More Than A Mistress

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘Regretfully, I must decline.’

  Dumbfounded, she stared at him.

  ‘My horses need exercise.’ It was a lie. She could see it in his face. But why? She tried not to care, not to feel rejected, but it didn’t seem to be working.

  They were admitted into the courtyard of Broadoaks Mill, at the edge of town, by a child of about ten with a runny nose and a ragged jacket covered in white fluff.

  There but for the grace of God, Charlie thought. Only an accident of birth separated him from the masses. He certainly didn’t believe in divine right. Charlie tied his horses to a post.

  ‘Master’s in t’office.’ The boy pointed to a set of wooden steps up the outside of the building.

  Charlie gestured for Merry to go ahead and enjoyed the view of her shapely ankles and the sway of that deliciously curved bottom as she climbed. No wonder men had invented this bit of courtesy. Ready to catch them if they fell, indeed. It was all about the view.

  To his chagrin, his body responded with enthusiasm. He hadn’t expected her to offer to be his mistress, and he’d had the devil of a time refusing. Not that she’d listened. The determination had been clear on her face. And damn him, he was looking forward to tonight with impatience.

  He ought to be ashamed.

  When they reached the wooden landing at the top, Charlie rapped his knuckles on the peeling green paint on the door on the narrow landing.

  ‘Come,’ a deep voice said.

  Charlie ushered Merry inside. The room overlooked the mill floor on one side and the courtyard on the other. The elderly man behind the desk with red cheeks, a nose covered in broken veins and a full beard sprinkled with grey covering most of his lower face, hauled his bulk to his feet. ‘By gum, Miss Draycott. I weren’t expecting you! Not so soon after the meeting.’

  If ever again, Charlie thought, searching the other man’s face for signs of guilt or disappointment. He looked genuine pleased to see them.

  ‘Come in, lass. What can I do for you? My word, young lady, don’t know when I’ve seen you looking more gradely.’

  Bliss had that effect. She glowed with it. Charlie felt more than a little pride, though he kept his face completely expressionless as the mill owner turned to him with curiosity in his gaze. ‘I don’t think we’ve had t’pleasure, sir.’

  ‘Tonbridge,’ Charlie said. He put out a hand.

  The older man’s eyes widened. ‘Mountford’s heir, if I’m not mistaken.’ Curiosity deepened in the muddy brown eyes.

  ‘Miss Draycott has done me the honour of accepting my offer,’ he said. Not a complete lie. The offer was merely not the one this man would expect.

  He hoped. He was none too sure what the townspeople thought of Merry Draycott. He wasn’t quite sure what he thought of her himself.

  ‘By gum, lass,’ Broadoaks said, grinning. ‘Your grandfather would be in alt. My heartiest congratulations.’ He took Merry’s hand in his big rough one and patted it. Charlie had the urge to snatch it away, but held still. Finally the elderly merchant stuck out his hand to Charlie. ‘By thunder. A Mountford. Congratulations.’

  Beneath the older man’s assessing gaze, Charlie felt a bit like a prize Arabian stallion. It wasn’t the first time he’d been accorded that kind of inspection, but usually it was the mothers who looked at him that way.

  He managed a grim smile and shook the meaty paw. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Ah, you are a Mountford, all reet. By gum, a chip off the same block as your father.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ll wager Chepstow is crowing from the rooftops about this.’

  A cold weight settled in Charlie’s gut at the sound of the familiar name. He glanced at Merry.

  She winced and shook her head.

  Charlie’s bad feeling travelled up to his chest. ‘Chepstow?’

  ‘The earl. From over York way,’ Broadoaks said, oblivious to the chill sweeping the room. ‘The Purtefoy family are her ma’s family. Not pleased with the marriage they weren’t. Always was a thorn in your grandpa’s side, lass, the way they treated your poor ma. But you showed them.’

  ‘You are related to the Earl of Chepstow?’ Charlie asked, hearing the growl in his voice, the building anger, but didn’t care to hide it. The earl was a crony of his father’s. A man with political clout of his own. And Lady Allison’s father.

  ‘He’s my uncle,’ Merry said, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Guilty.

  Charlie’s anger rose from his chest to the skin at the back of his neck. Had she played him for some sort of dupe? The hart in one quadrant on the shield on her gatepost came from Chepstow’s coat of arms, he realised. The rest of it, some sort of puffery. Hell. Why hadn’t he recogised it?

  Broadoaks’s bushy eyebrows shot up. ‘Something wrong, my lord?’

  Charlie stared at him. Wrong? It couldn’t be worse.

  Merry shot him a pleading look. ‘We can talk about this later, Tonbridge. We came to ask Mr Broadoaks a question.’

  Charlie gave the old fellow a smile that said he was about to impart a secret. ‘If you’d keep the betrothal between us for now, we’d be grateful. The settlements are not yet final.’

  ‘Aye, certainly, my lord. Business comes first.’ He winked at Merry. ‘Make sure you drive a hard bargain, young lady. Do your grandpa proud.’

  Merry blushed, as well she might, the sly little baggage.

  Charlie took a deep breath, reining in his temper, tamping down the suspicion he’d been gulled from the first moment they met. If it wasn’t for the fact that there was no way she could have known he’d be travelling along that stretch of road two nights ago, he might have thought she’d planned the accident herself.

  She couldn’t have known.

  While some of the glow seemed to have gone out of Broadoaks’s smile, he waved expansive hands. ‘Even so, this news calls for a celebration. A glass of wine? Some brandy?’

  Merry smiled. ‘Not this early in the day, Mr Broadoaks.’

  Making the decisions again. Ruling the roost. Indicating he was under her thumb. Charlie gritted his teeth. ‘Perhaps another time. Our business is pressing.’ Not nearly as pressing as the words he had for Merry after this meeting. ‘Let me explain.’

  Merry looked startled, no doubt surprised he had taken charge of the conversation.

  The old man’s eyes sharpened. ‘Aye. Sit ye down, both of you. Tell me what service Benjamin Broadoaks has in his power.’

  Charlie gave Merry a warning glance. ‘The matter of a home for women in need.’

  Broadoaks’s face turned the colour of puce. His gaze swivelled to Merry. ‘Now then, lass. The matter was put to rest the day before yesterday.’

  ‘I think not,’ Charlie said. ‘You know as well as I, Miss Draycott has no intention of letting the matter die. The real question is how did you and the other mill owners plan to stop her if setting light to the house didn’t work?’

  Broadoaks recoiled. His chair creaked in protest. He stared at Merry. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say.’

  Merry bit her lip. ‘Someone put those men up to it.’ She looked at Charlie. ‘And now—’

  ‘Someone tampered with Miss Draycott’s carriage on her way back from her meeting with you and the other mill owners. She was lucky she wasn’t killed.’

  Broadoaks lunged forwards, his beard stiff with indignation. ‘Now wait a minute, your lordship. I won’t say I like the idea of a flock of whores setting up shop in the middle of town as bold as brass, but it ain’t a matter to kill someone over. Nor did I have owt to do with t’fire. Were some of the lads from the Muddy Duck got fired up about t’women taking their work.’

  ‘They are not whores,’ Merry said. ‘Not any more. How will they ever get free of that life unless someone gives them a chance?’

  ‘Hmmph,’ Benjamin Broadoaks replied. ”Tis same old argument. We don’t want them here.’

  ‘Not quite the same,’ Charlie said, before Merry could speak again.

  Broadoaks eyed him warily. ‘
Now, young fellow, surely you see the right of this. Miss Draycott here has a soft heart, but we are men of the world. We know—’

  ‘The Durn estate will pay for the rebuilding of the house. The asylum will be named for the duchess. I will act as her agent in this matter and Miss Draycott will head up the Board of Directors.’

  Merry’s look of gratitude was like a knife to the gut, because it was a bloody lie. He wanted to throttle her. He flashed her a charming smile. ‘That is all you want, isn’t it, my dear?’

  From the way her face stiffened, he was pretty sure she heard the sarcasm in his voice.

  Broadoaks didn’t seem to notice. He sank back in his chair with the look of a man about to be hung. ‘That puts the cat in with the pigeons.’

  ‘You have a problem with the plan, Mr Broadoaks?’ he asked quietly.

  The old gentleman fought through his beard to tug at his shirt collar. ‘No, my lord. The wives won’t be best pleased, I’ll admit to that, but they’ll come round once they know a Mountford’s behind it.’

  His father would know nothing of the matter. Or at least he wouldn’t have known, if Merry wasn’t related to the Purtefoys. Now Charlie wasn’t quite so sure if he could bring this off without the betrothal becoming common knowledge. He’d been well and truly caught. Just as Robert had. An ironic smile formed on his lips. ‘Good.’

  ‘How is Mrs Broadoaks?’ Merry asked a little breathlessly. Fearing his wrath now she’d been found out, no doubt. ‘Well, I hope?’

  Broadoaks’s eyes twinkled a little. ‘My missus doesn’t change, Miss Draycott, but she is well, thank you for asking.’

  Merry grinned.

  Charlie glared at her and then at Broadoaks. ‘I still want to know who is behind the threat to Miss Draycott’s life.’

  The old man closed his eyes briefly. ‘I know nowt about it. Nor do any of the other owners, I’d vouch my life on it. Aye, no good looking down your nose at me, my lord. Why would we be involved? We had her set to rights. No. You look elsewhere. I’ve not heard any gossip neither.’ He looked at Merry. ‘Only you know who might want thee feeding t’worms.’

  Right now Charlie wanted to do a bit of worm feeding himself. ‘Who would know?’

  ‘Beyond me, my lord.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d try talking to the innkeeper at t’Muddy Duck. He might know what set them off.’

  ‘The Muddy Duck is in the Skepton Town Square,’ Merry said.

  ‘Not a place for a woman,’ Broadoaks said heavily. ‘You know, lass,’ Broadoaks went on, ‘if you’d put that house of yours on t’other side of town, people might not have been so fratched by the idea.’

  Apparently, Merry didn’t care who she angered, as long as she got her own way. Damn her. ‘Do you have a suggestion, Mr Broadoaks?’

  Merry gasped. Charlie shot her a warning glance.

  She pressed her lips together. At least sometimes she showed a little sense, because he was in no mood to tolerate an argument.

  The elderly gentleman pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at his brow. ‘There is a house, a small one, over on west side of town. Regular folks live there. It would do for two or three women.’

  ‘To keep the numbers down,’ Merry said with a marshal light in her eyes.

  ‘Within reason, I’d say,’ Broadoaks said.

  ‘I—’

  ‘We will think about it, Mr Broadoaks,’ Charlie said. He smiled at Merry. ‘Won’t we, my dear? Advice is always appreciated.’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘We won’t take up more of your valuable time, Mr Broadoaks. I believe I have business at the Muddy Duck.’

  Broadoaks rose to his feet. ‘Tell t’innkeeper I said for him to tell you all he knows.’

  In those few words, the old man had admitted Charlie to the inner sanctum. The local gentlemen’s club. He knew it from the chagrin on Merry’s face. He shook hands with the fellow. ‘It has been a great pleasure, sir. I hope we meet again soon.’

  ‘Ah, and good luck to you, my lord.’ He darted a glance at Merry. ‘Needs a strong hand on the bridle, a woman like her do.’

  So she might, but that hand wasn’t going to be Charlie’s. Finally he’d seen right through the scheming little wench and he felt more than a little foolish. Not to mention angry.

  He ushered her out of the office and down the steps.

  She turned to him. ‘I—’

  He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along, not hard enough that anyone would notice, but firmly enough so that she knew he meant business. ‘We will talk in the carriage.’

  Several times in the past few days, Merry’s escort had looked less than pleased. Now he’d withdrawn into a cool remoteness that put the distance of miles between them.

  The distance of a duke-to-be from a lesser mortal. She had no trouble recognising it, since she’d seen the same kind of look on her fellow students’ faces at school when she was intemperate or bold enough to express her opinions or join their conversations. The reason she’d sought solace with Jeremy.

  She lifted her chin as she’d done in those long-ago days. ‘What bee’s bustling in tha’s bonnet then, lad?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, you don’t think I’m fooled by that rubbishy accent, do you?’

  She stiffened. ‘There is nothing wrong with the way I speak.’

  ‘Isn’t there? Perhaps the names of Purtefoy and Chepstow might give you a hint as to why it doesn’t ring true.’ She shrugged.

  Anger flared in his eyes. Anger she could deal with. Better that than indifference. ‘My mother’s family has nothing whatsoever to do with me.’

  A muscle flickered in his jaw. His lip curled in derision. ‘I’m not green, Miss Draycott. Or wet behind the ears. Nor do I have my mother’s milk still on my lips, my dear. I know exactly what you are up to. And it won’t wash.’

  Inside she shrank from the bitterness in his quiet voice; on the outside she kept her back straight and her expression disdainful. ‘Doing it rather brown, Charlie. You forced your way into my business uninvited, you know.’

  ‘You asked me to pretend to be your fiance.’ He said the words as if they tasted of poison.

  ‘For a few days,’ she said warily.

  ‘Let us hope Broadoaks is good to his word and keeps a still tongue in his head or Chepstow will be on my father’s doorstep tomorrow morning. And won’t that stir up an ant’s nest?’

  What on earth was he raving about? ‘The Earl of Chepstow barely acknowledges my existence.’

  ‘Believe me, that will change if this betrothal comes to his ears. He’ll care enough to learn I have been living at your house. A house full of prostitutes, no less.’

  ‘They are not prostitutes.’

  He raised a cynical brow. ‘I know when I am being propositioned.’

  She gave him a slit-eyed look. Did he mean her?

  ‘I’m talking about Jane,’ he said.

  ‘I told you, I don’t think she is going to stay. In fact, I had already decided to talk to Caro about her leaving as soon as we get back.’

  ‘Stop avoiding the issue at hand.’ He leaned against the seat back, a hard smile thinning his lips. ‘Oh, Merry, I’ll admit you are good. Chepstow’s niece, for God’s sake. All that straightforward honest stuff really had me fooled. But I’m wise to you now. So let’s just deal with the business at hand and we can end this farce and go our separate ways.’

  Chapter Eleven

  It was if a hive of bees had stung her all over. The hot and itchy feeling was swiftly followed by a sweep of cold. She inhaled a few deep breaths through her nose and the cynical twist to his mouth became more pronounced. She wanted to hit him. Scratch his face. She curled her hands inside her muff and bit down on her tongue. The old hurt and misery boiled in her chest, the memory of things she’d never told Grandfather, knowing he would be cut to the quick. Not for himself, but for her.

  A burning sensation scoured the backs of her eyes and bile rose in her throat. Damn him. She would not le
t him make her cry the same tears she had shed as a lonely schoolgirl in the gardener’s shed.

  There, someone had cared to offer comfort. Here she was on her own.

  Glad of his need to focus on his horses as they passed a cart, she forced a smile, even managed a couple of flirtatious bats with her eyelashes and turned in her seat. ‘Ah, I see your problem.’

  He shot her a quick dark glance.

  Her smiled broadened. ‘It is all right to seduce a woman of the lower classes, but a noble-born wench requires a different set of rules. Not because she is any better, but because her family has the power to do something about it.’

  He stiffened. ‘You go too far, madam.’

  ‘Do I? Well, rest your mind easy, your lordship. I wouldn’t marry you, if you were the last single man on this earth. What would I want with some useless nobleman, only interested in horses and gambling and the cut of his coat?’ She glared at his exquisitely cut driving coat with its layer of capes and gold buttons, at the artfully placed whip points in the lapel, and did a bit of lip curling of her own. ‘All right for a bit of fun in bed, but about as much use as tits on a bull, as Grandfather would say.’

  His jaw dropped. ‘Good God, woman. Your grandfather should have been shot for talking like that to a gently bred female.’

  Smile fixed, she straightened in her seat. ‘Get it through your thick skull. I am not gently bred just because I am related to the Earl of Chepstow. Draycotts are common hard-working people. My grandfather watched sheep from the age of four until he was ten. My father worked in the mill all his life. If I had been a boy, I would have worked there, too.’ Instead of going to Mrs Driver’s Academy for the daughters of gentlefolk and finding out exactly how unacceptable she was to the upper classes of England.

  ‘Don’t act insulted,’ he said stiffly. ‘You know you should have told me.’

  She pulled all the pieces of her that seemed to have scattered themselves in the air around her—the pride, the hurt, the anger—and settled them back where they belonged with one deep breath. She clenched her hands together inside her muff and willed herself to feel nothing.