A Proper Mistress

by Shannon Donnelly

  #

  Crowing—raucous and far too energetic for the hour—woke Molly. Pulling open her eyes, she noted the gray light that filtered into her room from the single, small window. With a yawn, she sat up, pushed back her hair and peered about the room, wondering why it looked so odd.

  Then she remembered.

  She was not in her room at Sallie's house. She was not even in London. And she had slept through dinner, her empty, grumbling stomach reminded her. She covered her mouth for a moment, utterly mortified. Oh, she did so hope that Theo had not waited his own meal until it was too cold to eat. Well, nothing she could do about that.

  She smothered a giggle. Here she had been worried about his taking advantage of her, and it seemed more apt to say that she had been doing nothing but taking advantage of his good nature. But she remembered as well his treatment of the innkeeper—Theo did not have quite that good a nature. And she would have to remember that.

  With a yawn, she stretched. Rising, she went to the window, unlatched it and pushed open the hinged panes. She drew in a deep breath. Her childhood memories of morning were of spice-scented streets, of heat and moisture, and the wafting stench that came from the city of Madras when the wind changed. London, too, had its own unique scent—one of pungent coal fires, of horses in the streets and of the Thames when the tide was low. But here, ah, here, the air smelled fresh with promise. Aromas of bread baking set her stomach rumbling—warm smells of yeast and milk and egg and flour.

  Gracious, but she could eat a cow!

  With a skip and a smile, she set to taking care of her body's needs. She washed with cold water, her skin tingling at its touch. Why had Theo not sent someone to wake her? Would he be angry with her for sleeping and not keeping him company? Or had he perhaps not even noticed her absence?

  Still, he had paid for her to come with him to Somerset—not to entertain him, really. Just to be a low, grasping woman.

  She glanced at the green and yellow stripped dress she had worn yesterday. Shameful as it was, she still thought it a most attractive dress. The bright colors reminded her of a bird's exotic plumage. And that was just what she was supposed to be—an exotic bird. A captive one, at that. But she thought of the lady on the stairs. How wonderful it would be to be so...so elegant.

  Ah, well. Might as well wish for wings, there, too.

  With that, she turned her attention away from useless feelings and into the tasks at hand. She had learned to do that years ago, when that had been the only way to survive a world turned terrifying.

  Starting to hum, she dressed in the green and yellow again.

  She struggled with the ties at the back, but finally got them done up. She left off the jacket. A shawl from her trunk covered the loose lacing at the back anyway. And she went downstairs only to find herself the first guest to rise.

  Her presence earned her suspicious stares from the innkeeper and the plump, black-haired woman who looked to be his wife. But the woman brought her tea, and Molly asked about what might be for breakfast and if she had smelled cinnamon and that got them started on food.

  Molly didn't notice the time passing.

  By the time Theo came downstairs to the main parlor, Molly was still having her tea. She was seated with a stout, dark-haired woman, the remains of breakfast on the polished pine table. Molly seemed to be writing something in a small book as the stout woman spoke, her Berkshire accent strong.

  "Mind, now, use a good strong beer. Some hold as its molasses you want, but I say treacle. Aye, and black pepper and allspice—fine ground, mind—for a stronger taste."

  "And it's bay salt you use?"

  "Aye. After the saltpeter finely beaten, mind."

  "Saltpeter? What in blazes is that for?" Theo said, striding into the room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Both women rose, but Theo kept his eyes on his sweet Sweet. Only a redhead with that transparent skin could redden with such a strong rush of color. It surprised him again that she could blush like a maiden. And left him uneasy. Was she new at her line of work, and still able to feel a sense of shame? That was not what he had wanted to hire.

  She tried to tuck the small notebook behind her skirts, but he took her hand, asking, "What's this?"

  Tugging from his grasp, she glanced at the other woman. "Mrs. Weld, would you bring coffee and ale, and some more of that ham? Would you like bread and toasting folks as well?" she asked Theo, turning back to him, a smile in place, but also moving away, that book of hers now behind her skirts.

  "Blazes take the toast. Beef and ale will do for me."

  Mrs. Weld bobbed a curtsy and hurried away to bring the food, and Molly used the chance, he noticed, to place herself on the opposite side of the table from him. Well, at least she seemed to be something of a natural actress, for she was taking this acting like a lady quite seriously. Perhaps the crimson on her cheeks had been from the pleasure of seeing him—a nice thought that.

  He leaned his palms on the back of a straight-backed wooden chair. "Well, my lady-wife, or soon to be so at least for my father's notice, you had best seat yourself, unless it's your wish I eat standing."

  She sat down, and he did the same, eyeing the book that she had in her lap now, "And what in blazes were you writing?" He frowned as a thought struck. "You aren't one of those bookish types who go about taking down everything everyone says in some ghastly diary?"

  Stiffening, she glared at him as if he had insulted her. "Bookish? Certainly not. And all I was taking down was Mrs. Weld's recipe for smoking ham. If you had some yourself, you'd see why I asked for it."

  Eyes narrowed, he stared at her. Ham? Why in blazes would a strumpet care about ham? Or was she making some sort of ribald play on words? If she was, it certainly hadn't come with any suggestive looks. So that led him back to wondering why a bird of paradise, such as her, would care about ham?

  Her nose wrinkled, and she said, her tone clipped, "Do you think a woman of easy virtue to be a woman of no virtue at all? I'll have you know that all Sallie's girls can set a tidy stitch, and they at least know how to boil water for tea. Do you think they—we all sit about thinking only of...of...of cavorting?"

  He grinned. "Cavorting? Come now, why not use a nice old Anglo-Saxon word for it? Or don't you like to be blunt about your trade?"

  She blushed fiercer than before. "Even a working girl has to consider domestic necessities."

  "Such as recipes?"

  "I like food," she said, her chin lifting and her green eyes glittering hot.

  His let his glance stray to her plump curves. "Well, you need not eat me. I've nothing to complain of in that. I like a girl with a healthy appetite." His grin widened, and he turned as the innkeeper's wife came back, a tray in hand with a platter of cold beef and a pewter mug of ale. "Speaking of such—Mrs. Weld, you are an angel to be so prompt. And my Molly tells me I must try some of your ham."

  Molly watched him charm her and flirt with innkeeper's wife until he had her blushing as well, and giving his hand a playful slap before she left to fetch for him. That smile of his, Molly decided, probably got him his way in most things. That and those dark, dramatic looks of his. But when he grinned, his expression did away with the soulful, romantic impression stirred by that handsome face, the one that made him look angelic.

  Dangerously so.

  It would be a mistake, she knew, to ever think this one an innocent lad.

  Almost as if reading her thoughts, he winked at her over his tankard of ale. It was as if a hand clenched around her throat. She glanced away, face warm. This whole adventure might have been easier had he been as unappealing as the florid banker that Sallie had once introduced to her. Of course, it would not have been as much fun. Nor would she have taken it on.

  Her lips curved up.

  My Molly.

  How nice that sounded. But she really must remember that she was his only because of the fifty pounds he had paid for her. No, not for her. For her time, she amended. Just as Sallie paid for her time a
nd cooking. Even so, she squirmed in her chair. There seemed to be far too thin a line between selling her body to him for his pleasure, and selling herself to him as a pretend wife.

  Still, that line existed. Or at least she hoped it did, for about all she had left to anchor herself in this world was her self-respect.

  When he finished his ham and beef, and had praised both to Mrs. Weld, he suggested a stroll along Hungerford's streets, saying, "We've time before the horses are harnessed."

  Molly agreed at once. Anything to delay another full day of that rocking carriage. Going upstairs, she put on her bonnet, Spencer jacket, and gloves. She came downstairs to find Theo waiting, his tall beaver-skin at a jaunty angle.

  The town was still waking, but Molly soon found herself uncomfortable with the stares she drew from those residents and shopkeepers who where abroad. She had forgotten her status again, as a less than respectable woman.

  By the time Theo handed her into his brother's curricle, she found herself eager to leave. Gracious but it would also be good when this finished and she could slip into in her own plain muslin gowns again—and she vowed never to think them so dowdy or wish for something a bit brighter.

  The warm weather held, with a bright sky and not enough clouds to worry over rain. That left the roads dusty, but Molly was too interested in the scenery to care. She spent her time asking Theo about landmarks for which he had no idea about their names or their histories. Often enough, Burke leaned forward to give her an answer, his tone churlish enough that Theo would rebuke him and the two would set to arguing almost like boys over Burke's lack of respect.

  The further they traveled, however, the more Theo's answers changed into curt replies, and the more he began to look like a gloomy poet. He even stopped replying to any barbs from his brother's groom, and his distracted frown began to wear on Molly, setting her to pulling at the tips of her gloves.

  Across the downs near Cherril, Molly glimpsed a view of a giant white horse laid out in what seemed to be chalk on the green hillside. But Theo only stared at the road ahead, black eyebrows lowered into a flat line, his mouth tight and a hard look in his eyes, so she did not ask about it.

  Finally, Molly ran out of patience and bluntly asked, "Are you going to brood the rest of the way there?"

  Burke offered a snort of what might have been amusement, but Theo only glanced at her before he focused on his horses again, keeping the pair to a steady trot. "I'm not brooding—I'm thinking."

  "Worrying more like. And it's starting me to worry. Are you having second thoughts on this?"

  "I should think so," Burke muttered.

  Theo jaw tightened so that she saw the pulse beating fast near his ear. "What you think wasn't asked for." He threw a glance over his shoulder to Burke before he looked at Molly. "And I am not changing my mind about anything. I'm going to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all."

  She slanted a look at him. He had not sounded as if his temper was meant for her, and she almost asked what nonsense he meant, only that look in his eyes—like thick ice—had her remembering the overbearing stare he had given the innkeeper. She asked instead, "Perhaps you ought to give me a better idea of what to expect? Preparation is half any job."

  Glancing at her, his mouth quirked in a crooked half-smile, but the expression did not quite warm his eyes. "Now you sound like an actress."

  She thought of the orchestrated meals she had had to arrange for the visit of two royal dukes to Sallie's house, and the other special affairs that had been held for the more select company that had visited. "We all perform in our own ways, don't we, ducks? Like me just now."

  "She's got a point there," Burke said, leaning forward.

  Theo threw a sharp stare at him. "You may be Terrance's groom, but don't think I won't set you down so that you can walk the rest of the ways."

  Muttering, Burke sat back, arms crossed. Theo turned to Molly. "And you...you know all you need to know. Just act smitten and...."

  "And vulgar. Yes, so you've said already. But I'm not the one who needs to act smitten, now am I? Seems to me that would do better as your role."

  The act of overtaking a wagon piled high with hay took his concentration. When they were past, he steadied the pair and demanded, "Just how do you figure that?"

  Molly warmed to her idea, and slipped more into Sallie's accent. "Well, think on it, ducks. You're the one bringin' me home. Why else would you unless you can't stand to have me out of your sight. So, seems as if that ought to be due to your being smitten blind. Ready to do whatever I ask in fact."

  "And you'd enjoy that, would you?" he asked, voice dry.

  She wrinkled her nose. "I doubt we're talking much pleasure for me in this. You've been brooding enough..."

  "I don't brood!"

  "...brooding enough," she said firmly, "that I can only think the welcome we'll get from your father will be colder than an east wind off the Thames in a wet January."

  Theo's mouth twisted.

  But it was Burke who answered, his tone insolent as ever. "Not cold, Miss. It's a hot temper all the Winslows have. The squire'll most likely strip the walls with his cursing."

  "Well, that does sound a right treat for me, now doesn't it. And just what else might he do?" She rounded on Theo. "Here now—he's not the type to do more than shout is he?"

  Theo glanced at her, blue eyes blazing. "As in what? Box your ears or mine? Take a whip to us? He may have the Winslow temper, but he's not a savage! And Burke, if you say one thing more without being asked, you will be walking! Blazes—as if I'd pull any female into a dicey situation!"

  She bit her lower lip to stop the apology from slipping out. And she muttered, "Well, it's not as if I know much of anything about you, now do I?"

  His mouth tightened. "You know enough."

  She stared at his hard-set jaw for a moment—a stubborn profile, she decided, what with those dark brows flat over his eyes and a deep furrow between them. Now she knew how he got those lines in his forehead.

  For once, Burke also kept his tongue between his teeth. He, too, must have heard that implacable tone in Theo's voice.

  Turning to face the road again, she let out a sigh. "I suppose I do."

  For a moment only the beat of hooves on the road carried to them and the breeze from the brisk moving carriage whispered across her ears. And Theo said, his voice almost accusing, "Now you're going to brood."

  She lifted one shoulder. "Over what? I know well enough what to do, so it seems we have little else to say."

  At the sound of galloping hooves on the hard road behind him, Theo eased the curricle to one side. The mail coach—for Bath he guessed—galloped past in dust and shouts from the driver, the passengers on the roof clinging to the railing that surrounded the seats on the top of the coach and to their hats.

  He glanced down at his own passenger. He could barely see the tip of her pert nose just now—that damn bonnet of hers. He waited for some other comment from her, some new question. He hadn't bargained for such an inquisitive woman, but that's what came of looking for a brazen hussy, he supposed. He had wanted a woman with no sensibilities—no delicate feelings that could be easily bruised.

  Well, perhaps he could satisfy a little of her infernal curiosity.

  "It's simple, you know. All you need to do is be brass, solid through. My father will tear into me—not you. Least that's what I'm expecting—what I want, in fact. It's past time he learned I'm done dancing to his tunes. So when he starts to yell, just clutch at me and let me do all the talking. He's a crusty old devil, but he's been that way since my mother died, though I seem to recall he shouted even before then. Only this time, I'm going to make damn certain he has something to honestly shout about."

  #

  They drove straight through Bath, quite the most elegant city, Molly decided. With its buildings of white stone, it fairly gleamed, nestled against the rolling, green hills. She wished they might stop for tea and a rest. The shops, with their lovely bow windows to dis
play fabrics and Bath buns, and teas and books, stirred a longing in her to browse along the streets. But Theo kept the horses to a brisk trot, navigating the traffic of other carriages and strolling elegant ladies and gentlemen with ease.

  He allowed a short stop in Dunkerton at The Swan for a meal and a change of horses, and at that point Molly thought she would have eaten anything put before her—even the ghastly meat pie she had left behind the day before. However, The Swan provided a lovely summer Pease soup, mutton, macaroni, and a vegetable pie, followed by the thickest strawberries jam, the lightest scones, and the smoothest Devon cream that Molly had ever tasted. She wanted to ask for the recipes for all, but Theo hurried her out so fast she barely had time to pop the last luscious bite of scone into her mouth.

  Not long after, the countryside opened into flat land, with only one towering hill to be noted.

  "That's the Tor—Glastonbury Tor," Burke answered to her question about it.

  Theo merely kept driving.

  After yet another village, Molly began to be just a little bored by the trees and fields, cows and sheep. The road had narrowed to more of a lane—they must have turned from the main road—and tension had tightened lines around Theo's mouth.

  "Will we be there soon?" she asked, hungry again despite having eaten her fill earlier. The sun lay low on the horizon, but there would be another few hours of light. A full moon also showed a pale face in the eastern sky.

  "Soon enough," he said.

  Molly gave an inward sigh. It might be awful to face his father, but at this stage she would rather face any number of irate gentlemen—just so long as she could step out of this rocking carriage.

  They skimmed through a lovely, tidy village, but it was growing too dark for Molly to see much of it, other than thatched roofs for some of the cottages and lighted windows. She glanced longingly at the sign for The Four Feathers with the warm glow of light in the inn's mullioned windows, but Theo did not check his pace.