The Mistress' House

by Leigh Michaels

  “Of course Thorne will help you, Fliss. He’ll be as incensed as I am at the idea of Mr. Rivers taking advantage of a woman who’s alone in the world… only he’ll be a great deal more effective than I would be at solving the problem. Husbands are sometimes not a bad thing, my dear.” Anne’s voice softened. “But I know, of course, why you would hesitate. Is he the toad, Fliss? Jason Rivers, I mean. Is he the man who hurt you so badly?”

  No, Felicity wanted to say. And Roger wasn’t a toad, either. But she decided it would be better not to answer that particular question. Once Anne got her teeth in something, persuading her to let go was hard enough without giving her extra reasons to hang on. So Felicity simply shook her head and tried to deflect the conversation. “I have no proof that he’s stealing, you see. Only suspicions.”

  Lady Stone hoisted herself into the carriage, leaning heavily on two footmen.

  Felicity finished, “And I’ve no idea how to find out the facts.”

  “Suspicions? Who are we being suspicious of?” Lady Stone asked brightly as she sank into the cushions and waved the footmen away.

  “I thought you made it a point to be suspicious of everyone, Lucinda,” Anne said lightly.

  “But of course I do, my dear. Even Lady Alice.”

  Anne glanced at Felicity. “Thorne’s aunt,” she explained.

  “For what possible reason would she summon me to call on her,” Lady Stone went on, sounding a bit querulous, “at almost the very moment she arrives in the city for her first visit in a year? To ask you to come calling makes perfect sense, Anne. You’re family now, since you captured her infamous rake of a nephew. And since she’s been in mourning at Collinswood for months, it’s the first chance she’s had to meet you.”

  “You’re old friends,” Anne said.

  Lady Stone gave a cackle of a laugh. “I’d much prefer it if you said longtime instead of old. But the fact is we’re not friends—not really. I’ve seldom even seen her since she married Colford. So why she wants to renew our acquaintance now…”

  Colford. Lord Hawthorne’s aunt was named Colford? And she was a friend—an old friend—of Lady Stone’s? But Anne was Lady Stone’s friend, too, so it didn’t necessarily follow that Lady Alice was old… Felicity’s head was spinning as she tried to make sense of it all. “I thought Lady Colford’s name was Blanche,” she said feebly.

  “That’s the younger one,” Lady Stone said. “With any luck, she won’t be there. Lady Alice is my generation—in fact, we made our come-out together forty years ago. But I haven’t seen her in a decade at least.”

  Felicity closed her eyes in pain. She was on her way to meet Richard’s mother—and Roger’s, of course—and potentially his wife as well? What horrid sequence of events had brought her to this pass?

  Felicity had never dreamed that she might one day come face-to-face with the woman who had, Roger had told her, made it quite clear that he could never dream of marrying the daughter of a mill owner…

  This was going to be bad. Very, very bad.

  But before Felicity could think of a reason that would convince Anne that she absolutely couldn’t go into the house, the carriage had pulled up—and the footman was helping them down.

  ***

  Long ago, Felicity had formed a mental picture of what Roger’s parents must look like, based on what he had told her about them. His mother, she had decided, would be tall and aristocratic, gray-haired, and painfully thin—with a nose like a hawk, a spine so straight it made one hurt to look at her posture, and eyes the same cold shade of gray as tired winter ice…

  The woman who rose from behind the tea table to greet them did indeed have wonderfully good posture—but that was her only resemblance to Felicity’s mental picture. Lady Alice was small and dainty, with fluffy white hair and a pink-and-white complexion that showed hardly a line. Her eyes were the same brilliant sapphire as Richard’s, and she smiled with apparent delight at her old friend Lady Stone; her new niece, Lady Hawthorne; and Felicity…

  Anne introduced her. “Lady Alice, may I present my good friend Miss Mercer?”

  Lady Alice’s eyebrows rose by the barest fraction. “What a happy circumstance that you could join us, Miss Mercer.”

  Felicity could have sunk through the floor. Had Lady Alice recognized her name? Richard hadn’t seemed to know it; perhaps his mother also had forgotten… or she might have never cared to find out. But that didn’t mean Felicity could let her guard down for even an instant—for it was equally possible that Lady Alice did remember, and perhaps she thought that Felicity had seized this opportunity to force her way into an introduction.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you,” Lady Alice went on.

  You wouldn’t be if you knew that I’ve been your son’s mistress. Felicity tried her best to sink into the upholstery and disappear.

  Lady Stone stirred her tea, sat back in her chair, and asked pugnaciously, “What brings you to London just now, Alice?”

  “I’ve come to help Blanche pack,” Lady Alice said calmly.

  Pack? Felicity could hardly believe her ears. Surely Lady Colford’s servants would do that. Now that the Season was coming to an end, they’d no doubt be expecting to do so. In any case, no one of Lady Alice’s rank would pack anything herself or even supervise…

  Lady Stone let out a bark of laughter. “Help her pack? Send her packing, more like. Where’s she going? I don’t see Blanche living in the dower house at Collinswood.”

  “Of course not. I live in the dower house, and I have no intention of sharing my home with Blanche. I believe she’s going to Venice first. She can finish out her two years of mourning there—or not, as she chooses. But at least Richard will be able to finally take possession of his property. He’s a bit soft-hearted, my son—not wanting to evict her from this house.”

  Felicity’s head was swimming. A man didn’t evict his wife… or did he? If Blanche was truly the horror that Lady Stone thought her…

  “Soft-headed, I’d say,” Lady Stone proclaimed. “He’s the last of the line now. It’s well past time to move her out and set up his own nursery.”

  “There’s nothing official as yet, of course,” Lady Alice said, “but I believe that is his intention. A cream cake, Lucinda? Our chef does such a lovely job of making them.”

  Anne looked delighted. “Colford’s to be married? He’s been in and out of our house quite a lot of late, but he hasn’t breathed a word of this!”

  Colford’s to be married…

  Felicity could feel the blood pounding in her head. In an instant, her hopes had been raised—and dashed. If Richard wasn’t married after all… But he soon would be. So really, nothing had changed at all—and nothing could change now. If Felicity was already pregnant, her child would be illegitimate all the same—for he was as far out of her reach as if he had already been married.

  You’re mine, and you’ll remain mine as long as I choose.

  But even though he might be free for the moment, he would never consider marrying Felicity—for she was his mistress and the daughter of a mill owner.

  But where on earth, she asked herself, did Blanche fit in?

  ***

  Lady Alice lived up to her title. She asked gentle questions, shared bits of small talk and gossip, and politely made certain no one was overlooked or left out of the conversation—until Felicity could have screamed with the tension. Every time Lady Alice looked at her or directed a comment toward her, Felicity braced herself and waited for sarcasm or accusation. But each time, Lady Alice treated her precisely as she would any other young woman who had come to call.

  One moment, she had almost convinced herself that Lady Alice had never let Roger get far enough in describing the girl he wished to marry to share Felicity’s name. The next moment, she was certain that Lady Alice had simply dismissed that information as of no importance and no longer recalled it.

  Felicity’s body was humming with relief by the time they finally left Lady Alice at the Colford town house
. But she knew better than to relax, because she still had Lady Stone to contend with, along with Anne, on the drive home.

  “Do you suppose she’ll really be able to remove Blanche?” Anne wondered.

  Lady Stone snorted. “I expect so. Once a duke’s daughter, always a duke’s daughter—I doubt Alice has lost her touch. She brought Colford round her finger easily enough all those years ago, and a stiff-necked sort he was.”

  So Lady Alice was not only an earl’s widow but a duke’s daughter? Richard was a duke’s grandson? Felicity’s head hurt. She had always known she was out of her depth—but she’d had no idea just how far.

  They delivered Lady Stone to her home. “What a very wearing afternoon,” Anne said as the carriage pulled away from Grosvenor Square. “I do like Lucinda, but I must admit it’s difficult to always be trying to sidetrack that disastrous tongue of hers.”

  Felicity was silently grateful that Lady Stone’s erratic nature had served to distract Anne’s attention from Felicity herself. “They do seem an odd pair of friends, don’t they?”

  “Very odd—though Lady Alice isn’t nearly as stuffy as I’d expected she might be. How fortunate for me, since she’s family.” Anne sighed. “And now home—for a bit of a rest before dinner. Thorne will surely have returned by now, so you can tell him your suspicions and he’ll know exactly what to do. If Mr. Rivers is truly stealing from you, the sooner you act, the better.”

  When the carriage pulled up in front of the Hawthornes’ town house, Felicity meekly climbed down and followed Anne inside.

  “Is Lord Hawthorne at home?” Anne asked the butler.

  When Carson told her that his lordship was in his library, Anne swept across the hallway. She was already through the door by the time the butler finished, “With Lord Colford, my lady.” Felicity, half a step behind her, stopped dead on the threshold.

  But it was too late to back out, for the two gentlemen were rising from their chairs and setting down their wineglasses. “Thorne, darling,” Anne said, as she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “Felicity needs your advice—and she may well require the loan of Perkins for a while as well. Hello, Colford. You remember my friend Miss Mercer, do you not?”

  Richard’s gaze slid slowly over Felicity—as if, she thought warily, he was remembering every curve and every time he had ever touched her. Felicity tried not to look at him, but she couldn’t stop herself. He looked magnificent in midnight blue—he always did look wonderful, but there was something about him today that was even more commanding, more dominating, and more compelling than ever before. Perhaps it was only that she knew now that he was the grandson of a duke.

  “My lord,” she said.

  “Miss Mercer.” His voice was level and cool, but Felicity felt warmth sweep over her at the reminder of other times when he had called her that—with passion, rather than detachment. He brushed the back of her hand with his lips, and Felicity needed all of her self-control to keep from turning her hand over to cup his cheek in her palm.

  Very deliberately, to remind herself that she must not give in to that impulse, she said, “I understand we are to wish you happy, my lord.”

  Richard raised an eyebrow. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Fliss, darling,” Anne said hastily. “One must never tease a gentleman about such a thing. They’re all skittish enough about marriage as it is, without making it appear anyone has noticed they might actually be contemplating the subject.”

  Even before the rebuke, Felicity had felt herself turning pink. What a nonsensical thing it had been to say! So much for Lady Stone’s disastrous tongue; Felicity’s could be even more troublesome.

  “As for how the question of marriage came up,” Anne went on, “we’ve just come from calling on your mother, Colford.”

  Richard’s gaze had never left Felicity. But was that a challenge springing to life in his eyes? Was he about to demand how she had dared to visit his mother?

  Felicity swallowed hard. Tension seemed to crackle through the air.

  “Lady Alice is looking wonderfully well,” Anne went on. “And she said only that she believed it time for you to give thought to the succession.”

  “As indeed it is,” Richard said softly.

  Felicity realized that her hands had come to rest on her stomach, cupped protectively over where her child might already be starting to grow. Quickly—with a jerk—she folded her fingers on the back of a chair instead.

  The gentlemen were still standing—and likely wondering, Felicity thought, how long this troublesome woman would take to come to the point. But she couldn’t just blurt out her problem in front of Richard. It was one thing to confide in Lord Hawthorne how Jason Rivers’ proposal of marriage had led her to question whether he truly had her interests at heart, or his own. It was something else to reveal all that to her lover.

  Anne cleared her throat, breaking the short and uncomfortable silence. “How fortunate for you, Felicity, to have Colford here as well. Between them, the gentlemen can certainly give you the best possible advice about how you should respond to Mr. Rivers.”

  Felicity’s heart froze. “I do not wish to trouble you, my lord. You have a guest, and I believe I must not intrude on your conversation.”

  Lord Hawthorne’s gaze seemed understanding, almost gentle. “Perhaps after dinner?” he suggested.

  Sit across the table from Richard through a long and elaborate dinner, keeping up a stream of bright and cheery social chatter? Felicity tried not to shudder at the idea. “Truly, my lord, I am exhausted, and I wish only to be at home.”

  Even Anne seemed to understand—for her gaze flicked between Felicity and Richard, but she didn’t press the invitation. She had obviously felt the strain in the air.

  “Tomorrow, then,” Lord Hawthorne said. “I will await your convenience in the morning, Miss Mercer. And—did I understand you to say that Perkins might be required, my love? I shall have him at our disposal as well.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Felicity curtseyed. “Anne… my lord Colford…” She wouldn’t let herself look at Richard for fear of what her eyes might give away. Her heart was breaking already at the idea that this had been their final good-bye—formal and chilly and polite, under the gaze of observers and without a hint of the passion they had shared.

  ***

  Richard had been lying in wait for an opportunity since the instant Felicity had walked into the library, but he could scarcely believe his ears when she handed it to him. “I will see you home, Miss Mercer.”

  Panic lit Felicity’s eyes. “Oh, no. I must not take you away from your friends—and there is no need for you to escort me.”

  Her voice was too high, too fast, to sound natural. Lady Hawthorne was looking quite intrigued, Richard thought. “It’s late,” he said calmly, “and you shouldn’t walk out alone.”

  “It’s only a step through the garden. I wouldn’t wish to inconvenience you or make your hosts wait dinner on your return.”

  If I have anything to say about it, they’d be waiting a long time. “It’s no inconvenience, as I am not staying for dinner. In fact, I was just leaving when you and Lady Hawthorne came in.” He’d been intending to go to Upper Seymour Street and wait for her to return… but that, right now, was beside the point. She had delivered herself directly into his arms—so to speak—and Richard intended to take advantage of the fact.

  “An excellent plan,” Thorne said. “You can have the groom bring your horse around to Number 5 instead easily enough…” A note of very mild amusement crept into his voice. “…whenever you’re ready for it.”

  Richard watched the play of emotions across Felicity’s face. She was thoroughly stuck in a mare’s nest of her own making. She couldn’t change her mind about staying for dinner without causing more questions than any lady wanted to answer; and she couldn’t decline a gentleman’s offered escort without causing serious offense.

  He saw the precise instant when she concluded that the only thing she could possibly
do was to accept his assistance, make her way home in silence, and dismiss him at her door.

  Not that he would let her get rid of him so easily as that. But if the thought made her feel better, he’d let her believe it for a minute or two.

  ***

  The evening was cool and cloudy, bringing dusk a bit earlier than usual. The air was misty, and the carriages passing along Portman Square already had their lamps lit. Richard offered his arm as they descended the steps in front of the Hawthornes’ town house, and Felicity took it reluctantly, letting her fingertips rest lightly on his sleeve.

  At least he had tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, rather than taking hold of her elbow. Not that it made much difference exactly which part of her body he was touching… She could feel the heat of him through her cloak and through her gloves.

  He shifted his hold, pulling her hand so closely to his side that her breast brushed against his sleeve… That could not be accidental. Part of her wanted—needed—to pull free, but that, she thought, would only amuse him. The other part of her wanted to lean into him, to savor his warmth and inhale his scent—but if she did, that would feed his arrogant certainty…

  His voice echoed in her mind. “You’ll remain mine as long as I choose.”

  Felicity’s breath was coming with difficulty, as if she’d been laced into the tightest corset ever invented. It’s just around the corner, she told herself. It’s a two-minute walk. How much can be said in two minutes?

  As it happened, they reached the corner without speaking at all. Only the clatter of the carriages on the square, the occasional nicker of horses, the muffled patter of a vender down the street, and the click of their own footsteps broke the silence. Now there were only three doors between her and her own house… two doors…

  She was torn between wanting this agony to be over and not wanting it to end at all. If only she could walk on with him forever…

  “Lady Hawthorne seemed hesitant to allow me to escort you,” Richard said calmly. “Perhaps I should have reassured her that I have always taken the greatest care for your safety—as well as for your contentment and the satisfaction of your most personal desires.”