Regency Rumours/A Scandalous Mistress/Dishonour And Desire

by Juliet Landon

  Nervertheless, there was one problem very dear to the lady’s heart that, like it or not, he was actively involved in solving and which, for the first time in his adult life, gave him pleasure instead of concern. The problem of conception. Her childless state was now explained, and what he had earlier dismissed as unlikely could easily be made fact.

  In her languorous state where inhibitions still lay dormant, Amelie allowed herself to be swept along by his passion that seethed like deep currents below the surface, ever under control but possessed of a power that disturbed her, making her respond to him. Lacking nothing in purpose, his hands searched more uncharted places, reminding her of their first daring journey over stomach and thigh and, when she squirmed into position, drowsily inviting him while teasing him with her lips, his entry this time was more leisurely than the first assertive attempt, lingering over the theme that would develop gradually, sensuously.

  For her, he brought their loving as close to a concerto for two as he could and, since she was so new to the varied rhythms, cadences and tempos of lovemaking, nothing he did was lost on her, or ignored, rejected or wasted. And when the beat of his loins heightened her rapture, the music of her sighs and cries of delight carried them both into a suspended gasp at the summit of paradise, which, for Amelie, was the beginning of yet another kind of need she had been unaware of until then. This could not, she was convinced, have happened with any other man. That was the only minor key in the score.

  Lying once more in his embrace, floating again upon warm sighs of wonder at the raw beauty of male nakedness, especially his, Amelie recalled the strange circumstances of this event and that this was not designed to have been her reward, but his, that she’d had little choice in the matter, in theory, and that she must not allow him to believe that it was the major event it actually was. Quite sure he could not have discovered her secret, she kept her elation to herself.

  His hand moved gently along her arm, smoothing her. ‘Incredible,’ he murmured. ‘Out of practice or not, my lady, that was exceptional by anybody’s standards. So if that’s the way you fulfil your side of our agreement, I shall lose no time in putting you back into my debt as often as I can devise it. Miss Chester’s feet will hardly touch the ground. Nor will yours, for that matter,’ he added as an afterthought.

  Something in her heart leapt a little at his words, but she would not betray herself, not even by a hug of agreement. ‘I shall keep my side of the bargain, my lord. If I must have a man in my life for a while, then it might as well be one with a reputation like yours that will not suffer unduly from another failed relationship.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, yawning, ‘but there isn’t going to be another failed relationship. And I think it’s time you called me Nick.’

  She could, of course, have put it another way. She could have told him that it was not so much his suffering that concerned her, but her own and that, if she could have chosen any man to share her life, however briefly, it would have been a man like him, reputation or not. She could have said that the past few hours spent in his arms had been for her a glimpse of heaven and that, here on Paradise Road, he had made a complete woman of her at last. She could also have said that, when they finally parted, as they must one day, he would take her heart with him and she would be left more incomplete and alone than ever. But the bargain they had made was not about sentiment, and he would not want to know of such mawkishness.

  Her last thought before she slept was that she must show him her portrait, if only to avoid more difficult moments.

  The revelation was not, however, left entirely in Amelie’s hands for, as Lise came in to draw the curtains and to place a tray of tea on the table, the light washed across the pretty chinoiserie room and on to the opposite wall, where the portrait of Lady Chester looked with interest at the two rumpled lovers in her bed as if she was about to congratulate them on their night’s work. It needed no explaining to Lord Elyot, staring back at her, that the size of the canvas had made it impossible to hang it next to her husband when so many bookcases lined the walls of her workroom.

  She was very beautiful in the year of her marriage, he thought, taking in the swan-like neck and the smooth flesh tones of her upper body in the clinging empire-line gown, white and innocent. Her hair was braided up in a soft pile as it had been last night, her lustrous eyes full of vitality, her lips parted as if caught in conversation with Lawrence, the artist. A fan lay half-open upon her lap, and a sunny garden could be seen just beyond her left shoulder, no doubt as a reference to her interest in botany.

  He recalled the portrait of Sir Josiah, his greater age and almost repressive stolidness in comparison to this young untamed creature’s restless energy, and he wondered why she could not have done better for herself than a middle-aged tycoon, for all his wealth. It would have been the mother, he told himself. The mother’s ambition for title and wealth. It was always the mother’s all-consuming quest for the best catch for her only daughter. He should know.

  But yet there was some unidentifiable familiarity that kept his eyes riveted first on the portrait and then on the beauty in the bed beside him whose face was half-shrouded in glorious brown tresses with a heap of green gems around her neck, reminding him of his childhood and a significant moment in his life when he had met a truly astonishing woman and recognised beauty for the first time. After which he had grown up rather quickly and been able to see the effect she’d had on others, old and young alike, just as Amelie had done last evening. It was, he thought, what they called ‘a rite of passage,’ like taking a woman to bed for the first time.

  But why should the portrait have reminded him of that? What had triggered that hazy memory? And who was it that she reminded him of? No, they were a Manchester family; it was most unlikely that there could be any connection. Would Lord Dysart know? He would be about the same age as Chester, had he lived. There would be no harm in asking the Earl what he knew of the man’s family.

  He smiled and lay back upon the pillow, removed his creased linen drawers from the untidy sheets and studied them, suddenly intent upon a small blood-red smear down one side. That, he thought, would have to be dealt with by someone other than the laundry maid.

  Chapter Seven

  Amelie’s mother, the late lamented Mrs Anne Carr, while carrying out a mother’s duties in most other respects, had never managed to pluck up enough courage to explain to her daughter in any precise terms what to expect from her husband once they were married. Strangely, she had expounded on such matters as orders of precedence, forms of address, the correct attire to wear when visiting a bishop’s wife and the depth of a curtsy to a duchess, but about the mysteries of a marriage bed she had remained silent except to say that Amelie must try to please her husband in all things. Which was one of the few things Amelie already knew.

  As was to be expected, throughout her adolescent years Amelie had deduced that a male and female of any species could produce an infant, and she had seen enough pregnant women to dispel any doubts about that side of things. But the technicalities had remained well beyond her reach and, when dear Mrs Carr had assumed that Sir Josiah would do the rest, she had been quite mistaken. He had not. Not even when Amelie’s marriage failed to produce a Chester heir did Mrs Carr enquire if all was as it should be, nor did she offer any advice except to take a trip to Switzerland, where she herself had first thought of adoption.

  Consequently, Amelie’s first experience of lovemaking had passed off, she believed, remarkably well in view of her appalling ignorance. So well, in fact, that her former misgivings about the act itself were in danger of being replaced by an eagerness that bordered on a greed she found difficult to hide. Though she did try to hide it from Lord Elyot, it was often more than she could manage when he appeared to know that her protests were merely a matter of form, a ladylike attempt to maintain a seemly reticence in view of his uncomfortable hold over her. It was far from an ideal situation to be in when she had thought, for a time at least, to hold the upper hand
. Now, she was not so sure, for there was more at stake here than her debt to him; there were feelings, too. Having sampled the intimacies of Lord Elyot’s debt-collecting, she threw herself wholeheartedly into the system of martyrdom. For Caterina’s sake, she told herself repeatedly, wondering who she was deceiving most.

  Nor was it easy for her to know what Lord Elyot’s views were on their deepening relationship, him not being one to quiz her about how she felt or express his own sentiments except indirectly through satisfaction with her progress in bed. This was unstinting and, she believed, quite genuine, but just as she could hardly expect a man like him to speak of love, nor could she tell him of the way she felt when it would be sure to embarrass him and reveal even more of her vulnerability. What was more, in a matter of months, it would all be irrelevant anyway.

  It had been at third-hand via Tam and Caterina that she had learned how he had been a captain in the Prince of Wales’s own regiment, the 10th Light Dragoons, and Amelie supposed that it might have been this experience that had shaped his attitude of inconstancy towards women, for he had lost several of his married friends fighting against Napoleon’s armies. Tam had told Caterina how his brother-in-law’s former mistresses had all been society hostesses, experienced women on the lookout for exciting, handsome and wealthy lovers, and how he had apparently grown weary of them within a few weeks. Of course, Caterina had hastened to assure her aunt, he had never offered for one until now.

  No, Amelie thought, I don’t suppose he blackmailed them, either.

  This was still a sore point with her for, since that evening at Ham House where she had seen things in a different light, it had become clear that her predicament was not as serious as he had made her believe. Though she had not broached the subject as she had intended to do, she could hardly help feeling that it was she who was sparing his reputation by not making a public denial of their engagement. It was partly the fact that she had been responsible for it in the first place that prevented her from reopening negotiations. That, and the secondary fact that she might win.

  Her next big test as his partner was to hostess a dinner party at Sheen Court the following week, primarily as a platform for Caterina to sing before an invited and friendly audience to include Signor Rauzzini while he was still in the area. Among the guests were Sir Chad and Lady Adorna Elwick, Tam and Hannah and their parents, Sir Joseph Banks and his wife from Kew, Lord Dysart and Mrs Manners, Thomas Lawrence and several noble couples, neighbours who had kindly made themselves pleasant to Amelie and Caterina since the ball at the castle.

  A dinner party on this scale was well within her capabilities, even in the very large and unfamiliar Sheen Court, which was many times larger than her own home. From the start, she struck up an instant rapport with the Marquess’s chef and butler for whom, after the initial interview, she could do no wrong. It was an occasion for which she spared no effort or expense to create a visual and epicurean feast of the most harmonious kind, warm and friendly, dazzling and tasteful, and unusual in its predominance of white, intended to set off the varied colours worn by the guests. Most of all, it was meant to complement Caterina’s performance after the meal.

  For one so young, Caterina’s singing voice was truly remarkable, strong and secure over an astonishing range, luscious with the fruity mellow tones of a mezzo-soprano. Signor Cantoni’s careful tuition of only a few weeks had already made a difference to his pupil’s confidence, bringing out her natural grace of expression and her understanding of the music. As he accompanied her on the pianoforte, the dinner guests sat entranced by the ravishing sounds and by the sight of the chestnut-haired white-clad young woman against a bank of white lilies and roses, pouring out her heart as if she were singing to each listener personally.

  Signor Rauzzini was ecstatic. The discovery of the decade, he insisted, pumping her tutor’s hand. It would be a tragedy if she did not continue with her training. He wished Miss Chester was his pupil. Could she be persuaded to sing for him again, privately, before his return to Bath?

  Not only could she be persuaded—it would be beyond anything she could have hoped for. The evening was an unqualified success, for now Caterina was making a splash not only as a well-connected young woman with a very wealthy guardian-aunt, but with the added attractions of a lovely face and an amazing voice too. That was something quite beyond the usual.

  Amelie’s grand sacrifice was bearing fruit, but she did not mean Lord Elyot to think that it was all his doing or that he should be the one to claim all the rewards when it was she, Amelie, who had shouldered most of the preparation for the event. Certainly it had nudged Caterina further into orbit, but he had gained too. Everyone was remarking on the breaking of new ground: Elyot playing host, at last, in his own home with his future wife. What a step forward, to be sure.

  So when he escorted Amelie and Caterina back to Paradise Road in the early hours of the morning and discreetly suggested that he would like to stay, Amelie’s excuse of tiredness was not too far-fetched to believe. Taking the rejection with a good grace, he returned to Sheen Court.

  The next few days were spent by Amelie and Caterina in preparing, vocally and sartorially, for the visit of Signor Rauzzini, in attending church, in receiving guests and returning calls, in writing letters, interviewing several butlers chosen from Mrs Braithwaite’s shortlist, and in rescuing a sad young mite from a Richmond gutter, which he appeared to believe was his home. Like a runt piglet, he was revived in the kitchen, scrubbed, fed, reclothed and set to work with Riley in the warm stables where a lad was needed, according to the groom. And to add to her benevolent disposition, Amelie paid a solo visit to the workhouse to see the babes and mothers and to unload a bundle of cast-offs from Caterina’s wardrobe and money for the matron’s use. At the same time, she told the matron that if Emily’s mother ever wanted a job as laundress at Paradise Road, there was a vacant place and a room to live in for her and the babe, and plenty of hands to help with it. That, she told herself on the way home, was going through the proper channels.

  A visit to Kew Gardens took up most of the day after that and, when Lord Elyot and Lord Rayne came to call, they were told by the new butler that the Director of Kew had invited her ladyship to visit the glasshouse and that she would not be home until dinner time. Miss Chester was out driving with Mr Tam Elwick.

  ‘Your name?’ said Lord Elyot.

  ‘Killigrew, my lord,’ said the butler with a dip of his shining bald head. He was as tall as the two brothers with shoulders as wide as a wrestler’s, his bearing every inch that of the no-nonsense protector who would know which callers to admit and which to keep out. The face was kindly, middle-aged and polished, but not one to be argued with.

  ‘Settling in, are you?’

  ‘Most comfortable, my lord, I thank you.’

  ‘Good.’ Lord Elyot regarded the silver knob of his cane. ‘You might inform her ladyship that I shall call again after dinner.’

  ‘Very good, my lord. This evening?’

  ‘This evening.’

  ‘Very good, my lord,’ Killigrew repeated, without a blink.

  ‘Looks as if they’ve both got the bit between their teeth,’ Lord Rayne remarked laconically as he took his seat in the perch-phaeton beside his brother. ‘That’s the third time they’ve been out when we called.’

  Lord Elyot flicked his whip above the horses’ ears and caught the lash smartly, settling the matched bays into a high-stepping trot up Paradise Road with an expression hard to read.

  But Seton recognised the hint of annoyance in the tight line of the lips, and did not envy anyone on the receiving end of his brother’s cool unamused gaze. ‘Lady Chester’s not avoiding you, is she?’ he asked, bracing his feet as the phaeton bounced. It would be most unusual if that were the case, for it had always been the other way round.

  ‘Very probably,’ said Nick in the bored tone that did not deceive his passenger for a moment. ‘I intend to find out. Unfortunately, I shall have to go to town again, sooner or la
ter.’

  ‘Oh? Father, is it?’

  ‘And Mother. They want to see me personally about my plans. I almost wish I hadn’t written.’

  ‘So when do you go?’

  ‘I shall try to delay it for as long as possible. It really isn’t convenient to leave Richmond now, of all times. Highly inconvenient, I have to say.’

  ‘D’ye want me to go and speak to them?’

  ‘Lord, no, Sete. I need you here more than ever.’ He cast a sideways glance at Seton’s profile. ‘You’d lose that lass to Tam if you were to leave now, you know.’ When his brother made no reply, he persisted. ‘Don’t you care?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I think I do,’ said Seton. ‘I care because young Tam is a fly-by-night and a coxcomb, and she’s still a country miss who thinks she can flirt with him the way she does at home. And he’s taking advantage of that, Nick. If she’s not more careful, she’ll be up to her neck in trouble, and all your efforts gone for nothing. They’re out driving together now, alone, and heaven only knows where the idiot will have taken her. Lady Chester ought to be warned, you know. I’m surprised she’s allowed it.’

  ‘Lady Chester thinks Tam is a highly amusing dandy who tries harder to be pleasant to her niece than you do.’

  ‘And what do you think? You know him as well as I do. He may well try harder to please her, but that’s because he’s got his sights on a different goal. He’s an unprincipled little bounder, Nick. Somebody ought to plant him a facer, but I doubt it will be that showy little filly.’

  ‘You don’t think she’s encouraging him just to annoy you, then?’

  ‘Oh, more than likely. She doesn’t care to be taken in hand, and Tam’s appeared at just the right time to convince her that she’s fine as she is. Granted, she pulled out all the stops when she had an audience at her feet last week, and to her credit she took us all by storm. But it’s not going to do her ambitions much good if she gets tangled up with Tam Elwick, is it?’