Never a Mistress, No Longer a Maid (Kellington Book One)

by Maureen Driscoll

  Lynwood sat back in his chair looking for all the world like a hanging judge. But more severe. He continued. “I don’t need to tell you that espousing such ideas here wouldn’t just be dangerous. It’d lead to social ostracism.”

  “Even if I were to do such a thing, do you really think anyone would dare to cut me?” Lizzie watched her brother’s left eyebrow rise, then matched it with one of her own. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to meet Rosalind. I promise we’ll speak only of ribbons, balls and embroidery. Unless you think even those subjects too controversial, then we’ll simply sit and become the empty-headed chits so clearly preferred by nincompoop men.”

  Lizzie got up to make her escape, then noticed Lynwood open a drawer and pull out a sheaf of papers. Her sheaf of papers. It couldn’t possibly be.

  “This nincompoop man,” said Lynwood, “made a very interesting discovery today. I found a copy of ‘Toward the Enlightenment of England: A Treatise for the Reformation of Property Rights, the Rights of Women in Marriage and Universal Suffrage.’ And if that title didn’t whet a person’s curiosity sufficiently enough, the next line certainly would. Because it seems that the treatise was written by Lady Elizabeth Kellington.”

  He tossed the pamphlet on the desk. He was as displeased as Lizzie had ever seen him. He wasn’t yelling, which he used to do with some frequency when she and her other brothers had gotten into fights growing up. This was worse. Much worse. He was quiet. Precise. And frighteningly calm.

  “Where did you get that?” she asked.

  “I have my sources.”

  “Aunt Prue?”

  “Of course not. She’d never show you such disloyalty, although I wish in this instance she’d used a bit more common sense.”

  Aunt Prue was their maternal aunt and devoted to the Kellingtons. She and her companion, Mariah Campbell, served as Lizzie’s chaperones when needed.

  “You mustn’t blame Aunt Prue. She thought I was going to publish anonymously. Where did you get that?”

  “Why is it so important to know how I obtained it?” He flicked the treatise away from him as if it gave off an odor.

  “It just is.” Lizzie picked up the papers. She leafed through them until she found what she was looking for, then smiled in relief.

  Lynwood, adept at recognizing the danger signs when it came to his siblings, was instantly suspicious. “Why are you smiling?”

  “You have an early copy.”

  “There are more?” asked Lynwood, letting his composure slip for the first time.

  “I imagine by this time, there’ll be thousands more.”

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked, as color leached from his face.

  “It’s in the news sheets.”

  Lynwood rarely shouted. He almost never lost control. But this time he did both.

  “You’re telling me this was published?”

  “Of course. What good would it do to have it read by only those who agreed with it? You can’t change the world that way.”

  Lynwood stormed past her and flung open the door.

  “Heskiss! Being me the afternoon papers!”

  A moment later, the long-time Lynwood House butler brought in three newspapers. Lynwood grabbed them.

  “Where’d you send it?” he demanded of Lizzie.

  “Everywhere. The Times refused to print it, being the stodgy old twits they are, but the Examiner agreed to it. And I believe the Mayfair Express serialized it. They were actually going to pay me. But I knew you certainly wouldn’t like that, so I turned down the money. Do you think I should’ve taken the blunt? It might’ve been quite amusing.”

  Lynwood flipped through the Examiner until he found what he didn’t want to see. Lizzie’s treatise. And her name in bold letters.

  The shock was profound. And he was not a man easily surprised.

  “You’ve gone too far this time,” he said, when he finally found his voice.

  “Oh come on, Liam. I shall be fine. I’m one-and-twenty and I do have a brain in my head.”

  “At times like this, I can doubt its existence,” he said, putting aside the paper and looking at the sister he’d helped raise. “This will ruin you. It’ll destroy your chance of making a good match.”

  “You worry too much. With my dowry, I could advocate giving the vote to dogs and still make a decent enough match.”

  As Lynwood looked at her, his anger receded and there was real sadness in his eyes.

  “No, poppet. You’re in trouble. Serious trouble. And I don’t think you begin to know how much.”

  Lizzie walked around the desk, then kissed her brother on the cheek. He could be an infuriating guardian, overbearing and annoying, but she never doubted his love for her or the sacrifices he’d made from a young age for the sake of the family.

  “Thank you for worrying. But I shall be fine. You’ll see.”

  Then Lizzie left the room, surprised she’d escaped the punishment she’d felt sure Liam would dispense.

  Lynwood watched her go, knowing she’d soon be punished more than enough at the hands of the ton. It was a terrible thing to know you couldn’t always protect the ones you loved. He just prayed she’d make it through relatively unscathed.

  * * *

  She had the grace of a goddess, thought Marcus Redmond, Marquis of Riverton, and not for the first time. Lady Elizabeth Kellington, Lizzie to her friends and family, of which he was truly neither, was a goddess. Taller than most women, she still only came up to his chin. Black hair, vibrant green eyes, and the ability to light up a room with her smile, Lizzie Kellington was as close to perfect as any woman could be. Well, she was rather outspoken and tended to have some radical ideas, but Riverton had long suspected those were simply the somewhat unpleasant byproducts of a mind that was utterly brilliant for a woman. And, to be honest, would stack up rather nicely against a man’s.

  Unfortunately, she was also the only sister of his best friend. Which meant she was strictly off limits.

  After coming out of Lynwood’s study, she’d passed by him, stopping only long enough to exchange pleasantries. She’d smelled of lemon and freesia. A lock of hair had fallen from its pin and she’d been perilously close to having an eyelash drop into her right eye. But he couldn’t warn her, because she might’ve asked him to rescue the wayward lash. And Riverton knew he couldn’t risk any contact with her. Because in his mind, there was no such thing as innocent physical contact with Lizzie Kellington.

  So he’d kept his words to a minimum, even as he’d been breathing in lemon and freesia and capturing all he saw in his mind’s eye. One day soon, she’d be married and gone from Kellington House and he’d torment himself no further. Although the thought of her given to another man was certainly no comfort.

  * * *

  “I cannot properly countenance it,” said an astonished Riverton moments later in Lynwood’s office, having just read Lizzie’s treatise in the Examiner. “The vote. For women?”

  “The vote. Divorce. Property rights. The only thing missing is a discussion of free love,” said Lynwood as he downed the rest of his brandy.

  Riverton sipped his brandy, trying hard to put the notion of Lizzie’s possible views on free love out of his head. And failing miserably. “You must admit, it’s quite well written. She has a remarkable mind.”

  Lynwood looked as if his closest friend had turned Bedlamite. “Remarkable mind? She has ruined her future. At the moment, I wish she had the intelligence of porridge and the demeanor of one of those docile misses the mamas are always shoving our way. Those chits wouldn’t create a disaster like this. They wouldn’t have the faintest idea how.”

  Riverton studied his drink. “But if she were a docile miss without a thought in her head, she wouldn’t be Lady Elizabeth. Your sister has a singular mind, an engaging personality, a joy for living. While I question her judgment in this case and disagree with her views, you cannot possibly wish her to be anyone other than who she is. A Lady Elizabeth without spirit would be a great
loss for us all.”

  “You’re right,” said Lynwood. “I would not wish her to be other than herself. But I fear for what will happen next.”

  Riverton had no argument for that point because he knew the course was never easy for anyone who strayed from society’s dictates. Lady Elizabeth Kellington was in serious trouble. And she didn’t even know it.

  * * *

  Lizzie was adjusting the angle of her new bonnet, when her bed chamber door opened and Rosalind Carson walked in. Rosalind was four and twenty, with average height, average build and remarkably pretty eyes that were too often obscured by spectacles. They’d been best friends since Lizzie’s come-out when Rosalind had helped her fight off a foxed lordling’s advances.

  “I thought we were meeting at your house,” said Lizzie. “I’m sorry I’m late, but Lynwood insisted I listen to his lecture.”

  “So he’s seen it?” asked an anxious Rosalind, as she took Lizzie’s hands in hers. “You didn’t tell me you were going to publish under your own name.”

  “But why wouldn’t I?” Lizzie squeezed her friend’s hands, then motioned to the settee. “I worked quite hard on it. And if my position in society lends greater weight to the cause, why shouldn’t I use it? Up to this point, being a duke’s sister has made me a target for toadies and fortune hunters. It’s about time I got to use it for something good. Do we have time to go to Gunter’s? I don’t want to be too late because we have the Tarlington ball tonight and I can’t wait to wear my new gown.”

  Rosalind worried her lower lip, before turning a beseeching glance to Lizzie. “I don’t think you should go to the ball.”

  “Whyever not?”

  Before Rosalind could reply, the door swung open again and a grave Aunt Prue and Miss Mariah entered. Prudence Hamilton was the youngest sister of the late Duchess of Kellington. In her early ‘40s, she was still a beauty and known for her warmth and wit, quite unlike their paternal aunt, Agatha Darlington, the Countess of Crenshaw, who was known to only rarely smile and was rather glacial in personality. Mariah Campbell had been Aunt Prue’s companion for almost two decades. Somewhat shy, but a treasured confidante, she was treated as a member of the family by the Kellingtons.

  “Lizzie,” said Aunt Prue. “What have you done?”

  “Not you, too? What is all this stuff and nonsense about the treatise?” asked an exasperated Lizzie. Lynwood had reacted utterly predictably. But it was disconcerting to be scolded by those who should be cheering her on. “I only wrote what so many ladies – and a good number of gentlemen – are thinking. I read in the Times just the other day that no lesser a personage than the Earl of Stalford wants to reform the marriage laws and may even be amenable to recognizing wives in their own right, instead of treating them as their husband’s property.”

  “But my dear,” said Aunt Prue, “the Earl of Stalford isn’t just a well respected member of the House of Lords whose duty it is to oversee legislation, he’s a gentleman. And, as hypocritical as it seems, society will always be more forgiving of the idiosyncrasies of its male members than the female.”

  “But all of you agreed with me,” said Lizzie.

  “We still do,” said Aunt Prue not unkindly. “But we’re also more realistic than you, or perhaps, not as brave. We stand behind you, but you’ve set yourself up as a target and I fear society will not be kind.”

  Lizzie looked at three of the women dearest to her heart. How could they not understand how important these issues were to her? She suddenly wished her new sister-in-law were there. Jane was well aware of the limitations society placed on women, yet she worked as a surgeon in the village of Marston Vale. Surely she would understand what Lizzie had been trying to do.

  “I guess Gunter’s is out of the question,” said Lizzie somewhat petulantly, looking at the clock. “I’d best get ready for tonight.”

  “Do you really think it’s wise to go?” asked Mariah.

  “Whatever else I am, I’m no coward,” said Lizzie.

  “No, my dear, you most certainly are not,” said Aunt Prue, with admiration in her eyes. “Now let’s get you dressed.

  * * *

  Riverton looked about him in some dismay. The Tarlington ballroom was already overcrowded and rife with the pungent smell of sweat and cloying perfume. Worse yet, the marriage-minded mamas, little used to seeing him in their midst, were already lining up their daughters for his perusal, while the unhappily married matrons were sending him not-so-subtle glances. Riverton usually avoided evenings like this at all costs, preferring instead to stay home and read, work on his speeches or engage in a chess match with either Lynwood or Inspector Stapleton, a Bow Street runner whose acquaintance he’d made through the duke.

  But tonight, he came to lend his support to Lizzie. Just hours after her treatise had appeared, she was the talk of the ball. Society’s grandes dames were making their disapproval known and telling their sons and daughters to give her a wide berth. Lordlings hoping to make their fortune through marriage weren’t dissuaded, of course, and, judging from conversations he’d overheard in the card room, those who’d once thought themselves far beneath her were pleased to see the playing field leveled.

  Worst of all were the scoundrels and rakes with no desire to marry who now thought they had a shot at, as one had put it, “having a taste of her.” That same gentleman had quit the ball soon thereafter, once Riverton had had a word with him in private, coupled with a few well-placed blows.

  It looked to be a long evening, but Riverton was prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect Lady Elizabeth Kellington.

  * * *

  Sometimes having older brothers was incredibly vexing, thought Lizzie as she adjusted her gown once again. It was her new favorite. It had a green underskirt with a delicate layer of gossamer lace, and cap sleeves. The bodice was rather daringly low-cut, but was certainly no more revealing than the gowns of the many women who threw themselves at her brothers with such tiresome regularity. One could judge the amount of time you’d spent at a ball from the number of women who made advances on Lynwood, Arthur and Hal.

  Which was why it was so unfair that they’d reacted so harshly to her own behavior. Arthur had even had the audacity to blame her for a gaming loss. He’d been on the verge of winning a rather large pot at White’s when one of his friends had taken it upon himself to read the treatise aloud. It had discomposed Arthur so much that he’s lost count of the cards.

  Hal had taken it as a personal affront. He deemed it incomprehensible that anyone would doubt man’s inherent superiority to women. He intended to rectify the matter by finding two lightskirts after the ball and spending the rest of the night not talking politics with either of them. Of course, he hadn’t said that to Lizzie. But her brothers hadn’t exactly been quiet while taking their brandy in the library waiting for her to come down.

  No one had wanted Lizzie to go to the ball, but once they’d learned she wasn’t to be dissuaded, they’d decided to go as a united front to support her. Which was typical of her family in general. A slight toward one was an insult to them all.

  When they first arrived, it appeared Lizzie might just be right about her ability to withstand the criticism. There was a hush throughout the ballroom when they were announced, but that wasn’t an unusual occurrence when Lizzie entered any room with her three quite eligible brothers. Lady Tarlington was flustered and Lord Tarlington looked like he wanted to have Lizzie removed, courtesy of a boot to her bottom. But as host and hostess they welcomed the Kellingtons as gracefully as possible.

  When they entered the ballroom proper, they were immediately converged upon by Aunt Prue, Mariah, Rosalind and Riverton.

  Lynwood pulled Riverton aside. “What’s the mood?” He’d already made his own assessment, but wanted to know if the reality was as grim.

  Riverton hesitated just a moment before answering, weighing his words. “As you might expect.”

  He was stopped from elaborating further when Lizzie approached. And, as usual, h
e was stunned by the vision before him. He observed that she, as usual, seemed perfectly at ease with him. Like being in the presence of a trusted servant. Or a family pet.

  “It’s not often I see you at a ball, my lord. What brings you out tonight?”

  “A chance to meet with friends,” Riverton said, bowing over her hand.

  “Did his grace fill you in on the sordid details of my treatise?” She smiled, but Riverton thought it just a bit brittle.

  “He didn’t need to tell me what I could read for myself.”

  “I suppose you disagree with my views most vehemently, don’t you?”

  “It’s safe to say we are not in accord.”

  There seemed to be a hint of disappointment in her countenance. “And do you view them as disastrously as my brothers?”

  “To tell the truth, Lady Elizabeth, I find the treatise quite…remarkable.”

  * * *

  That was the odd thing about Riverton, thought Lizzie. Just when you thought he was predictable and stodgy and behaved the way an elderly uncle might – if an elderly uncle were only a few years older, a good four inches taller than you and had hair the color of wheat and eyes so blue they almost hurt – just as you thought he was so predictable, he’d say something to steal your breath away.

  Lizzie was spared from further distraction when another man appeared at Riverton’s side. One who was also handsome, with reddish hair and a smile filled with straight white teeth. He spoke to the marquis, but had eyes only for Lizzie.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Riverton?”

  Riverton paused for a moment as if considering ways to avoid that very thing, before doing what was expected of him. “Lady Elizabeth Kellington, may I present George Stahly, Earl of Stalford. Stalford, this is Lady Elizabeth.”

  “The lady author,” said Stalford, as he brought Lizzie’s fingers to his lips and Riverton clenched his jaw. “I’m as intrigued to meet you as I am impressed by your words.”

  “You liked my article?” Her astonishment was plain. She’d almost given up finding anyone at the ball who might be a supporter.