No Man's Mistress

by Mary Balogh

  “Even death would not be suitable for what he has done,” Ferdinand said savagely. “But it is the best substitute I can think of.”

  “Ah,” his brother said softly. “But we must think of what is best for your Viola too, Ferdinand. You cannot afford to make a mistake there or she will lock herself behind Pinewood doors and never come out again.”

  Ferdinand picked up his glass and sat down.

  23

  Viola sat reading the next morning while her mother gave Maria an arithmetic lesson. At Y least she held an open book in her lap and even remembered to turn a page now and then. But her hands were like ice and her heart was thudding and her mind was in turmoil.

  All she needed was that piece of paper in her hands. There was a stagecoach leaving for the west country from another inn during the afternoon. She could be on it. Hannah already had their bags packed. Her mother would be disappointed, of course. She had her heart set on going to Dudley House for tea. She firmly believed that Lord Ferdinand would renew his addresses and that this time Viola would have the good sense to accept. But Mama's disappointment would have to be borne.

  Surely his grace would call on Daniel Kirby this morning. Or perhaps he had gone yesterday but had waited until today to send her the receipt. Surely he would not let her down when the alternative for him might be acquiring Lilian Talbot as a sister-in-law.

  She turned a page with a cold, clammy hand.

  And then the sitting room door opened to admit Claire, waving a letter. Viola leaped to her feet, and her book clattered to the floor.

  “Is it for me?” she cried.

  “It is. A messenger brought it.” Claire was smiling. “Perhaps it is from Mr. Kirby, Viola. Perhaps he has found you a position.”

  Viola snatched the letter from her sister's hand. Her name on the outside was written in bold black letters, like the duke's writing as she had seen it at Pinewood.

  “I'll read it in my room,” she said, and hurried away before anyone could protest.

  Her hands were shaking as she sat down heavily on her bed and broke the seal. She and Hannah would be in time to catch the afternoon stage.

  She would never see him again.

  Two papers fluttered into her lap. She ignored them while her eyes scanned the brief note that had enclosed them.

  “With my compliments,” it said. “Both papers were filed with a solicitor in York shortly before the late Earl of Bamber's passing. F. Dudley.”

  It was Ferdinand's handwriting, then.

  She picked up the top paper from her lap and unfolded it.

  Oh, God! Oh, God, oh, God! Her hand shook so violently that she had to grip the paper with the other hand too. It was the receipt her father had made Daniel Kirby sign, declaring that the late Clarence Wilding's debts had been paid in full and for all time. There were the two signatures as plain as could be. And the signatures of two witnesses too.

  She was free. They were all free.

  But there was the paper lying folded in her lap. She set aside the one she had just read on the bed beside her and unfolded the second. She stared down at it until her vision blurred and one tear plopped onto a corner of it. She had not doubted him. Not even for a moment. But it was sweet—ah, it was sweet indeed—to hold the documentary evidence in her hands.

  Father. Oh, Papa, Papa.

  She was weeping openly when her bedroom door opened and her mother first peeped around it and then came hurrying inside.

  “Viola?” she said. “Oh, what is it, my dear? Is the letter from the duchess? Has she changed her mind about this afternoon? It really does not matter. Oh, goodness me, what is it?”

  She had come close to the bed and would have gathered her daughter in her arms, but Viola held out the codicil to her father's will.

  “He did love me,” she wailed. “He did.”

  Her mother read it before folding it and returning it to Viola's lap. “Yes, of course he did,” she said softly. “He adored you. Long after our relationship turned sour he came just to see you. I truly believe he loved you more than anyone else in the world. When I married your stepfather, I wanted nothing more to do with him. I was in love and I was very proud. I ignored your needs. He was my lover, but he was your father. There is a world of difference—I know that now. I suppose my anger with you for accepting Pinewood Manor from him arose from my guilt. I am so sorry. Can you ever forgive me? I am glad you were right and he really did leave Pinewood to you. I am glad, Viola.”

  Viola pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of her dress and held it to her eyes, but for the moment at least she could not seem to stop crying.

  “What is this?” her mother asked suddenly in a strange voice.

  The other paper. Viola slapped a hand onto the bed beside her, but it was too late. The paper was in her mother's hands, and she was reading it with wide, dismayed eyes.

  “Bamber paid off Clarence's debts?” she said. “What debts? To Mr. Kirby?” She lifted her gaze to Viola's face.

  Viola could think of nothing to say.

  “Explain this to me.” Her mother sat down beside her.

  “I did not want to worry you,” Viola said. “You were so ill after my stepfather died. And it would not have been fair to Uncle Wesley to have burdened him. I—I tried to pay the bills myself, but there were so many of them. M-my father was kind enough to pay them all off for me.”

  Leave it at that, Mama.

  “You were paying Clarence's debts, Viola?” her mother said. “Gaming debts? Out of a governess's pay? And you were helping to support us?”

  “I needed very little for myself,” Viola said. Please leave it at that.

  But her mother had turned noticeably paler. “What did you do during those years?” she asked. “You were not a governess, were you? He was not our friend, was he?”

  “Mama—” Viola laid a hand on her mother's arm, but her mother shook it off and gazed at her in horror.

  “What did you do?” she cried. “Viola, what did he force you to do?”

  Viola shook her head and bit her upper lip as her mother clapped a shaking hand over her mouth.

  “Oh, my child,” she said, “what have you done for us? What did you do for four years?”

  “Uncle would have been ruined,” Viola said. “Please try to understand. The children would have ended up in debtors' prison with you. Mama, please try to understand. Don't hate me.”

  “Hate you?” Her mother grabbed her, held her tightly and rocked her. “Viola. My sweet child. What have I done to you?”

  Some time passed before Viola drew away and blew her nose firmly. “I think I am glad you know,” she said. “It is horrid to have dark secrets from one's own family. But it is all over now, Mama. He has no more power over me—or Claire.”

  “Claire?” her mother cried.

  “He would have used her if I had not come back to London,” Viola explained. “But she is safe now, Mama. The receipt has been found. And Pinewood belongs to me. I am going to go back there. After I have settled again, perhaps you and the children will come and live with me. All is well that ends well, you see.”

  “Where did these papers come from?” her mother asked.

  “Lord Ferdinand Dudley sent them,” Viola said. “He must have gone looking for them.”

  “Oh, my love.” Her mother touched her arm. “He knows? Yet he still cares for you? Surely you must feel some affection for him.”

  Viola got to her feet and turned her back on her mother. “You must understand now, Mama,” she said, “why such a match is a total impossibility. Besides, he will not renew his addresses. He sent these papers with a messenger.” And signed himself F. Dudley.

  Her mother sighed. “It is his loss, then,” she said. “Did Bam—Did your father know everything, Viola?”

  “Yes.”

  “And so he freed you from your burden and gave you Pinewood so that you could start a new life,” her mother said. “He was always a generous man. I cannot deny that. My complaints mu
st have seemed cruel indeed to you. Come to the sitting room and we will have a cup of tea together.”

  But Viola shook her head. “I have a letter to write, Mama,” she said. “And Hannah and I will be leaving for Pinewood this afternoon.”

  She had to write to the Duke of Tresham first. If the letter arrived in time, she would save him some effort and herself some money. But the letter would assure him that she would keep her part of their bargain regardless.

  She was going home.

  Daniel Kirby settled himself in the high seat of the curricle that had long been the envy of the male half of the ton and smiled genially at the man beside him. “I always did suspect you had an eye for the best, your grace,” he said.

  “The best in sporting vehicles?” the Duke of Tresham asked.

  “That too.” Kirby chuckled.

  “Ah.” His grace flicked the ribbons and his horses stepped smartly out onto the street, leaving Kirby's lodgings behind in a matter of moments. “You were referring to female charms. Yes, I have always had an eye for the very best.”

  “Which is precisely what you will get with Miss Talbot,” the other man said. “She is more alluring than ever after a two-year absence. But perhaps your grace's brother has informed you of that, since he must have met her at Pinewood.”

  “Indeed,” the duke said.

  “She will be ready to start entertaining within the week,” Kirby said. He clung to the rail beside him as the curricle turned into Hyde Park. “Of course, you must know that she is expensive, but one must always be prepared to pay for the best.”

  “I have always said so,” his grace agreed.

  Kirby chuckled. “And there will be an extra charge to her first client,” he said. “It will be worth it, your grace. You will acquire considerable prestige in the eyes of your acquaintances as the first to bed the delectable Lilian Talbot in two years.”

  “One always likes to bolster one's prestige in a worthy cause,” Tresham said. “Miss Talbot is, ah, eager to return to work?”

  “Work!” Kirby laughed heartily. “She calls it pleasure, your grace. She would start tonight if I would let her. But I wanted to give her to someone… ah, shall we say, special, the first time?”

  “I do like to consider myself special,” the duke said. “Dear me, whatever is going on up ahead of us, I wonder?”

  Up ahead of them, on the grass to one side of the path along which they drove, there was a considerable gathering of people. It was strange, really, as all were on foot and this particular part of the park, shaded by trees and hidden from much of the rest of it, was not one of the most frequented. As they drove closer it became clear that all the people were men. One of them, a little apart from the others and lounging at his ease against a tree trunk, his arms crossed over his chest, was in a shocking state of semi-undress. He wore a white shirt with tight leather riding breeches and boots, but if he had worn a waistcoat and coat and hat into the park, there certainly was no sign of them now.

  “A fight?” Kirby suggested, his voice brightening with interest.

  “If so, there seems to be only one participant,” Tresham said. “And dear me, it appears to be my brother.” He slowed the pace of his horses until they came to a halt altogether beside the relaxed figure of Lord Ferdinand Dudley.

  “Ah,” he said with a grin, “just the man I want to see.”

  “Me?” Kirby asked, pointing to his own chest when it became obvious that Lord Ferdinand's gaze was not directed at his brother. He eyed the gathered throng, all of whom had fallen silent. “You wished to see me, my lord?”

  “You are Lilian Talbot's manager, are you not?” Ferdinand asked him.

  Daniel Kirby smiled jovially, if a little self-consciously. “If that is what you wish to see me about,” he said, “you are going to have to stand in line behind his grace, your brother, my lord.”

  “Let me understand you,” Ferdinand said. “You manage Lilian Talbot, whose real name is Viola Thornhill.”

  “I like to grant her some privacy, my lord, by keeping mum about that second name,” Kirby said.

  “Natural daughter of the late Earl of Bamber,” Ferdinand added.

  There was a murmuring from the spectators, to whom that detail appeared to come as news. For the first time, Kirby looked uneasy.

  “Bamber.” Ferdinand had raised his voice. “Is this true? Lilian Talbot is really Miss Viola Thornhill, your father's natural daughter?”

  “He acknowledged her as such,” the Earl of Bamber agreed from close by.

  “I did not—” Kirby began.

  “Miss Thornhill lived quietly and respectably with her mother and half-brother and -sisters at her uncle's inn until you bought up the debts of Clarence Wilding, her late stepfather?” Ferdinand asked.

  “I don't know what this is about,” Kirby said, “but—”

  He was about to clamber down from his seat, but the duke set four gloved fingertips lightly on his arm, and he changed his mind.

  “You offered her the chance of saving her family from debtors' prison?” Ferdinand asked.

  “Here, here,” Kirby said indignantly, “I had to recover that money somehow. It was a large sum.”

  “And so you created Lilian Talbot,” Ferdinand said, “and put her to work and took her earnings. For four years. They must have been astronomical debts.”

  “They were,” the other man said indignantly. “And I did not take more than a small fraction of her earnings. She lived in the lap of luxury. And she enjoyed what she did. There are men here who can vouch for the fact.”

  “Shame!” several of the gentlemen present murmured. But Ferdinand held up a staying hand.

  “Miss Thornhill must have been disappointed, then,” he said, “when Bamber, her father, discovered the truth, paid off all the debts, received a written receipt to that effect from you, Kirby, and gave her Pinewood Manor in Somersetshire, where she could live out her life in a manner suited to her birth.”

  “There was no such receipt,” Kirby said. “And if she says so—”

  But Ferdinand had held up his hand again.

  “It would be wise not to perjure yourself,” he said. “The paper has been found. Both Bamber and I have seen it—and Tresham too. But when I won Pinewood from Bamber, you assumed that the late earl had played her false, did you not, and that the receipt had been discarded or lost. A foolish assumption. Bamber has discovered that his father did indeed change his will. Miss Thornhill is mistress of Pinewood.”

  There was a smattering of applause from behind him.

  “You discovered more debts when you believed her to be destitute,” Ferdinand said. “You have been attempting to force her return to prostitution, Kirby.”

  The murmur behind him was louder and uglier now.

  “I have not—”

  “Tresham?” Ferdinand asked coolly.

  “I was to have her within the week,” the duke said. “At something over and above her usual high fee, since apparently it would add to my prestige and make me appear, ah, special to be her first client after two years.”

  Ferdinand's jaw tightened.

  “I was about to decline when I spotted this interesting gathering,” Tresham continued. “The duchess, it is to be understood, would carve out my liver without bothering to kill me first.”

  There was a burst of laughter from the spectators. But Ferdinand did not join in. He was gazing at a clearly nervous Daniel Kirby, his eyes very black, his jaw hard, his mouth a thin line.

  “You have terrorized and ruined a gently born lady, Kirby,” he said, “whose only fault has been love of her family and a willingness to sacrifice her honor and her very self for their freedom and happiness. You are looking at her champion, sir.”

  “Look,” Daniel Kirby said, his eyes darting about as if to search out a friendly face or an escape route, “I don't want any trouble.”

  “Quite frankly,” Ferdinand said, “I do not care what you want, Kirby. It is trouble you have found this mornin
g—six years too late for Miss Thornhill. Get down from there. You are going to be punished.”

  “Your grace.” Kirby turned frightened eyes on Tresham. “I must call upon you to protect me. I came with you in good faith to arrange an assignation.”

  “And an assignation has been arranged,” the duke said, vaulting down from his seat and tossing the ribbons to his groom, who had been up behind the curricle. “This is it. Get down from there or I will come around and help you down. You will be given five minutes to strip to the waist and prepare to defend yourself. No, don't look so alarmed. We are not all about to pounce upon you like a pack of wolves. The idea has considerable appeal, it is true, but most of us gentlemen are constrained by a damnable sense of honor, you see. All the pleasure of the encounter falls to Lord Ferdinand Dudley, who has appointed himself Miss Thornhill's champion.”

  There was loud jeering from the spectators while Daniel Kirby sat where he was. There was laughter and then cheers as the Duke of Tresham stalked around his curricle and Kirby scrambled hastily down. Ferdinand pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it to the grass. Kirby cast one horrified glance at his hard torso and rippling muscles and looked away again. Even though no one touched him, he was being herded onto the grass by the sheer menace of a few dozen gentlemen moving purposefully to form a ring about an ominously empty area of lawn.

  “Strip down,” Ferdinand said tersely, “or I'll do it for you, Kirby, and I'll not stop at your waist. It will be a fair fight. If you can fell me, you are free to go. No one here will stop you. I am not going to kill you, but I am going to thrash you within an inch of your life—with my bare hands. If you imagine that going down will save you, you are mistaken. It will not. You will be unconscious by the time I have finished with you. So I will say the rest of what I have to say now. After you have recovered from your beating well enough to travel—it may take a week or two—you are to travel until there is an ocean between you and me. That ocean will remain between us for the rest of your life. If I ever hear of your returning, I will hunt you down and punish you all over again—to within half an inch of your life. I will not ask if you understand me. You are a weasel, but you are obviously intelligent too—intelligent enough to choose a young, vulnerable, loving girl as your victim. This is going to be for her—to restore her honor in the sight of these witnesses. Get that shirt off.”