss on her brow. “Because no child could ever wish for a better mother than you.”

  Epilogue