The Perfect Mistress

by Victoria Alexander

  Hermione smiled in a overly sweet manner. “I have earned the right to be rude.”

  Julia ignored her. “And what do you mean—I was a coward?”

  “That’s obvious, dear.” She ticked the points off on her fingers. “First, you left Lady Smithson’s tonight before the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, thus avoiding that handsome, arrogant Harrison.”

  “Lord Mountdale, if you please.”

  “Ah, but you have begun to think of him as Harrison.”

  “That’s not the least bit significant and no doubt only because that is how Veronica refers to him.” And, in some odd way, this evening he had become much more Harrison and much less his lordship.

  “Secondly, you did not stay long enough to hear Lady Smithson’s cousin’s poetry.” She shook her head. “I never thought any descendant of mine would be quite so fainthearted.”

  “My head ached.” Admittedly, it had been more of a twinge but it had promised to develop into an ache if she’d had to continue to parry with Lord Mountdale—Harrison. The man was exhausting. She had spent the entire meal thinking of witty, clever things to say. It had seemed wise to leave when she’d had something of an upper hand.

  Harrison was not all as she had expected. He proved to be an engaging but not overbearing conversationalist. He was attentive but not overly so, conversing as often with Portia, Miss Nelson, and the lady on his other side. Oh, there was that moment when he had studied Miss Waverly with an assessing gleam in his eyes that had she had found most irritating. Ignoring the woman sitting next to you for a woman you found more desirable was the height of bad manners. Still, it struck her that the man had made an effort to be cordial, and given all that Veronica had said about him and what she had seen for herself, it could not have been easy for him. His behavior was almost endearing.

  Until he had apparently been overcome by his own staunch beliefs as to the capabilities of women to manage their own lives. That had been most annoying and made even more so because her position was not of her choosing. She did not choose for her husband to die nor did she choose independence. She did not choose for her finances to be limited. And she certainly did not choose to be born female.

  “That’s not all you found annoying,” Hermione said under her breath.

  Julia glared. “Do you read my thoughts as well?”

  “Your thoughts are fairly easy to read.” She paused. “She is quite pretty and very young. The older men get, the more they like them young and pretty.”

  “Who?”

  “Miss Waverly, of course.”

  “Nonsense.” Julia sniffed. “I scarcely exchanged more than a handful of words with her. Not nearly enough to find her annoying or anything else for that matter.”

  Hermione stared at her in a knowing manner.

  “You may know my thoughts but I have no idea of yours,” Julia snapped. “What are you not saying?”

  “What is obvious even to a dead woman. Miss Waverly is entirely wrong for Harrison even if he thinks she’s exactly what he wants.” Hermione shrugged. “If he is as clever as he thinks he is, he will realize the truth before he marries her. I can’t tell you the number of gentlemen I have known who have wed because a lady has met some strict list of criteria, only to discover, when it was entirely too late, that they have forgotten the most important attribute of all.”

  “Love?”

  “Love is always an added benefit because love overcomes most obstacles.” She shook her head. “But I have known men who have married for what they thought was love who then discover, after the first flush has faded, that there is nothing left and nothing to look forward to through the years. I have known men who have dismissed love as being unnecessary. Their unions too ultimately provide little happiness on either side. And I have known men who have found true love, but I don’t think even that is enough.” She thought for a moment. “A man needs a woman who will be a match for his mind as well as his heart. A woman who will disagree with him and challenge him. A woman he can respect and argue with and lose to as often as he wins. That is what makes the blood race in a man’s veins and that is what makes him truly happy to be with one woman for the rest of his days. It’s the adventure, my dear, that makes life worth living. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.” She met Julia’s gaze. “Most men, and most women for that matter, never find that.”

  “Did you?”

  “You haven’t finished the book, have you?”

  Julia shook her head.

  “I would never reveal the ending of a book. You shall have to wait.” She paused. “But, as turnabout is indeed fair play, let me ask you. Did you find that with William?”

  “I loved William,” Julia said staunchly

  “And who wouldn’t? He was a very nice man.”

  “Yes, he was. And kind and generous. And handsome.” Julia wasn’t sure why she needed to defend her late husband or her marriage but she did. “And we were very happy. I would have been quite content to have spent the rest of my days with him.”

  “One can scarcely ask for more than content in this life,” Hermione said pleasantly. “If only his financial acumen had been … well … had existed at all.”

  “He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was. As, I believe, is Harrison under all his stiff and stodgy ways.” She leaned forward and pinned Julia’s gaze with her own. “If you were to marry Harrison, your troubles would be at an end.”

  “You made that same ridiculous suggestion the last time you were here.” Julia glared. “Do you intend to bring this up every time you visit?”

  “Yes, because it’s not the least bit ridiculous. It is, in truth, an excellent idea.”

  Julia drew her brows together. “If you claim to know my mind, I fear you are sadly mistaken. I have not for a moment considered marrying Lord Mountdale. Nor, I am confident, does he have any inclination toward me.”

  “Not yet,” Hermione said with a smile.

  “Not ever.” Julia huffed. “I will admit that he was most agreeable tonight and charming and very … likable. And there is something quite appealing about a man who wishes to be your friend.”

  “Hmph.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he wishes to be more than your friend.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Julia shrugged. “And he only wants my friendship because he thinks it will help him acquire your memoirs.”

  “But you cannot be swayed because you are made of sterner stuff.”

  “Indeed, I am.” She thought for a moment. “However, I have agreed to give due consideration to any further offer he might make.”

  “Thus keeping Harrison in your life.” Hermione nodded. “Very good.”

  Julia ignored her. “But I will never turn your memoirs over to anyone who intends to destroy them.”

  “I should hope not.” Hermione sniffed. “It’s not as though I dashed them off in an evening, you know. It took me several years to compile my adventures, my observations, and my advice. Why, my very life is laid out in my book.”

  “So I have noticed. And quite an”—Julia cleared her throat—“adventurous life it was too.”

  “Wasn’t it?” Hermione grinned with satisfaction. “I did so hate to see it end.”

  “You shall live on forever through your book.” Julia blew a long breath. “And, apparently in your … visitations.”

  Hermione sighed. “Apparently.”

  “Will you be with me forever?”

  Hermione plucked absently at the bedclothes and shrugged. “Darling, I have no idea. I have a few thoughts on the matter and I have heard rumors—people do talk, you know—but I’m not sure why I’m here at all. I have always kept an eye on you, your mother, and grandmother but I was never able to speak to your mother or to you either until you began reading my memoirs.”

  Julia cast her an accusing look. “You talk to my grandmother though, don’t you?”

  A distinct look of guilt crossed the dead woman’s face.
r />   “I suspected as much. You do realize that’s why people have thought she was mad.”

  “That’s not my doing,” Hermione said quickly. “If one wishes not to be bothered, the easiest way to keep people at a distance is to let them believe something is wrong with you.” She shook her head. “No one wants to get too close to a madwoman. Or men who have monkeys for pets.”

  “I’m not entirely certain I’m not mad,” Julia said under her breath. “Here I am speaking to a woman who doesn’t exist.”

  “But I do exist, as I believe I have proved by revealing the detail of Harrison’s—”

  “You needn’t say it,” Julia said quickly.

  “A fact you couldn’t possibly have known.”

  “A fact even he doesn’t know.”

  “Which is to your advantage,” Hermione said in a sage manner. “It is always good, my dear, to know more than your adversary. Or your newfound friends.”

  “Hermione, my pet, are you coming?” A gruff male voice sounded from somewhere behind the foot of the bed.

  Julia gasped and clutched the covers tighter around her. A shadow formed behind Hermione then slowly took shape.

  “Goodness, Victor.” Hermione rose to her feet and addressed the still-indistinct figure. “I don’t know why you are so impatient. It’s not as though we don’t have all the time in the world.”

  “I was impatient before my death and I see no reason to change now.” The figure solidified somewhat into a distinguished older man dressed in the fashion of more than half a century ago. “You found it charming.”

  “No, dearest, I simply let you think I found it charming.”

  He chuckled and looked at Julia, a definite twinkle in his eye that didn’t make up for the fact that she could see right through him. Her stomach churned. “Death hasn’t changed her a bit, you know.”

  Julia shrank back against her pillow. “Who is this?”

  “Where are my manners?” Hermione shook her head. “Julia, allow me to introduce—”

  “No, no!” Julia pulled the covers over her head. “I don’t want an introduction. Just make him go away.”

  “She’s not very hospitable, is she?” Victor said in a distinctly wounded tone. “I don’t make appearances to anyone.”

  “Yes, I know, dear,” she said, and Julia suspected if she had looked, she would have seen Hermione pat his—she shuddered—transparent arm. “Julia,” she said in a no-nonsense manner, “come out from under those bedclothes at once. You’re being rude.”

  “I’m being rude?” Julia pushed the covers off her head and glared. “This is my bedchamber and he was not invited. For that matter”—she narrowed her eyes—“neither were you.”

  “And yet here I am.” Hermione huffed. “Goodness, Julia, I should think—”

  “I can see through him!” Julia’s voice rose to a high pitch. “It’s … it’s …”

  “Most unnerving. Of course, I should have realized. Victor,” she said sharply, “pull yourself together at once. You’re scaring my great-granddaughter.”

  Understanding broke on Victor’s face and at once he became substantially more, well, substantially more. “I say, I am sorry. One tends to forget the social niceties when one is dealing mostly with the dead.”

  “Understandable, my dear.” Hermione nodded. “However, we do need to keep in mind that she is not used to our kind. I am the only spirit she knows.”

  “Why do you need to keep that in mind?” Julia stared at the unearthly couple. “Is he coming back?”

  “Not if I’m not wanted,” he said loftily.

  “My apologies.” Julia forced a calm note to her voice. “I am not used to entertaining gentlemen, living or dead, while I am in bed. It makes me somewhat, oh I don’t know, unwelcoming!”

  Victor inclined his head toward Hermione and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “She resembles you in appearance but she doesn’t take after you at all otherwise.”

  “More so than she imagines, I think.” Hermione frowned at her companion. “Why are you here?”

  Victor raised a brow.

  “Oh yes, of course. It completely slipped my mind. We must be off and you should go back to sleep.” She looked at Julia and shivered. “You’re going to look simply dreadful in the morning otherwise.”

  “You’re leaving?” Julia stared. “Just like that.”

  Hermione shrugged. “Just like that.”

  Beside her, Victor started to fade but Hermione smacked his arm with a fan Julia hadn’t noticed before and Victor immediately became solid again. He glanced at Julia and nodded a bow. “Again, my apologies.”

  With that he vanished. It wasn’t as bad as watching him fade but it was still most disconcerting.

  “When will you return?” Julia asked. “I still have a number of questions.”

  “Read the book, dear, I’m sure all the answers are there. As for when I will be back, I don’t know.” She shook her head and sighed. “I don’t seem to have a great deal of control over that. I suspect I will be here when you need me.” And then she too was gone.

  Julia slid down under the covers and stared unseeing at the ceiling. Sleep? Hah, not anytime soon.

  Now she didn’t just have one ghost, she had two. And who knew how many more of Hermione’s gentlemen might appear? Victor might be only the beginning. Victor? She pulled a pillow over her face and groaned. A Victor played a prominent role in chapter five.

  Then there was Hermione’s ongoing suggestion that she marry Harrison. Not that he would be interested even if she was, which, of course she wasn’t. Not in the least. She freely admitted, he had been different tonight and not at all difficult to like. And while his offer of friendship still struck her as suspicious, he had seemed sincere.

  But she was not what he wanted in a wife and he as far away as possible from what she wanted. She wanted … another William. Exactly. She was happy once, she could certainly be happy again.

  She thrust aside everything that had transpired this evening and tried to go to sleep. But it was something Hermione hadn’t actually said that stuck in her mind like a relentless refrain.

  Content was fine unless one longed for adventure.

  “I assume you are curious as to why I asked you here today.” Harrison handed Mr. Ellsworth a glass of brandy and waved him to the chair in front of his desk.

  “Indeed I am, my lord.” Ellsworth glanced around the library and took his seat. “It is not often I get a summons from an earl.”

  “It was an invitation, Mr. Ellsworth, not a summons.”

  Harrison settled in the chair behind his desk and studied the author. He was unquestionably handsome with a man-about-town air that was equal parts disreputable and literary. A combination that was, no doubt, irresistible to women, which explained Ellsworth’s substantial reputation with the ladies. Why, just last night, Harrison had watched as one woman after another flirted with the author, some in a most outrageous manner. Even Julia appeared to appreciate the man’s questionable charms while Miss Waverly had paid no heed to the author at all. For a young woman, she was remarkably poised and proper. His resolve to call on her strengthened.

  Ellsworth raised a brow. “It did sound like a summons.”

  “My apologies.” He chose his words with care. “I do have a proposition that may prove most beneficial to us both.”

  Ellsworth sipped his brandy and considered him. “And what might this proposition involve?”

  “From your comments last night I understand you’re aware of the book Lady Winterset is interested in having published.”

  “Ah yes, the memoirs.” Ellsworth nodded. “They should be most successful.”

  “I would prefer that they never see the light of day.”

  “Oh?”

  “Let me be blunt, Mr. Ellsworth. There are portions of the memoirs that detail the involvement of Lady Winter-set’s ancestor with a member of my family. I do not want that incident to become public fodder. I do not want my family embroiled i
n scandal.”

  “I see, my lord,” Ellsworth said smoothly. “How can I be of service?”

  “I have attempted to purchase the memoirs from Lady Winterset to avoid publication. However, as she knows my intention is to destroy them, she has thus far refused my offer.”

  Ellsworth nodded. “Understandable.”

  “Something you said last night about ideas triggering stories made me think if perhaps there wasn’t a better way to achieve my purpose. Something not quite as straightforward.”

  “You wish to deceive her?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘deceive.’” But in truth, his idea was rather less than honest. “Lady Winterset will not sell me the memoirs but she might sell them to you.”

  “To me?” Ellsworth’s brows drew together in confusion. “Why would I want them?”

  “To use as the basis for one of your own books.” Harrison couldn’t hide a small note of triumph. This was another brilliant idea. “Think of it, Mr. Ellsworth. A story by John Eddington Ellsworth based on the true escapades of Lady Middlebury. Why, it would fairly fly off the shelves.”

  “Indeed it would,” Ellsworth said thoughtfully.

  “That is the argument you will use to approach Lady Winterset.”

  “It is a very interesting idea,” Ellsworth murmured. “And most commercial. With my name and Lady Middle-bury’s stories it could indeed be a rousing success.” He grinned and raised his glass. “A brilliant idea, my lord. I should have thought of it myself.”

  Harrison stared at him. “You do realize you aren’t actually going to write this book.”

  Confusion furrowed the author’s brow. “I’m not?”

  “Good Lord, no. The only thing worse than having the actual memoirs published would be to publish a fictional version of them.”

  “Then I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. What do you intend?”

  “It’s really very simple. I want you to approach Lady Winterset with an offer to buy the memoirs and tell her you wish to base a book of your own on them. Once she sells you her ancestor’s work, you turn it over to me.”

  “Won’t Lady Winterset notice when I don’t write the book? Won’t she want the memoirs back?”