Mistress by Marriage

by Maggie Robinson

  “Mr. Cameron said you were up. My heavens, you’re a mess.”

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  “It’s afternoon—nearly one o’clock, Lady Christie. Mrs. Hazlett said you had a hard night.”

  “It was not my finest hour.” Save for tangling with Edward and tingling all over on the grass.

  “Lord Christie was almost ready to sack Cameron this morning, but I told him no one can stop you when you really want to do something.”

  Caroline sat as Lizzie took a brush to her hair. “He’s gone?”

  “Yes. Quite early. Cameron boxed up everything and is on his way now, too. So we’re back to normal,” Lizzie said brightly, avoiding Caroline’s eyes in the mirror. “Do you want to wash before lunch, or after?”

  “A bath first, I think. Ouch.”

  “Sorry, but your hair’s in knots. And there’s grass enough caught in it to make a bird’s nest.”

  One spring when she and Nicky were children, birds made a nest under the eaves of Parker Hall. She and her brother had watched through the grimy attic window as the couple settled in, hatched their babies, fed them. Then one morning, the nest was empty. Nicky had lectured her on the cycle of life, but Caroline had been inconsolable. She returned to the attic again and again until the snow fell, expecting to find the family snuggled together, back from their bird adventure.

  She had missed country life whilst living in London. Exploring the bountiful grounds at Christie Park in Kent had been the one good thing about her marriage, besides the nights with Edward. Her Jane Street gilded cage was soon to be abandoned, but she could feel the loneliness already.

  Caroline scooted over on the dressing table bench. “Lizzie, sit for a minute. I have a proposition for you, but I expect you to say no. I’m counting on it, for your sake.”

  Lizzie lifted a fair eyebrow but did as she was asked.

  “Edward is going to buy me a house in the country. Something very small and out-of-the-way. I really will not require the services of a lady’s maid, but I could do with a friend. However, I believe my friend is about to become betrothed to another friend of mine. Am I correct?”

  “He hasn’t asked me yet. But I think he will.” Lizzie twisted her fingers. “He hasn’t seen my back, Caroline. I haven’t let him do anything more than kiss me—and a few touches.” She seemed embarrassed by the admission, showing a charming uncertainty for a young woman who had first sold her body at the age of fourteen. Lizzie walked to the window and stepped onto the little terrace. Caroline followed and laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “Trust me. It will not matter to him. He will only love you more for your suffering.”

  “I don’t want to be pitied!”

  Caroline smiled. “I doubt what Garrett Marburn feels for you is pity, Lizzie. You’re a beautiful woman. Smart.”

  “I was a whore,” Lizzie whispered. Her eyes were bright with tears.

  “And now you’re not. We all make mistakes. It’s important we don’t let the mistakes make us.” Caroline knew she should take her own advice. Her youthful folly with Andrew and her unhappy marriage did not need to chart her course for the rest of her life. “I’m going to start fresh, and you will, too. If you want, I’ll speak to that slowtop. Why he hasn’t offered for you yet is an absolute disgrace. Men are idiots.”

  “No, don’t. I’ll bring him ’round—when it’s time. But what about you? Mrs. Hazlett says Lord Christie is going through with a legal separation.”

  “Yes. It’s time now, don’t you think? And I won’t be on Jane Street at his mercy once a year. It’s done. If I give him reason, perhaps eventually we will divorce.”

  Lizzie looked at her. “That means you’ll have to have an affair. A real one this time.”

  “Would that be so impossible to imagine? I haven’t lost all my looks, have I?” Caroline fluffed up her hair. Lizzie brushed it back down automatically.

  “Of course you haven’t. I just don’t—never mind. It’s not my place.”

  “Lizzie, you can be frank. We’re more than just mistress and servant.”

  “I know, Caroline. I owe you everything.”

  “Let’s not get carried away.”

  “I think you and Lord Christie belong together, whatever your differences.”

  Caroline shook her head. “I admit there’s something between us, but not enough to build a marriage on. One must get out of bed eventually,” she said wryly.

  “What if you sat down with him and hashed everything out? Ask him what he wants of you?”

  “One doesn’t ask a Christie questions. One only gives the proper answers.”

  “I think it’s worth a try.”

  “I appreciate your advice, Lizzie, but it’s far too late. No, my plan is best. I’ll leave here and start over. Stop writing. Be respectable. But don’t tell Garrett yet. I expect he’ll have a fit.”

  “He’ll miss you.”

  “He’ll miss the income I generate.” Caroline laughed. “But the books haven’t come easily to me lately. Better to stop while I’m ahead. I wouldn’t want to repeat myself and kill off Edward the same way twice.”

  Caroline looked around the narrow hallway. It was far too crowded, but now that the hall table had been removed, there was room for the Hazletts, Lizzie and Marburn, and young Ben. Yesterday the removal men had packed up some of her things to carry into the wilds of Dorset. The rest she had bequeathed to the friends before her, the Janes, or the Jane Street house itself. The next courtesan would need a bed and a few sofas to recline on. A pity Caroline had wasted so much of her money on redecoration, but it was not the first mistake she had made.

  She hadn’t even seen the cottage she was to live in, hadn’t even seen the man who had purchased it for her since the ill-fated night in her garden. It had taken a few weeks for Edward to make the arrangements. Her new life had been arranged solely by letter, which had suited her perfectly. She did not need to crick her neck gazing up at Edward’s emerald eyes and listen to his dark velvet voice.

  Gracious. She was thinking like a writer—jewel-toned eyes were such a cliché—which she was determined not to be ever again. She had penned her very last Courtesan Court book in a frenzy of packing. She hoped her public wouldn’t be too disappointed. Her heroine, Cassandra, a notorious opera star, had decided to forego her lover Roderigo for a life in the country. She would sing in the local church choir only and give free music lessons to poor children. The ending was so abrupt Garrett had said she’d opened herself up for a sequel, but Caroline thought not.

  She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to do next. She couldn’t carry a tune herself. But Edward had written there was a large garden, so she could prune and plant and weed until she decided.

  “Harold is safe in the carriage?”

  “I put him in there myself. He wasn’t happy to be stuck in that cage.” Lizzie’s chin quivered. “You’ll come back for the wedding if we marry?”

  “We’ll marry, all right,” Garrett growled. He had proposed, but Lizzie was yet to be fully convinced she was worthy of him. She was being particularly missish about becoming Mrs. Marburn. Caroline had already advised Garrett to kidnap her just like Lord Farringdon did to Felicia in Lord Farringdon’s Fickle Fiancée and carry her off to Scotland, bound and gagged if necessary. Felicia had been very good with her fists, and not bright enough until the last chapter to realize that Lord Farrington was her one true love.

  “Of course. You know Garrett’s right. You won’t get a better offer.” Caroline suspected the next time she heard from them, the deed would be done and there would be no need for her to stand as matron of honor.

  “Damn right.”

  “And you, Garrett Marburn, won’t get a better wife. Be good to each other.” She embraced them both.

  “We shall miss you, Lady Christie.” Mrs. Hazlett wiped a tear with the corner of her apron. Mr. Hazlett’s eyes were suspiciously damp as well.

  “I hope you both enjoy your retirement. I’ll never f
orget how kind you were to me these last five years.”

  Ben shuffled behind the little crowd and stepped forward. “I thank you fer invitin’ me, but Lunnon’s me home. I don’t hold with the country and cows.”

  Caroline chuckled. “I haven’t any cows yet as far as I know, Ben, just my cat. But you behave for the Hazletts. They have need of a big, strong boy like you. And don’t neglect your studies.”

  Ben rolled his eyes but said nothing else. Ben was perhaps not Caroline’s most successful project, but he was the Hazletts’ problem now.

  Mrs. Hazlett handed her a hamper that had been at her feet. “Don’t forget to eat your lunch and drink every drop of wine I packed for you. I know you don’t hold much with spirits, but it will help to settle you bouncing around on the road. You don’t want to be stopping at dirty posting houses for bad food. There’s a flask of tea, too. Drink it all. It’s just the way you like it—plenty of sugar.”

  It was the third or fourth time Caroline had been admonished to eat and drink the contents of the wicker basket. As she had no interest in sitting all by herself in some inferior inn, she had no objection. It was quite scandalous that she was traveling alone, but Edward’s plans for a chaperone for her had fallen apart at the last minute. The maid he had hired became ill and there wasn’t time to find anyone else. Caroline didn’t mind. She had done for herself for years as Caroline Parker and expected she could do so as Caroline Christie.

  It would take several days to deliver her to her new home. Just as she had requested, a hired coach was parked at her steps. Caroline didn’t want to attract unwelcome attention with Edward’s handsome crested carriage. It was past time to leave.

  After another round of hugs and a bold kiss on her lips from Ben, Hazlett handed her into the carriage where Harold yowled a welcome. “Remember this, my lady. We have your best interests at heart. May you find all the happiness you deserve.”

  Touched, Caroline leaned down to give the old man a kiss on his cheek. She hoped the last two kisses of her life were not to be to a scruffy boy and an elderly butler. “Thank you, Hazlett. They don’t make butlers like you anymore.”

  “I should say they don’t. Now, you be careful. And keep in mind not everything is as it seems.”

  “Excellent advice. Good-bye! I’ll write as soon as I am settled.” She waved as gaily as she could manage, then settled back into the squabs of the coach.

  “Hey there!”

  Caroline looked out the window. All the current Janes, even the thieving Lucy Dellamar, had come out at the early hour, some wearing more clothes than others. They clustered around the sentry post at the iron Jane Street gate and tossed flower petals in her direction.

  “Good luck! Be good, but not too good!” they cried in unison.

  Caroline laughed. Then she cried a bit along with Harold as the carriage wound its way around the early morning traffic, missing her unlikely friends already. No doubt it was just nerves. She hadn’t slept well and spent much of the night staring up at the big mirror over her bed. Without most of the furniture, the bedroom had seemed a bit spooky, so she’d let a lamp burn. Silly of her.

  But she was leaving the bed behind, with its wicked naked caryatids. Too much had transpired in that bed to bring her any luck. Edward had written the cottage was partly furnished. She hoped so. She wasn’t taking all that much with her.

  Caroline loved to decorate. She was good at it. She’d transformed her family home on a shoestring once Nicky and Andrew had turned it into a hotel. But Edward hadn’t let her change a thing at Christie Park or his house in town, one of the things that had stymied her so much during the year of her marriage. She was looking forward to assessing her new abode and improving it. There was plenty of money now. Edward’s allowance was generous, and she still had her savings from the book sales.

  Harold had stopped glaring at her and had curled up in a corner of his cage to sleep. Smart cat. But she wanted to keep her wits about her on the road. One never knew what might happen, although the coachman and postboy looked to be sturdy and dependable Yawning, she lifted the basket lid and took out the flask of tea. She unscrewed the top and drank directly from the container. With the rocking of the carriage, she didn’t dare try to pour the liquid in the pretty china cup Mrs. Hazlett had packed. She wouldn’t want to spill any on her new cherry-red travelling costume—which Edward would never see.

  The tea tasted especially delicious, perhaps because she drank it straight from the flask. Caroline had always liked to break the rules. In fact, it was so good, she drank it all before they hit the London line.

  Chapter 16

  The fearsome footsteps came inexorably closer. Bound and blindfolded, Barbara knew her life was about to be altered forever.

  —The Return of the Rogue

  Who could imagine he had that rogue Garrett Marburn to thank for this brilliant plan? Edward had been beyond irritated when Marburn had the gall to come to Christie House to complain that Caroline had quit writing forever and was retiring to the country all because of him. The man went on and on how he’d miss Caroline, that she was his most successful author and an invaluable friend. She’d even given expert romantic advice! If her maid Lizzie didn’t agree to marry Marburn soon, he was just to sweep her off her feet and drag her to Gretna like in some silly book she’d written. Caroline had assured Marburn all women liked the grand romantic gesture and a bit of mastery.

  Edward had no need to carry Caroline off to Scotland. They were already married. But it was the ideal opportunity to get her out of town, to begin their marriage anew, with a set of clearly-defined rules. Alone. There would be no children to interfere—the boys were finally at university, and Beth had promised to keep a steadying hand, or perhaps two, on Little Alice.

  It had taken Edward a few weeks to set the grand romantic gesture in motion, but once he set his Christie precision to it, things fell into place. First, he’d begged a copy of Lord Farringdon’s Fickle Fiancée from his sister Beth. He locked himself in his study and read the thing straight through. Alternating between being appalled and fascinated, Edward took copious notes. Caroline was a much more worthy adversary than that nitwit Felicia, so he took it upon himself to alter the plot slightly.

  Edward had no intention of sending Caroline to Dorset. Dorset was too far away from London, and he might be called back for some damned parliamentary emergency or other. No, Caroline was going to a perfectly charming borrowed manor house in Kent, not all that far from Christie Park in case the emergency was in the other direction. One never knew with Little Alice. He’d spent the last few weeks bribing, berating, and bullying the necessary people and was satisfied he’d be successful. Caroline had no idea what she was in for.

  He smiled down at her on the seat cushion. His wife was blindfolded and gagged, curled up on her side. Her arms were tied up from wrist to elbow in front of her. And the best part? She didn’t even know it. The empty flask of tea rolled on the carriage floor.

  True, his approach was rather risky. But if he’d simply accosted Caroline on the road like some dashing masked highwayman as Farringdon did to Felicia, she would have recognized him immediately and talked his ear off once again on their unsuitability for each other. She would have been reasonable, when everyone knew it was up to a Christie to be the reasonable one.

  She must have acquired a touch of reason by marriage. If he had to sit through one more lecture like the one that last night in her Jane Street garden, he’d commit himself to Bedlam. This time, she would listen to him. He had a whole week to convince her.

  So here she was, quiet as a mouse. If she awoke, he’d give her the wine and that would keep her quiet until they got to his friend’s property outside Ashford. The house sat on over one hundred walled acres. Caroline had appreciated the extensive gardens, Dutch arches, and Jacobean architecture on their previous visit. The Hazletts and Ben were already on their way to prepare her welcome. He would serve as lady’s maid himself, and was relishing the task ahead.

/>   But first they had to get there. If it had been up to the blasted cat Harold, he’d be streaked with blood and half dead. When Edward stepped into the carriage at the arranged spot, the cat had made an unruly commotion throwing himself against the bars of the cage, hissing and yowling, guarding his mistress with alarming fervor. Edward worried Caroline would wake up, but she was still his Sleeping Beauty. He had taken meticulous care in the arrangements, but he hadn’t counted on the cat.

  At least cats couldn’t talk. It was imperative he not reveal that he was her kidnapper until he got her safely to Bradlaw House. He was wearing itchy new second-rate clothes from the skin out and had splashed a great deal of bay cologne all over his person to disguise the feel and scent of him. He’d practiced his villain voice for a week in case it was needed. He couldn’t make himself shorter or less handsome, but as long as she didn’t see him, she’d never know he had lost his mind and snatched his own wife. Once he installed her in their bedchamber, reasoned with her and then freed her, all would be well.

  The thought of keeping her tied up was very appealing. He pictured Caroline spread open for him, her plump white limbs tied to the bedposts. If he were smart, he’d leave her gagged, for she was apt to make a fuss—

  As she was beginning to do right this minute. He’d consulted his physician in a rather veiled interview to determine just how much of the drug should be added to the tea. Mrs. Hazlett had apparently erred on the side of caution.

  Caroline gave a violent twitch and gurgled.

  He swatted her backside. “Oy. See yer wakin’ up. Do what yer told and no harm will come to ye.” Edward thought he sounded quite ferocious. He hoped Caroline would, too.

  Her scream was muted, but ear-splitting nonetheless. Harold joined right in.

  “ ’Ere now. Ye ain’t got no cause for fussin’ yet. You must be thirsty. Lie still and I’ll get ye somethin’ to drink.”