Mistress by Marriage

by Maggie Robinson

  He really didn’t know. He’d not pumped old Hazlett for information, not wanting to torture himself. Something needed to be done, but Edward had no idea what at present. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since he’d left Caroline’s bed and quite simply couldn’t think straight.

  “Put Mr. Rossiter in my study. I’ll join him there shortly.” Edward picked up his coffee cup, but his roiling stomach objected to its bitterness too much to bring it to his lips. There was no point in delaying. The sooner he concluded the interview with Rossiter the better.

  Edward found the man perusing an atlas, seeming as tired as Edward felt. Even Rossiter’s famous curls were limp. He looked up and met Edward’s eyes.

  “Good morning. Thank you for seeing me.”

  “I take it you’ve changed your mind.”

  “No! Not at all,” Rossiter said, surprised. “Whatever your plans are for Caro, they cannot in good conscience include me. I have a somewhat mysterious matter I need to discuss with you before I leave for the Continent. I overheard something that may affect you.”

  Edward sat down behind his desk. “I suppose you want money for this information.”

  Rossiter laughed. “You do hold me in utter contempt, don’t you? No, Lord Christie, this information is free and without strings of any kind. What you choose to do with it is your business. But I cannot sit back and do nothing when Caro’s safety may be compromised.”

  “What the devil do you mean?”

  Rossiter eased his long form onto a chair. “There was a party last night at the Everdeens’. Not at all the sort of thing that would interest you, or even me, for that matter. I was half asleep when I heard two men talking in the garden.” He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes as if replicating his pose. “Let me see. I haven’t got the exact words, but it went something like this. One man, very drunk he was, said ‘I’ve got a good plan.’ The other said, ‘Perhaps.’ I woke up for the next sentence. ‘We’ll hold her for ransom until Christie pays and puts a stop to it. Or maybe the bitch should disappear forever.’”

  Edward’s stomach roiled again. “Who were they?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea. I followed them, but they vanished into the crowd.”

  Edward gritted his teeth.

  “I did try to find them, so stop growling at me. I wandered about as long as I could stand to, listening for a familiar voice. Nothing. I went home, didn’t sleep, and am, as you see, here at the crack of dawn to warn you.”

  “They didn’t mention Caroline by name.”

  Rossiter shook his head. “I suppose not. What other females are under your protection?”

  “My daughter. My sister.”

  “Not precisely bitches, I take it.”

  Edward rose and began pacing. “A while back I had a visit from Lord Pope and Lord Douglass. Were they present at this party?”

  Rossiter’s forehead wrinkled. “I’m not sure. It was a dreadful crush. Pope is known to me and I usually avoid him at all costs. I don’t remember seeing him there, but it’s possible that he was. I’m not acquainted with the other.”

  “Caroline has written about both of them. And not in a flattering way.”

  “Ah.” Rossiter had the audacity to smile. “Did she kill them off as gruesomely as she’s killed you off? If I recall correctly, you’ve been swept off an alp by a frozen mountain goat and drowned in a serpent-infested moat.”

  “I don’t read such rubbish,” Edward snapped.

  “Well, you should. Caro’s writing is singularly edifying. Everyone reads her books, from chambermaids to duchesses.”

  “I don’t! I suppose I should thank you for the warning, Rossiter.” Edward expected the man to get up and leave, but watched as Rossiter steepled his fingers in thought.

  “I’m quite hurt that I haven’t ever recognized myself as the hero or the villain in any of the dozen books I’ve read.”

  Edward couldn’t resist the taunt. “Maybe you were never that important to her.”

  Rather than take offense, Rossiter grinned again like a naughty angel. “I believe you must be right. Thank you for that insight—my conscience is much relieved. I do have one, you know, rusty and feeble as it is. I never meant to harm Caro. I loved her as much as I was able. I imagine I love her still. Please watch out for her.”

  Speechless, Edward watched Rossiter saunter out the door, his notion of the man forever altered. If what Rossiter overheard was true, what should he do? There wasn’t much to go on; he might not even be the Christie in question, although he couldn’t see Ned at the center of some nefarious plot. He’d already spoken to Caroline about Pope and Douglass, and she’d dismissed the matter out of hand. But if they, or someone like them, intended violence to either her, his sister, or Allie, he couldn’t sit idly by in his study and curse Andrew Rossiter.

  Beth and the children were already in Kent. A quick word to his bailiff to beef up protection around the house was a simple matter. Ned and Jack could feel useful and manly protecting their aunt and little sister.

  Expecting Hazlett to act as a security guard on Jane Street was not logical, however. Loyal as the butler was to Caroline, he was nearing seventy if not actually past it. Edward had a brief image of Hazlett clocking Pope with his bunch of keys and smiled despite the seriousness of the situation.

  There was only one thing to be done. Convincing Caroline to agree to it would be a challenge.

  Caroline pinched at the sleeve of a new red dress. Either Madame Dulac was stingy with the fabric, or Caroline was continuing to gain weight. Her upper arms were turning wobblier by the day. Of course it didn’t help that she’d just indulged herself at one of her Thursday teas in the shade of her fragrant garden. Mrs. Hazlett had outdone herself with honey buns studded with candied violets, lemon curd tarts, ginger curls, and a cherry cake, not to mention the tiny savory sandwiches stacked upon a silver platter. Caroline’s courtesan neighbors had rolled home to work off their excesses by vigorous bedsport. However, Caroline did not face that energetic prospect. She would have only her cat Harold’s company, and he was even more sedentary than she.

  Edward had taken her at her word a few weeks ago and made no effort to return to her or her bed. She supposed he must still be in town, engaged in the government’s business of trying poor Queen Caroline. Citizen Caroline knew there were demonstrations in the street in support of the woman, but on the whole she was indifferent to the whole subject. Let the entire world seek divorce, starting with her. Everyone could start their life fresh, like the crisp white pages of her notebook that were yet to absorb any ink.

  She had finished The Harlot’s Husband, after several sleepless nights and days and quite a bit of Mrs. Hazlett’s plum brandy, and it was dreadful. Not the brandy, which had an enormously powerful kick, but the book. Garrett had frowned a bit as he skimmed it in her parlor yesterday but assured her it would do. After all, she had inserted every naughty phrase he had suggested, and a few more besides. She had killed off the Edward character by an attack of ravening wolves in the forest. There wasn’t a scrap left save for his cravat and walking stick. Eating Edward would not make for much of a meal for wolves though—he really was too thin. Whereas she was beginning to resemble an overstuffed pillow minus the tassels and cording.

  Jack Sprat could eat no fat. His wife could eat no lean. Had Caroline and Edward stayed married, they would have become figures of fun in the ton. As it was, she felt the disapproval every time she stepped into a shopping arcade or theater box. It was much easier to send Lizzie out with a list, or entertain herself at home by writing ridiculous fantasies that had no basis in reality.

  Bother. She was feeling incomparably sorry for herself. Where was the Caroline of old, who was bold and spirited, a reckless hoyden, the girl who climbed the fells and swam naked in lakes and danced in Andrew’s arms as her brother hummed off-key? That Caroline had disappeared inch by inch after her brother died and it became clear Andrew was not going to save her from her cousin James a
nd his wife Maria. Andrew had stayed with her out of duty until they came to claim the house, then vanished without a word.

  Caroline had thought she knew why. Andrew hadn’t any money; she was still a viscount’s sister, no matter how disgraced. A part of her heart hoped he was off to seek his fortune so he could return for her. It wasn’t until she found Nicky’s diary that she discovered what a fool she’d been.

  Nicky and Andrew had done their best to shield her from the salacious house parties, but she had half an idea of what was transpiring in the guest wing. She wasn’t deaf or blind. Sometimes she had felt like Rapunzel trapped in the tower, gazing down into the gardens as all manner of pleasure was taken publicly. Their guests came each month for a week of seasonal frivolity. It was up to her to appoint the house with every luxury, but once the carriages began to arrive, she was tucked behind her bedroom door. If they were not busy directing the diversions of their company, Nicky and Andrew delivered her meals to her, but most often trays were brought by one of the temporary maids who had been hired for the week. She could bear the loneliness for seven days, knowing Andrew would come to her after.

  Caroline had found her youthful experiences useful for her novels, though the bulk of her knowledge came from her neighbors. They were perfectly willing to tell their secrets for biscuits, tea, and a sympathetic ear. Caroline had spent the past five years listening to various tales of woe and solving as many problems as she could. Lizzie was not the only girl she had helped.

  But no one was available to help her, now or then. It had been a killing blow to realize, as she read Nicky’s diaries that she was not the only Parker Andrew had pledged his love to. Nicky’s darker fantasies about her had shocked her to her core. She’d put the books away, nearly burning them many times over before finally consigning them to the fire, but could not erase the words from her heart. When she felt especially pitiful, as she had the other day, she tortured herself with Nicky’s careful entries. She felt as responsible for his death as if she had pulled the trigger herself. But his words and hers were now ash, swept away by Ben the kitchen boy. Too bad her memories were not so easily disposed of.

  The brass mermaid knocker startled her from her thoughts. It was probably one of the girls, arriving much too late for tea, but Caroline could use the company. Mr. Hazlett was outside helping clear up the garden party, so she opened the door herself.

  “Edward!” She stared at him, quite stupid in her surprise. Realizing she must look like a booby, she dropped her eyes to the step and saw the large portmanteau at his feet. She had given it to him the only Christmas they celebrated together, his initials EAC inscribed in gilt on the leather. Raising her eyes in confusion, they landed on two carters removing trunks and boxes from a wagon on the street.

  “Good afternoon, Caroline. Forgive me for not contacting you earlier. May I come in?”

  “Wh-what’s the meaning of this? Did I forget something when you threw me out five years ago?”

  “Just let me come in and I’ll explain everything.”

  Caroline crossed her arms over her chest and heard an ominous rip. Bother Madame Dulac and her careless stitches. “I fail to see how you can explain why it appears you are moving into my house lock, stock, and barrel.”

  “I have an excellent explanation, I promise you.”

  “You are moving in?” Caroline squeaked. “You cannot! I won’t allow it.”

  The men stopped shoving the boxes around and were looking very engaged in the spectacle before them. Caroline could almost hear what was going on in their heads—the great and proper Baron Christie begging admittance to a Jane Street joyhouse while the fat little doxy denied him. Edward’s lips were quite white. No doubt he was anguished by the public display on her steps before workmen and could imagine their thoughts, too. The scene would make an excellent chapter in a book, but only if she pushed Edward backward to fall flat on his arse on the pavement below.

  “Caroline, we will continue this conversation indoors.”

  “Indeed we will not! I told you the last time I saw you that we were through. Finished. Spent. Terminated.”

  “Stop sounding like a dictionary.” He softened his voice. “Please, Caro. This is important.”

  Caroline pointed to the men on the sidewalk. “Tell them to wait while you make your case. Not that I will change my mind. You must be absolutely mad to think you can come in here and order me about. Just because I’m your wife does not mean I’ll obey your every whim.”

  The carters stood in open-mouthed awe. “Coo, this is better than a play,” one of them muttered quite audibly.

  “Tragedy or farce?” Caroline snapped. “Don’t you two dare move an inch.” Uncertain, the men seemed to freeze where they were. “Oh, do sit down on a box or something. We won’t be long.” Caroline turned on her heel, leaving Edward in the open doorway. He followed her into her green downstairs parlor.

  She threw herself onto the sofa, spreading her crimson skirts so there was no room for him to join her. “You have five minutes.”

  Edward went to her drinks cupboard and poured them both a finger of brandy. She refused hers, but Edward swallowed his in one gulp.

  “Dutch courage?” she asked contemptuously.

  Edward set the glass down. “Andrew Rossiter came to see me.”

  Caroline felt her stomach knot. “You’ve come to terms with him about the divorce then?”

  “No. He is not assisting me in any way. In fact, he’s leaving the country. But he overheard something that troubled him enough for him to come to me, and I am troubled as well.”

  She didn’t know what to make of the way Edward dismissed the divorce so casually. It was as if he didn’t care about pursuing it any longer. He must have something else planned with that wretched Will Maclean. “Well, what has got you in such a tizzy?”

  “We believe your life is at risk, Caroline.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Caroline watched his face for any sign of a joke. There was nothing but firm resolve.

  “I think it may be Pope and Douglass who are moving against you, but really, it could be anyone whom you’ve libeled in your books. There is a plot afoot to kidnap you. And worse.”

  “W-worse?” Caroline stammered.

  “A death threat, my dear. Apparently you’ve made enemies. It may have all been drunken talk, but I’m not willing to be so cavalier when it comes to your safety.”

  The only man she had truly maligned in her books was pacing magnificently before the empty grate in her parlor. “Jane Street is guarded. I am perfectly safe.”

  “The watchmen are only here at night. I got past the gates this afternoon, didn’t I? Those carters outside could be hired ruffians come to box you up in one of the trunks. Drop you right into the Thames.”

  “Earrings from the Earl,” Caroline said absently. She had used that very plot device once as the Edward character bobbed out to sea only to become fish food.

  “I met with an investigator earlier today, a Mr. Mulgrew. He comes highly recommended. You’ve heard of the Egremont case, I expect. He and his agents will discover who is behind these threats. In the mean time, I will move in here. When I’m in Parliament, my valet Cameron will see that the house is secure. He served with honor on the Peninsula and knows his way around a pistol.”

  Caroline was reeling. She supposed she had no objection to taking in Edward’s man—with a gun!—as a precaution but she couldn’t possibly allow Edward to move in. Even if it were little more than a closet, this Cameron fellow could share young Ben’s room on the third floor, but where would Edward sleep?

  “This is ridiculous. There must be some mistake.”

  “Don’t be stubborn. Even Marburn agrees with me that something needs to be done.”

  “You’ve spoken to Garrett?” Caroline was incredulous. To her knowledge, they had never spoken before. Edward would never give Garrett the time of day unless the situation was serious. Or at least he thought it was. How she would have liked to be a fly on that
wall.

  Edward nodded. “He was present at my meeting with Mulgrew. If you are a target, then he may be as well.”

  “I don’t understand this at all. Perhaps you should start from the beginning.”

  Edward sighed. “I am paying those men by the hour, Caroline. At least let them unload the cart.”

  “This is not the time to think of your pocketbook! If you must be so cheeseparing, I’ll see to it they get their wages and send them back where they belong.”

  Edward ran a hand through his perfect, brushed-back hair, then gave a little smile. “Very well. I was at the breakfast table this morning. Kippers. Eggs. Stewed fruit. Toast and The Times. Just the usual. Do you want to know what I was wearing?”

  Good Lord. He was making a joke. “Stop it!”

  “Full of orders today, I see. Rossiter came to see me. He’d been up all night worrying about you. I have no doubt that what he heard disturbed him greatly—he was genuinely upset. Last evening he was at a party and overheard two men talking. My name was mentioned in conjunction with the term ransom. From the words used, it is unlikely that any other female attached to me was the object of this crime except for you, but I’ve taken steps to protect Allie and Beth. Mulgrew will get the guest list to help us narrow down the conspirators. You can figure out which of the gentlemen you’ve pilloried and we’ll take it from there.”

  Caroline felt the blood drain from her body. If anything she’d ever written in her silly books resulted in harm to Allie, she’d never forgive herself. “Edward—” Her voice broke.

  “Here. I know this is a shock. Drink your brandy.”

  Caroline obediently swallowed from the glass Edward held to her lips. Her hands shook too badly to take it from him.

  “I never meant to cause any harm.”

  “I know. From what Marburn said, you’ve been scrupulously careful, flattering most of the men you’ve based your characters on. Really, the only aggrieved parties he could think of were Pope and Douglass. And me, of course,” he added wryly.