“Good night. And thank you, George.”
Richard signalled to one of the servers as George exited the lounge. He ordered a brandy and sat gazing into the flames of the fireplace. It was an off hour. Not too many were in the club. The lounge was empty save for two gentlemen speaking in hushed tones in a corner.
He composed a note to Mimi in his head. He liked the tone of it and decided that after writing and sending it off he would also send a letter to his friend in the United States. He was eager to enquire further about the American planter class and how he might become a part of it.
He tossed back his brandy and left the club. A hackney was passing along St James just as he walked out onto the road. He hailed it and was home in a matter of minutes.
Once inside he went to his chamber and rustled paper, pen, ink and wax out of his desk. He had to know, once and for all, if Mimi loved him as he loved her. He needed to know if she would become his wife. If she would be the lady of his plantation in Georgia.
*******
Duke Hertford alighted from the carriage at the front of the house on Jermyn Street. He really ought to move Mimi and her mother out of this neighbourhood. The neighbours probably thought Mimi was already his mistress.
He sighed. No one was safe from the preconceived notions and bigotry of the haut ton. But the people of the St James area were trades people. They hoped for the kind of happy story that would see one of their own marry a Duke and become a Duchess. The kind of story that would be told over and over about the common girl who had come close to royalty by marrying a Duke. A common girl who had become a member of the ton. They had no idea, not really, that Hertford’s marrying Mimi, even his loving her, even his making her a Duchess would not put her there. It would not make her a member of the ton. Not really.
Of course the hypocrites would accept her in his presence, but as soon as they were not around, the gossip would fly. Mimi would be better off as the Duke’s mistress. He told himself that he looked out for her best interests.
He walked up to the front door and raised the shiny brass knocker three times then waited.
The door opened, and Jones bowed. “Your Grace. Please, this way.”
Hertford followed the butler to the drawing room where he was left to await Marie. He sat in a large high backed chair, facing the fire, and looked around.
It wasn’t a bad room at all. The decor was simple and comfortable. The portrait of Marie as a young woman that adorned the spot over the mantle could go, but other than that, it was pleasant enough to sit and rest oneself. Small and while not exactly elegant, it was somewhat classic.
Nancy entered the room and curtsied. “Madame Hancock apologises, Your Grace. She is not yet ready to receive you. Might I get you some refreshment?”
“A brandy would be fine. What is your name, girl?”
“Nancy, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Nancy.” He smiled in a most charming manner. He was more than aware that what he lacked, and it wasn’t much, in looks he more than made up for in charm. Nancy left the room, and he continued his perusal of the interior decor.
Nancy came back into the room with a tray. Hertford’s brandy told him that Marie would take about twenty minutes more. It was unseemly for a man to drink so in front of a woman. By the time he finished the beverage, Marie would be ready to see him.
“Do you mind if I show myself around, Nancy?”
“Not at all, Your Grace. Madame said you were to do whatever you’d like while you wait.”
“Thank you, Nancy.”
The girl curtsied and hurried from the room as if she were afraid of him. Hertford was used to that sort of thing. The servant girls of the middle class were always nervous around him. He was something foreign and intriguing to them. And they were intimidated as much as they found themselves, somehow, attracted to him.
He chuckled to himself and walked out of the drawing room. To his left he stepped down a staircase leading to the kitchen, servants’ hall, and the back area. He strolled through the kitchen, perusing the set up of the preparation table. Above it, pots and pans hung from hooks in the ceiling. There were shelves lining the walls with every size of mixing bowl, and a huge pot rested over the embers in the wall sized fireplace.
A noise alerted him that someone was coming in from the back door in the hallway. He looked up, and a young boy stood in the hallway at the kitchen door. A young boy who had no idea who he was about to address.
“Excuse me, is Miss Giselle here?”
“Who are you? Who asks for Miss Giselle, boy?”
“My master. Lieutenant Warren. I have a note here for Miss Giselle.”
“Uh, Miss Giselle is not here. I’ll take the note.”
“Oh, no I’m sorry. That wouldn’t do at all. I was told to give this note only to Miss Giselle.”
“Well, uh, she is indisposed at this time. You can give it to me. I’ll see she gets it. Tell your master that you gave it to, um, the butler. Yes, tell the Lieutenant you gave the note to the butler. Miss Giselle cannot be found at the moment. I believe she’s attending to her mistress.”
“You’ll see that Miss Giselle gets the note?”
“Yes, yes.” Hertford looked around and lowered his voice. “Run along now, boy.”
The boy bowed. “Thank you.”
“Yes. Uh, you are welcome.” The boy turned and left the way he’d come, and Hertford downed the brandy he’d been sipping. He left the glass on the table and went back upstairs to the drawing room.
He sat on the sofa and turned the note over in his hands. It was addressed to Mimi. “Hmm.” He sat back and broke the wax seal.
My Dearest Mimi,
Having heard nothing from you, I fear you do not remember my visit of two weeks ago. You were coming out of the delirium of your fever. We expressed our feelings for each other once again, much as we did that night in your garden so many years ago.
Please, my love. Return this correspondence that I may know your true feelings for me. I remain, as ever, yours.
Richard
Hertford read the note again and chuckled once more. “No she doesn’t remember, Lieutenant.” He tore the note into bits and sprinkled them over the flames in the fire.
“Your Grace?” Giselle came to the doorway of the drawing room and curtsied. “Mademoiselle will see you now.”
He flashed a most handsome grin. “Thank you, Giselle.”
She nodded. “Right this way, Your Grace.”
*******
Five days had passed, and Richard had heard nothing from Mimi. He sat in his bedchamber, curtains drawn, unshaven and smelling like the brandy he’d drunk too much of the previous night. He wondered if he should go to the house and ask Marie if he could see her.
The stable boy had taken the note over. Giselle hadn’t been in the area or the servants’ hall so the boy had given it to the butler. Jones would have given the note directly to Giselle. But the boy hadn’t witnessed it.
Richard could only take the absence of a response from Mimi as her answer. She didn’t love him anymore. He had to accept it. He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat. In his inebriated state he’d thrown the garment across the table the night before.
He extracted the locket Mimi had sent to him so long ago. Before she and her mother had moved to Paris. Before war had changed him and made him subject to wandering in his mind. Before certain sounds made him nearly jump out of his skin. Before the nightmares and the almost constant pain in his withered leg would sometimes drive him to distraction.
He fondled the locket and opened it. The shiny tress of ebony hair still rested inside. The lock still smelled faintly of citrus and flowers.
He wondered. Was there a possibility of the Duke actually marrying Mimi? If she were to become Duchess Hertford, she would be lost to Richard forever.
He knew that Marie would prefer her daughter to be the mistress of a Duke rather than the wife of an army lieutenant. Mimi could be exposed to other men of a higher so
cial standing than Richard could ever associate with on a regular basis. It was the kind of social standing one was born into.
There was nothing for him to do but let her go. He decided that he would leave for the United States before he received word back from his friend, John Rodgers.
“Blackmore!” He called the butler, and then rang for him.
“Yes, Sir?” Blackmore hurried into the chamber wrinkling his nose. “Uh, Lieutenant, will you be having a bath. Is that why you rang?”
Richard let his head fall back against the chair he sat in. “I suppose I should. I had a rather late night.”
“Very good, Sir. I shall ring the new footman. He’ll get the water heating. We should have everything ready in about one hour. Will you have some, uh, coffee? Perhaps? While you wait?”
“Very well. I smell like brandy, do I? Well I’m not drunk. I can assure you.”
“It’s not for me to judge.”
“There is nothing to judge, Blackmore. But I would like your opinion on something.”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Sit, will you? Here.” He patted the sofa nearby.
“That wouldn’t be fitting.”
“Oh, Blackmore. Please! Sit. Take it as an order.”
“Y … yes, Lieutenant.” The butler gingerly sat on the edge of the sofa.
“I have a proposition for you, Blackmore. It has to do with the future. Specifically, my future. But, I am prepared to take you and Camille along with me.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir. You are prepared to take me? And Camille?”
“Look, I realised my mother offended Camille by leaving her, and you for that matter, here. The move to Wimpole Street should have included the two of you. But, my mother is leaving her past behind. And you have been with us since the two of you were not yet twelve years old. Camille comes from the Hancocks. My mother has broken ties with them. And, because she is not a complete ogre, she did not want to separate the two of you.”
“I thank her, Lieutenant. Camille thanks her also.”
“That aside, I’d like to tell you my idea.”
“Yes. What is the idea?”
“I’m going to America.”
“America?”
“Yes. I plan to go to Georgia. A man I was at the war with, John Rodgers, uh, Lieutenant Rodgers is there. He has written to me. He is landed gentry now. I daresay his place is higher than even that. He is at the top of the planter class. That’s what it’s called there.”
“I see. And what has this to do with Camille and myself?”
“I want you to sail with me to the United States, Blackmore. It’s wide open. You could break out of the servant class, there.”
Blackmore said nothing, but Richard saw the glimmer in his eyes. “We could be equals there, Blackmore. Camille could be a lady in a great house. She could make the menus for her own grand dinner parties and ball suppers. She could have her own staff, her own cook. You both could make many of your dreams come true.”
“It sounds like a dream, Sir.”
“It is, Blackmore. But it is a dream that can become reality. If you make the journey with me, I am prepared to lend you the money to buy land and build.”
“But, that is too generous. How would I ever pay you back?”
“That’s the beauty of it, Blackmore. There would be no rush. We can figure out a contract. My brother can write one up. You would most likely be able to pay me back sooner than you realise. It’s a wide open world, Blackmore. Sail with me. We will each get settled, and then you can send for Camille.”
“It sounds too good to be true.”
“But it’s not. Of course, you’ll want to discuss this with Camille. I can give you four days. I’m booking passage to America for both of us. If you and Camille decide you don’t want to start over, I can cancel your passage. How does it sound to you?”
The glimmer in Blackmore’s eyes had become a shine. “It sounds fine, Lieutenant.” He nodded enthusiastically. “It sounds fine, indeed.”
*******
“Maman, this is England. Being a mistress is not the same as it was when you were the age I am now. I might never marry at all if I became Hertford’s mistress. When did the two of you speak of this? The other evening? After he left me? After he spoke to me charmingly and asked me how I might enjoy living in the country? You would have me change my entire life within four days? You would have me give up all that I know so you can better your position in society?”
“He’s willing to buy you an estate, Mimi. He wants to keep you, of course, out of London. It would be disrespectful to keep you there.”
“Disrespectful? To whom other than myself? Certainly you don’t seem worried at all about me.”
“And why should I worry about you, mon ange? You will be sitting pretty in the country. Do you realise it would devastate every woman in London to know that the Duke prefers you above all others. Of course, even I must admit, it would certainly hurt the pride if not the heart of his bride.”
The ladies were having breakfast in Mimi’s little sitting room. She was well enough to leave her bed. She’d lost weight during her illness, and her already large black eyes appeared huge in her white face. And at Marie’s words, they grew even huger.
“His bride? What are you talking about, Maman?”
“Oh, mon petit chou. Surely you did not think the Duke had it in mind to make you his wife?”
“And why wouldn’t he?”
“Mon ange. You are not …”
“I am not what, Maman?”
“You are not in the Duke’s sphere, Mimi. Be realistic. It’s not your fault, but the Duke could never marry you. The important thing, though, is he prefers you to anyone else. He does, however, have a reputation to uphold. And he has commitments.”
“Commitments? He’s the only available Duke in London. I dare say he has no commitments. Every woman in the ton under the age of thirty has her eyes on him. He is committed to no one but himself.”
“He has family commitments, Mimi. Please don’t be difficult about this. It is the best chance you will ever get to move out of the trade class.”
“Is that so, Maman? Or is it your best chance? Since my father died, you’ve thought of nothing but moving up in society. And you’ve used me to do it. My father saved you in Paris, now you expect me to save you by giving myself, selling myself to a powerful man. What happens when the Duke tires of me, Maman? Will my beautiful country estate still be mine? Or will it go to the next woman who turns the Duke’s head? I would not be allowed in the same room if the Duchess Hertford were present.
“You think only of yourself, Maman. My father accepted his plight. Yes you grew to love him, but if any rich, powerful man had asked you to leave him to be a mistress instead of a wife, you would have. I know that now. And my father knew it.”
“How dare you discuss my relationship with your father. You are out of line, Mimi.”
“I am out of line? You are brokering me to attain for yourself a comfortable old age. You become the mistress of Duke Hertford, Maman. I will have no part in such a farce. If I do anything with him, it will be to marry him.” Mimi stood quickly. Too quickly. Her hand went to her forehead.
“Mimi?” Marie sensed something was wrong. “Mimi, are you well?”
“Um, yes. It’s, it’s nothing.”
Those were the last words she uttered before collapsing to the floor. Unconscious.
“Nancy, Giselle! I need your help,” Marie called.
Chapter 16
“Have you come to a decision, Blackmore? Camille?” Richard sat in the drawing room at the Jermyn Street house. I will be sailing tomorrow.”
The newlyweds looked lovingly at each other. Camille smiled although she had tears in her eyes. Blackmore put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and nodded.
“We have come to a decision, Lieutenant.” Camille spoke quietly. “We thank you for this opportunity.”
“But you are refusing?”
�
�No, not at all. My husband wishes to follow through with your plan. And I am in total agreement. It is a grand opportunity for us. I wish to thank you, Sir. Thank you so much for this opportunity.” She gazed at him dreamily and whispered it again before breaking down in happy tears. “Thank you.”
“This is wonderful news, but are you sure? You are ready to let your husband go in the morning?”
“Yes, Lieutenant. I knew how long I had with my love when he told me the plan.”
The Lost Love of a Stunning Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 18
