Raising her face from his shoulder, she shook her head. “Jack’s business is in Oxfordshire, but he wrote that he would like us to find a house in town, too.”
Although a bit confused, George nodded. “And what exactly is his business?”
Josephine took a deep breath. “Wool,” she finally said with a nod.
George blinked once. Wool meant sheep, and sheep meant … a shepherd. Could her Jack be a simple shepherd? George couldn’t imagine Josephine, a woman who was so worldly—so interested in politics and current affairs—with a man who was a shepherd. “Sheep?” he clarified, thinking she was trying to make her Jack sound as if he had a better station in life. As long as he’s not a tailor.
“Well, he used to tend them when we were children. His father had quite an extensive herd, you see,” she explained quickly. “But Jack figured out a way to make a better weaving machine that turns the wool into a very fine fabric.”
Not a shepherd, then, George realized, completely changing his course of thinking about Jack. “Indeed?” he replied with a furrowed brow. Did having an extensive herd of sheep mean her future husband’s family had an extensive bit of money then? “And does he have one of these machines in actual operation?”
Nodding, Josephine said, “I believe there are over a hundred of them in his building in Oxford. He employs several hundred people to operate them and keep them in working order. And several clerks to keep track of the business, of course.”
So, he’s definitely not a shepherd, George thought in surprise. In fact, the man sounded like he could be quite wealthy. “The Luddites haven’t burned him out, then?”
Cocking her head to one side, she gave George a look of derision. “Jack saw fit to hire people who lost their positions at the factories where the first frames were installed, insisting he wanted only experts to create his superfine,” she explained patiently. “It struck me as very wise of him to play on the egos of mere factory workers like that. He makes them feel important. And he pays them more than they made when they worked on looms.”
Wise, indeed. “And you love him?” George stated more than asked. He stood very still as he waited for her response.
Knowing she would hurt him with his answer, Josephine returned her head to his shoulder. “I always have, George,” she said quietly. “Just as much as I do you,” she added as she leaned her head back so that she could see his face.
George nodded, although he had a hard time believing the last statement. Was it possible for a woman to love two men at the same time? “Do you suppose I will ever be allowed to meet the man?” he wondered, his gaze capturing Josephine’s. At her suddenly arched eyebrow, he added, “I think I would be more accepting of your arrangement if I at least … knew the man.”
Josephine gave him a brief nod. “He cannot know, George,” she whispered, her head shaking almost imperceptibly.
Pressing his lips into a thin line, George regarded her for a very long time. “Then he won’t,” he agreed, hugging her body to his own as if it would be the last time they embraced.
And with that hug, George realized why Josephine was so insistent about helping with the evening’s plan, for now it was more important than ever he convince Elizabeth Carlington to be his wife. Josephine had a future planned—and it didn’t include him.
Chapter 29
Meeting a Mistress for the Very First Time
Suddenly nervous and wondering for at least the tenth time that day what she was thinking when she made the odd request of George Bennett-Jones, Elizabeth took a quick look in the cheval mirror. She might have been wearing a dinner gown, its peacock silk overskirt shimmering in the early evening light from the nearby window, but with only petticoats and a pair of pantaloons and stockings and without a corset or even a chemise beneath, she felt almost naked.
Oh, what was I thinking? she asked herself again. She could, of course, simply send a note of regret with whomever was in the coach when it came to fetch her. It was a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, after all. But what a coward she would seem to be if she backed out now! And she might be many things, but ‘coward’ was not on the list. What if George had had plans and suddenly changed them to accommodate her request? But, no, he had been the one to set the time and place. She had merely made the request, and implored him as a friend to consider it. But come to think on it some more, she hadn’t really begged. She had merely told him what she wanted.
And not in her typical Elizabeth Carlington manner.
She had been so nervous she could barely walk and breathe at the same time. That George had so readily agreed to her request had surprised her; she expected him to request some time to think on it before giving her an answer, and then, after an interminable two or three days, probably give her his regrets, saying he could not in good conscious do something so salacious to a lady of the ton.
And the biggest surprise of all—he intended to ask for her hand in marriage if she didn’t accept the earl’s suit!
Did he say that out of a sense of honor? For what he planned to do to her went far beyond kissing—it would be considered ruination by anyone. He promised he would leave her a virgin, a condition she hadn’t even considered. She must have sounded like a wanton when she made her request! But, if he found her curiosity anything out of the ordinary, he didn’t indicate it in his response nor in how he behaved toward her the rest of the afternoon.
“Lady Charlotte’s town coach has arrived, miss,” Anna said from the doorway. “Looks to be fairly new.” She gave her mistress a quick look and added a hairpin where a curl threatened to come loose. “What will you take for a wrap? It may get a bit chilly later, and I think it’s about to rain.”
Anna always thought it was about to rain. Trouble was, she was usually right. This was England. And it rained more often than not.
Flutterbies were circling inside Elizabeth as she considered what to wear over her gown. “My mantle with the hood,” she replied finally, knowing it would seem redundant to wear the peacock-feathered bonnet and her hood over it, but hiding her identity might prove more important at two o’clock in the morning than any fashion faux pax.
“Very good, my lady,” Anna said, coming out of the dressing room with the long wool cape. “Are you going to the theatre then?” she wondered as she helped drape the mantle around Elizabeth’s shoulders.
“That’s the plan, although with Lady Charlotte, who knows? We may end up spending the evening playing cards. No need to wait up. I can undress myself.”
With that comment better matching what she had written to Charlotte Bingham in her earlier correspondence, Elizabeth took her leave and boldly walked out to the waiting coach.
It was a beautiful town coach—unmarked, shiny and jet black with no evidence it had ever been used before this evening. A footman held the door open for her as she joined a woman she expected to be one of George’s maids. Instead she found a very attractive woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in an expensive carriage gown of green wool and sporting a very fashionable matching hat with green feathers. Elizabeth took the seat opposite the woman, in the direction of travel, settling herself into fine leather squabs and sighing as she realized the trip to George’s house would be very comfortable.
The woman’s expression was friendly as she regarded Elizabeth.
“Hello,” Elizabeth said a bit uncertainly, wondering at first if she was climbing into someone else’s coach. Then it dawned on her. As a member of the ton, Elizabeth would be expected to make the first introduction, even though the other woman was obviously older. “I am Elizabeth Carlington,” she said as she held out her right hand and gave the woman a tentative smile.
The woman took her hand and shook it, her eyes taking in Elizabeth without seeming to do so. “Lady Elizabeth,” she nodded in turn, her head cocking to one side. “Forgive me, but you are at least as beautiful as George described,” she said with a bit of awe in her voice. “I thought he was exaggerating.” She had seen Elizabeth
many times over the years, of course, but not like this. Not since her coming out. Not since she had changed from a girl fresh out of the schoolroom into a woman.
Elizabeth’s mouth formed that perfect little ‘o’ as she heard the words and realized the identity of the woman. “Are you … Josephine, perhaps?” she ventured carefully, studying the elegant visage before her.
Shutting her eyes for an instant, Josephine hissed. “I apologize, my lady. I have been so nervous about meeting you, I’ve gone and forgotten my manners. I am Josephine Wentworth,” she admitted with a nod, her air of confidence momentarily gone.
“Oh, please call me Elizabeth. George told me you are his best friend,” she insisted as she leaned forward a bit. I’ve seen this woman before! “Pardon me, but haven’t I seen you at the house? In conference with my father, perhaps?” she wondered, trying to remember the circumstances. In the study. She was dressed in widow’s weeds, saying something about an earl while her father sat behind his desk and drank brandy. In the morning.
A bit wary, Josephine regarded the younger woman with a look of surprise. “George said that?” she asked in a quiet voice, deciding to address the comment about George saying she was his best friend before deciding how best to explain her visit to Elizabeth’s father. She tore her gaze from Elizabeth’s for a moment, not quite sure what to say. She had expected the woman to be an uppity, spoiled rotten child, and instead, Elizabeth seemed friendly and approachable. “As to my visit with your father, I was simply there to warn him about a potential political opponent. Politics are a … hobby of mine,” she added, not expecting Elizabeth to understand.
Elizabeth noted the woman’s sudden change in comportment, the way she worried the fabric of her gown between her gloved fingers, the way her eyes had trouble focusing on her. Have I embarrassed her? “George also mentioned your prior relationship with him,” she offered carefully, her voice as neutral as possible. She knew she shouldn’t share a coach with a woman of ill repute, but George had said he was no longer employing a mistress, which meant he was no longer employing her as a mistress. And the woman had been in her home, conversing with her father. Apparently not in the capacity of a mistress. Politics are a hobby …
All the air seemed to go out of Josephine just then, her beautiful features showing disappointment. Elizabeth thought the woman might cry. “I apologize. Perhaps I misunderstood …”
“You did not,” Josephine hurried to interrupt her. Her head was shaking from side to side. “It is time for George to marry, and as much as I adore the man, and I do very much, I am far too old and set in my ways to consider him for a husband,” she explained, a brittle smile on her lips. “Perhaps you will allow me to continue as his friend … that is, if you end up becoming his wife. I do hope you won’t banish me …”
“Of course not,” Elizabeth interrupted, a bit surprised at the mention that she might become George’s wife. George must have told her everything! Which means he is truly serious about asking for my hand if I do not accept the earl’s suit! “He values you. Values your friendship and your opinions very much. I would hope we could … be friends,” she added, wondering if her words sounded terribly naïve to the woman who was obviously far more worldly than Elizabeth. And whatever was she thinking to say they could be friends? Josephine Wentworth was a mistress! A lady couldn’t be seen hosting a lady of the evening! Perhaps she wasn’t well known as a mistress, though, Elizabeth considered. She certainly looked respectable, what with her beautiful carriage gown and bonnet and a pretty face that didn’t sport much in the way of cosmetics.
But now wasn’t the time to be thinking about the mistress. She needed to know more about George! “Might I ask a question about George?” Elizabeth wondered then, thinking that the woman before her probably knew more about the man than anyone else.
A wan smile appeared on Josephine’s face. “Of course. I expect you have dozens. George said you’d only just met a few nights ago.”
Elizabeth reeled at that. It had only been a few nights. Two balls at which the worst and most wonderful things had happened. “Did George tell you why I am visiting him at his house tonight?”
Sighing, Josephine caught a lower lip with a tooth. “He said you had a curiosity about pleasure and that you were coming for dinner.”
Elizabeth could feel her face heat up with embarrassment. “Oh, dear,” she replied, her eyes flitting nervously around the coach. “Do you … think me wanton? For wondering about … about pleasure, I mean?”
The former mistress smiled sadly. “No, my darling. I should be worried if you did not.”
Well, this was unexpected. “And, does George think I am wanton?”
Josephine giggled, the musical sound of it at odds with her elegant manner. “I rather doubt it. One of the reasons he is so enamored with you is that you are not a frail, fraidy kitten. You apparently know what you want and are willing to go after it,” she added with an arched eyebrow, daring Elizabeth to counter the assessment.
“I assure you, I have never done anything like this before,” Elizabeth breathed, her nervousness returning. “I just … I do not want to go through life wondering what might have been if I end up married to a man who kisses like a dog and employs multiple mistresses.”
Josephine sat up straighter, obviously surprised by the odd comment. Of course, she knew the identity of Elizabeth’s subject. “Oh, my. You’re not speaking of the Earl of Trenton by any chance, are you?” she wondered, her expression taking on a painful grimace.
Her own eyes widening, Elizabeth nodded. “Why, yes. There’s been talk he plans to ask for my hand. Although my father says he has not yet asked his permission to do so.”
Shaking her head in disgust, Josephine pretended to be interested in something outside the coach. “One of my friends is a mistress to Trenton. I would never put up with him myself, for I cannot tolerate lickers …” She paused, and Elizabeth heard her quick inhalation of breath. “I apologize.”
“Please, do not. Tell me what you were about to say,” Elizabeth insisted. “I must know of his proclivities. I already know about his … wet kisses,” she said with a hint of disgust.
Attempting to stifle a giggle, Josephine rolled her eyes. “There are times—and places on your body—where you will find it is … appropriate for a man to … lick you. Trenton does not seem to have those sorted just yet. Which is why his three mistresses tend to keep him talking as much as possible so there is little time for him to engage in kissing and such,” she added with a hint of delight. Oh, what tactics mistresses could employ to tolerate their protectors!
Elizabeth stared at the older woman. “Oh, dear,” she finally breathed, a feeling of unease crawling through her. The coach suddenly stopped, and from the gentle bump she felt, she realized the driver had dismounted. She could hear the click of his heels on the cobbles as he walked to the door. Staring at Josephine, Elizabeth could feel her confidence waning even before the door opened.
Why was she suddenly nervous? George is the one who is smitten with me. She only thought to take advantage of his offer and learn as much as she could before agreeing to marry the Earl of Trenton. The fact that George Bennett-Jones wanted her as a wife didn’t figure in her reasons for seeing him this evening.
Josephine saw Elizabeth’s discomfort and leaned forward to take one of the younger woman’s hands in hers. “He will not hurt you. He will not take your virtue. He just wants to give you what you want. What you asked for,” she said in an urgent voice. “And I beg you, please, do not hurt him.”
Elizabeth had to force her mouth to close upon hearing Josephine’s last words. Do not hurt him?
Whatever could I do to hurt him?
Chapter 30
Welcome to Bostwick Place
The door to the coach opened. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth nodded to George’s best friend, pulled her mantle hood over her bonnet, and stepped out of the coach. She waited for Josephine to step out of the coach, but
the driver was already closing the door. When Elizabeth turned around to face the house, she gazed up in astonishment. In the center, an arched portico was supported by two Grecian columns, their alabaster finish so bright and untouched by soot, Elizabeth thought they must be new or, at the very least, recently cleaned. Brass fittings on the forest green painted double doors were polished to a sheen, the lion head of the knocker reflecting the light from the gas lamps on either side of the doors. The sense of newness was pervasive, even the cut stone steps beneath her feet seemed as if a mason had placed them only last week and she was the first to step on them.
Had the house just been built?
She was sure she would have noticed its construction when on her carriage rides to Hyde Park. No, this house had been here all along, perhaps in a shabbier state, she thought as she regarded the potted topiary trees flanking the front doors. Even their spiral design was perfect in scale and trim, making her think a gardener had been on duty only moments ago. Everything about the exterior of the house suggested its owner came from wealth or had inherited an estate worth thousands. George must be rich. A quick look around the nearby homes confirmed she was in Park Lane. George Bennett-Jones was indeed rich if he could afford a townhouse here in Mayfair! Or, perhaps he merely let the property. Even so, the rent would be exorbitant!
Before she had reached the wide landing at the top of the steps, she noticed the large pots of topiary trees were flanked by smaller pots of colorful flowers. Aware of the coach pulling out of the drive, she turned to watch it leave, suddenly wondering if the coach belonged to George or to Josephine. A town coach was expensive. Extremely expensive. And that one was so new, she was probably only one of a few to sit in its plush leather squabs.
Love Regency Style Page 213
