A Proper Mistress

by Shannon Donnelly

  Simpson's face had acquired a pinched look, as if his drawers had suddenly shrunk to half their size, but he bowed and moved at once to obey Theo's orders.

  As soon as he left, Molly leaned closer. "Thank you—I was wondering how I could eat anything with them staring at me."

  He turned to her, a little surprised she should be so sensitive. "Why shouldn't they stare—you're a beautiful woman."

  Pleasure rushed into her face, lighting her eyes and her smile. He decided then and there to dedicate the rest of the meal to earning more smiles from her.

  He entertained her with stories about Simpson, and the exploits he and Terrance had undertaken to rattle the maddeningly placid butler. "He never did more than say, 'Very good, sir.' Or, 'Will that be all, sir.' Never so much as hinted at a rebuke to us—not even the time we set a bucket of eels loose in his bed."

  Molly shuddered. "Eels! And your father never said anything?"

  "Actually, he laughed at most of it. Except for the eels. He said it was a sin to waste God's creatures on a prank and gave us a suitable punishment."

  She pulled back. "Did he cane you?"

  "Oh, no. Far worse. He made us eat every last one of those eels. All at the same meal. We had fried eels, boiled eels, and eel soup for starters. Collared eels, stewed eels, eels and mushrooms, and eel pie. I can't even smell the things cooking without wanting to turn tail and run."

  She laughed, and said, "Well, now I know what never to cook for you."

  "Ah, so that is why you collect recipes—you cook. Why in blazes do you do that? Doesn't Sallie at least employ servants for you?"

  Taking up her wine, Molly took a large sip of the woody burgundy and regarded him over the brim of the glass. He already thought her low, and she could well imagine that if she admitted to being a cook in a brothel he would be horrified to find she was but a mere servant to the lowest of the low. A cook in a bawdy house. Gracious, he also might send her packing without her fifty pounds.

  So she only smiled. "That's my secret, ducks. A woman, after all, must have some mystery."

  She had often heard Sallie say such a thing, and she still had no idea what it meant really. But just now it suited her needs perfectly. Changing subjects, she asked, her tone pert, "Do you take your port alone, or will you give me a game of backgammon?" She had noticed the board in the drawing room—a lovely set with smooth ivory pieces and half the markers stained black.

  "You play?" he asked, rising and moving to pull back her chair.

  She straightened and said, her tone proud, "I was taught by none other than the Raja of Tanjore."

  He laughed. "Were you now? Well, that sounds a challenge to me."

  In the drawing room, they moved the board nearer to the fire, and Theo soon found that she played like a fiend. He didn't know about that story of a raja teaching her—that sounded suspiciously like some invented tale. But when he found himself being trounced, he started to play as he would against Terrance or his father rather than as he would against any lady of his acquaintance.

  She beat him soundly.

  As she swept her last piece off the board, he frowned and said at once, "Best of three."

  She smiled. "Very well. But I warn you, the raja taught me never to give any quarter in backgammon."

  He glanced at her, eyes narrowed. A nonsense story, of course. Or perhaps there was something to these tales of a childhood in India—in fact, perhaps she had started her profession there. Could this raja have taught her other things?

  He found himself frowning at such an idea, even though it set his imagination wandering to what she might have learned of other Eastern arts. What exotic bedroom skills might she have acquired? And that pulled his mind utterly away from this game.

  She beat him again, but far less handily.

  "Three out of five," he said, now scowling at the board.

  Laughing, she threw up her hands. "Ah, no. The raja also taught me to quite while I was ahead."

  "But you must give me a rematch. Tomorrow evening then."

  The laugher died in her eyes. "What if your father returns before then?"

  The light mood died in an instant. And Theo he had only himself to blame for his unthinking comment, and for the uncertain future before them both. Rising, he began to set the backgammon pieces into the starting order for a game. "I spoke to Burke before dinner and the gossip he had from the stables is that it's likely the squire will be away at least a week."

  "A week!" Molly stood now, her expression distressed. "But I can't stay that long. I have—well, I have work."

  He glared at her. "And this isn't? You're being handsomely paid, and for precious little, I may say. And the agreement was that I've got to be disowned for you to earn your full fee." His frown changed suddenly to a beguiling smile. "Come now, you can't want to go back to London with me left unsatisfied. And you might actually find time to enjoy yourself here."

  She folded her arms. "How am I to do that with every servant in this household watching as if I was some wild animal you brought home which they dare not trust?"

  "Do they really? Well, if that's the case, take long walks. Or, better still, ride with me."

  "On a horse?" she asked, anxiety suddenly squeaking in her voice.

  He grinned. "That's the usual way, though I suppose I could find you a donkey. Or a nice round pony to fit your legs?"

  She glared at him. "I'm not that small, thank you. And perhaps it is not that I am so short, it's just that you need trimming down to size!"

  His grin widened as he thought of this pocket Amazon taking him on. "Well, we could wrestle for it—I shouldn't mind. But I already told Sallie that this could take a bit, and if you're all that worried about her kicking up a fuss, I'll send off some sort of note telling her to expect your return when she sees you."

  She hesitated, and he leapt on the wavering indecision he glimpsed in her eyes. As he did, he realized that there could be some lovely side benefits to having her stay an extra few days. Just one of them lay before him in the view offered by that low cut gown of hers.

  Tone dropping low, he asked, "Have you ever seen Somerset? It's the best part of England, I swear. I'll show you about. Take you to the cathedral in Wells, if you fancy it. We could go on a picnic even, if we get a nice enough day for it."

  "A picnic?"

  He smiled at the wistful tone in her voice. "What? Haven't you ever been on a picnic?" She shook her head, her red curls swaying, glinting with gold threads in the firelight. "Well, that must simply be remedied at once, Miss Sweet. It's obvious now that you must stay. And don't worry, the squire will be home soon enough."

  She frowned at him. "I suppose I can't walk back to London. But, mind you, I can't stay here forever either!"

  Grinning, he grasped her hand. "It's not forever, my sweet Sweet. But I swear it'll be a pleasant few days."

  With a sigh, she shook her head. "You're a wicked man, I fear—for you make me forget every good intention I have."

  His grip tightened on her fingers. "Every one of them?"

  She pulled her hand away. "That's not an intention I ever had with you."

  "What isn't?" he asked, all innocence now.

  But Molly only shook her head, refusing to answer. Instead, she wished him a good night. And she fled before she started toying with the idea of how pleasant it would be to do more than she did intend with him.

  #

  True to his word, Theo started to show her about on the following day. He tried to convince her that such a perfect summer day, with the promise of heat in the air and a blue sky, called for ambling the neighborhood on horseback. However, she flatly refused his offer of the most placid mount.

  "I haven't a riding habit, and don't you go offering to pay for one for me. If I ride and find I like it, then I'd miss it back in London. And if I don't like it, what's the point?"

  He grinned at this logic, but gave in to her, settling instead for a walk under the lanes shaded by avenues of apple trees. This suit
ed her quite well, and she found him surprisingly knowledgeable about the crops planted in the fields.

  "Why do you not want to inherit this?" she asked, unable to understand and unable to keep the question inside.

  He did not look down at her, but stopped in the lane and stared at the field next to them where tall, slender stalks of wheat swayed in the breeze.

  "Because it's not mine. Terrance is the elder. It's his." He looked down at her and she was surprised to note how serious he seemed. How intent. "Blazes, if it were mine, I'd fight the devil himself to keep it. How could I rob my own brother of that?"

  She had no answer for him. Only more questions.

  Before she could ask about the tangle that seemed to be his family, the jingle of harness and the steady clop-clop beat of hooves on the hard dirt road told of a carriage approaching.

  As an open landau came into view with what seemed to be a lady and a gentleman seated inside, Theo moved with her to the verge of the road to allow the carriage to pass. But as it drew near, the lady's voice rose, betraying both age and agitation, "Stop! Stop the coach, Fields. Amy! My dear, dearest sister!"

  Startled, Molly looked up and she heard Theo swear under his breath. "Blast all! Lady Thorpe" He leaned closer. "Just smile and agree with whoever she takes you for or we shall be here all day arguing it."

  "Whoever?" Molly asked. She turned back to the coach, not understanding anything of what was going on.

  As ordered, the coachman halted the pair of dark brown horses that pulled the open landau and Molly could see the passengers clearly.

  The gentleman in the carriage seemed quite young—young enough to be the lady's son? Oddly, however, he dressed more like a servant, for his black coat and knee breeches and his white shirt, cravat, and waistcoat seemed more like plain livery than a gentleman's clothes. Molly turned her attention to the lady, who struggled with shaking hands to hold up a pair of eyeglasses from where they dangled on a golden chain around her neck.

  She looks a tiny bird of a lady, Molly thought. Gray hair was swept up under an old fashioned straw bonnet that tied under the lady's chin with a pink ribbon. A pink sash decorated her white muslin gown and a ruffled white scarf lay around her neck, with the ends tucked into the pink sash at the high waist. Clothes really more suitable to a girl than a matron, but Molly found the picture charming.

  Clear gray eyes lifted and regarded Molly through the lorgnette glasses, its gold chain glittering as the sun drifted through the tree leaves.

  Lady Thorpe's smile faded into sagging, parched skin. "Why, why you're not Amy!"

  The words came out almost accusing.

  Theo stepped forward and said firmly, as if speaking to a child, "Lady Thorpe, may I present Miss Molly Sweet."

  She glanced at him and the smile lit her faded eyes again, brightening them, lifting her face again from the sagging wrinkles. "Ah, Lord Howe, how nice to see you."

  Molly frowned. She shot a look at Theo? Was he really a lord? Had he been less than honest about his identity? But his father's servants had not addressed him as if he had a title.

  Lady Thorpe's voice drew her attention back, for the older woman suddenly announced, her tone commanding, "You're not Amy! Amy's dead. I remember now."

  She glared at Molly for a moment as if somehow it was her fault that she was not Amy. But her face lightened again. "Oh, but of course—you must be Amy's daughter! Yes. That's it! You must be my niece Mary all grown up!"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A shiver skittered through Molly, and aching desire spread after it. Could it be possible? Just perhaps? Her mother's name had been Amelia, not Amy. Still, that was close. And while she had never been called anything but Molly, was that not sometimes the pet name for Mary?

  Gracious, it seemed impossible, yet Molly's mind spun with dazzling visions of having found relatives. Would that not be the most outlandish coincidence—or, perhaps, as the Hindu, said, perhaps karma had led her here?

  Only she knew that she wanted this too much—was too willing to believe. She wanted to be this woman's niece. To be anyone's niece. Or a sister, or cousin, or just related in some fashion. To no longer be alone in the world.

  A lovely fantasy, but practical sense, earned with long years in a harsh world, told her to be sensible.

  Only still that tantalizing hope persisted in her, beating wildly in her pulse.

  "It's Molly, my lady. Molly Sweet," she said, stressing her name, more to herself than to anyone else.

  Lady Thorpe beamed at her as if she had not even spoken. "Ah, Mary, you look so like your mother."

  Molly's heart twisted and that flicker of hope spiraled into a warm blaze. Oh, but how she wanted this woman to be her aunt. Could it be possible? She glanced at Theo, instinctively seeking reassurance from him that she was not fooling herself. Only what had he said? Something about agreeing to whoever Lady Thorpe took her to be?

  Was this all some silly jest?

  The hope twisted again inside her, this time into something desperate.

  She had thought herself long ago accustomed to loss—she had nothing left of her parents. Not even the gold locket that had once held their likeness. But now she realized how unprepared she had been for anyone to touch this ancient scare.

  Glancing back at Lady Thorpe, she tried for a light, careless voice that masked the quivering confusion inside her. "You must have mistaken me for—"

  Theo's voice cut through her words. "For your mother—of course she did. Now, bid your aunt a good day, Mary. Or we shall be here forever." Leaning close, he muttered, "And don't forget I'm Lord Howe, so that gives me rank over you."

  He offered up a charming smile and Molly stared at him, utterly baffled, feeling as tattered now as rags in the wind. What is going on here! She wanted to shout the words at someone.

  Lady Thorpe spoke again, her voice frail with age. "You must come visit me soon, Mary. I do insist. Lord Thorpe and I shall be delighted to receive you at Lanton Hall." She smiled at the younger man in the carriage with her. He said nothing, merely inclined his head as if agreeing.

  Molly looked from Theo to Lady Thorpe, still tempted to burst out and demand a full explanation. Was everyone now pretending to be someone else? But she caught the warning glance from Theo and bit off her words.

  Lady Thorpe seemed not to notice any of the tension now swirling around the carriage—not Theo's impatience, nor Molly's confusion. Her lined faced wrinkled with smiles. She sat back and told her coachman to drive on, pausing only to wave again to them with a hand encased in white kidskin.

  When the carriage had rattled away, Molly turned to Theo, the words bursting out, "And just who is Lord Howe? Or Mary? Or Lady Thorpe for that matter?"

  Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he started down the lane again, toward Winslow Park. "That, my sweet Sweet, is the eccentric of Halsage—I suppose every neighborhood must boast one. And you may count yourself lucky she didn't keep us longer, pulling other names from her past and pegging them onto us."

  Molly bit her lower lip. She had guessed this as the truth, already, yet still she did not want to give up that slim, slim hope. Oh, she could be so stupid at times.

  "So it was all a mistake? Her thinking she knew me or my mother?"

  He glanced at her, blue eyes narrowing. "Mistake? What else could it be?"

  She wet her lips and tried for the most careless of tones. "Well, I had thought—that is, I don't really know any of my relatives."

  Stopping, he stared at her. "Why in blazes would you want to be related to her? She's a harmless enough lunatic, I suppose, but her family avoids her as much as the rest of the world tries to."

  Molly glanced down the lane, to where the it curved and the carriage had disappeared. "Oh, the poor woman—to be so alone."

  Still holding her hand, he started walking again, his stride long enough that Molly had to quicken her pace to stay with him. "Don't waste your pity on her. She goes about happy as a hen in a corn bin, and it's the rest of
us who must endure. That fellow with her—that's her butler. Half the time she takes him for Lord Thorpe. And, as you heard, I'm Howe—I have no idea who in blazes he was. Some ancient beau, I think. Still, I'd rather be him than her nephew, as I used to be—he seems to have been a bit of a prig, for she despised him and his father and forever went about telling me how horrible I'd grow up to be!"

  Molly let out a laugh, part relief and part amusement. Now that she knew the poor old lady was quite dotish and had meant no harm she had no reason to feel disappointed. It had been impossible all along that Lady Thorpe had known her mother.

  Really, it was.

  "What a pleasant thing to live with the past still around you no matter what changes," she said, shifting her thought away from her own past. Far better to have empathy, she told herself, with the old woman rather than pity for herself.

  Theo gave a shrug. "Don't know about that. I should far rather have the present." He glanced down at her and smiled. "Particularly such a nice present."

  Pleasure warmed her and she allowed it, but she wondered if she, too, might lose her grasp of reality if she dabbled too long in such fantasy. Such a silly thought. Just because Lady Thorpe turned everyone's identity turned around, didn't mean she had to, too.

  Still, she decided that she had had enough of too quickly raised and dashed expectations for the day. Best not to court any more with daydreams about anything being behind Theo's words just now other than a young gentleman's idle flirtation.

  Think of the fifty pounds he's paying you.

  With that in mind, she gave him a saucy smile. "Well, ducks, for the present I'm fair famished. What say we toddle back and see about a little something?"

  "I could think of a very improper something."

  Remembering Sallie's advice, she propped a hand on her hip. "Well, I don't know as you could afford my price for that."

  His grin widened. "Perhaps. But I have a feeling you might be worth going well into hock for—my sweet Sweet. However, for now let us find something else to satisfy you, eh?"