Unmasking the Duke's Mistress

by Margaret McPhee

  ‘Do not lie to me now, Arabella. If he has hurt you… Nothing is worth that. Better that we beg upon the streets than—’

  She took her mother’s hand in her own and stroked the fragile veined skin. ‘Mama, he was gentle and demanded nothing of me. I wept only for what I am become.’

  ‘Oh, Arabella, we should leave this house.’ Arabella felt her mother’s hands twist within her own.

  ‘And return to Flower and Dean Street?’ Arabella raised her brows.

  ‘I could look for work. Between the two of us we could find a way.’

  And the work would kill her mother. Arabella knew there was no other way. She shook her head. ‘It is too late, Mama.’

  What was done, was done. She was a fallen woman. Besides, the past had caught up with Arabella. I cannot, his words seemed to whisper through the room and she thought of the haunted expression in his eyes.

  ‘Mama, we are staying here. I was foolish last night, that is all. Tonight will be different.’ She hoped. ‘You have nothing to worry over except to count the money and the days until we can return to the country.’

  ‘If you are sure about this, Arabella?’

  ‘I am quite certain.’

  Her mother did not look happy, but she nodded and went back to eating her breakfast.

  It was barely an hour later when the letter arrived. Again, written in Dominic’s familiar bold handwriting. Arabella’s heart began to trip as she broke the sealing wax and read the bold penned words within.

  ‘Well?’ Her mother glanced up from the chair on which she was sitting. The sunshine bathed the whole of the drawing room in its warm pale golden light.

  ‘He has arranged for a dressmaker to call tomorrow afternoon.’ Arabella folded the letter and slipped it into the pocket of her dress so that her mother would not see the crest embossed both upon the paper and impressed within the seal.

  ‘It is only to be expected,’ Mrs Tatton said and went back to pouring the tea.

  ‘I suppose you are right,’ Arabella murmured, and a vision of the scandalous silk black dress swam in her mind. She glanced down at her own grey gown and knew she would rather wear this every single day, old and shabby as it was, than anything Dominic would buy for her.

  ‘Archie and I will make ourselves scarce.’

  Arabella nodded and glanced at her son, feeling a tug of guilt and worry. Hiding them away at night was not so very bad, for both her mother and son slept early. And although the room was near to the attic it was warm and cosy and nicely furnished, and better in every way than the one they had left in Flower and Dean Street. But to force them to stay quiet and hidden during the day while Dominic sat downstairs and chose a wardrobe of fast, provocative clothes in which to dress her sparked an angry resentment in Arabella.

  Something of her feelings must have shown in her face for Mrs Tatton said, ‘It is only for one day, Arabella, and it will do us no harm. And as for the rest…well, the clothes are the least of it.’

  There was no sign of Dominic by two o’clock the next day when the dressmaker called. Arabella smoothed her skirts for the umpteenth time and forced herself to at least pretend to be attending to her needlework, although she had the sudden thought, just as she heard the knock at the door, that perhaps mistresses did not spend their time in needlework. It was the first time that anyone would be seeing her as Dominic’s mistress and Arabella composed her face to conceal her humiliation.

  When Gemmell showed the woman into the drawing room, Arabella’s heart sank to meet her shoes. Of all the dressmakers in London that Dominic could have chosen…

  And she remembered those final dark days that had led her to Mrs Silver’s House of Rainbow Pleasures. It should not matter that it was Madame Boisseron waiting in the drawing room, for in her desperation Arabella had knocked on the door of every dressmaker, mantua maker and milliner, every corsetry house, tailor and seamstress, seeking work that was not to be found. Any one of London’s dressmakers coming here today would have recognised her. But somehow, the fact that it was the woman in whose shop she had met Mrs Silver just seemed to add to the humiliation for Arabella.

  But if Madame Boisseron recognised Arabella the dressmaker was wise enough to make no sign of it. Arabella took a deep breath, swallowed down her embarrassment and knew that she had no choice but to deal with the situation as best she could.

  Dominic had still not arrived when the little dark-eyed woman, whose accent was soft and French, brought out a book of dress designs. Arabella glanced at the clock, knowing she ought to wait for his arrival before they proceeded, but the thought that Dominic could dictate the clothes she wore, even right down to her underwear, made her feel so angry that she took the book from the modiste and began to flip through it.

  Some of the designs were positively indecent, barely covering breasts, revealing nipples and leaving little to the imagination when it came to a woman’s figure. Not so very different from the black silk dress that she had been forced to wear within the brothel.

  ‘This one but with a higher neckline,’ she pointed to one of the sketches, ‘and a thicker material.’

  Madame Boisseron glanced up at her in surprise. ‘You are sure, madam? Gentlemen, they usually prefer a little more…’ she paused ‘…daring in their ladies’ dress.’

  ‘I have had quite enough of daring. So if you would be so kind.’

  ‘Certainly, madam,’ Madame Boisseron said. ‘After all, the Duke, he said that the decision was with you.’

  ‘He did?’ Arabella heard the question in her own voice, and then tried to look as if she had known it all along.

  ‘Indeed. There are not many men that would leave their ladies to order the entirety of their new wardrobes alone. I was most surprised when the Duke, he asked me to attend to you without his presence. He will pay only if you are happy—a most unusual nobleman, non?’

  ‘Most unusual,’ Arabella said and glanced away. So Dominic would not be arriving this afternoon. She allowed herself to relax a little, and stopped looking at the clock.

  By three o’clock, Arabella’s measurements had been taken, they had been through the fabric sample book twice and Arabella had ordered a minimal and conservative wardrobe. Madame Boisseron must have been disappointed, given that she knew Arabella had carte blanche to order exactly as she wished and as much as she desired. But rather than be tight-mouthed, the dressmaker only smiled and looked at Arabella kindly and told her the clothes would be delivered as each dress became ready.

  Immediately the door closed Arabella made her way upstairs to Archie and her mother’s bedchamber and turned her mind away from Dominic Furneaux.

  But she could not keep him from her thoughts for ever. Too soon the day faded into night and Arabella sat alone in the drawing room, waiting for him to arrive. She knew that he would expect her to thank him for the free rein with the dressmaker and for his generosity of purse, but the words stuck in Arabella’s throat and she knew that she would be unable to bring herself to say them.

  She waited; the clock ticked loudly and its hands crawled slowly, and the embroidery within her lap remained untouched. She worried over what he might say to her. And she worried over what she might say to him. But most of all she worried over the moment when he would take her to bed.

  But Dominic did not come to the house in Curzon Street. Not that night, or the next, or the night after that.

  Dominic was trying to check through the accounts for the land that encompassed his estate. It was a tedious task and one that required sustained concentration, which was the very reason he was sitting with the books spread before him this afternoon. Anything to keep his mind off Arabella Tatton.

  The tactic was not proving successful and so Hunter’s arrival in his study was something of a relief.

  Hunter squinted at the pages lying open on the desk and then looked at Dominic with a knowing expression. ‘There’s enough crossed-out and overwritten ink on that paper to write a novel. Quite unlike your usual precision, Arlesf
ord. Looks to me like you have got something—or someone—else on your mind.’ Hunter smiled and arched an eyebrow.

  Dominic ignored the bait and bent his head to the columns of numbers on the page before him. Hunter was right, he acknowledged dismally. The page had been clear and legible before Dominic had started his checking.

  ‘Came by to drop you a warning.’

  Dominic felt his stomach tighten. Hunter would not be here right now if it were not something concerning Dominic.

  ‘You are not going to like it,’ warned Hunter.

  Dominic thought of Arabella.

  Hunter helped himself to Dominic’s decanter of brandy and filled two glasses. ‘It’s Misbourne. Trying a new approach.’

  Dominic released the breath he had been holding as he accepted the brandy from Hunter. He took a sip and watched his friend lounge in the chair on the other side of the desk.

  ‘He is saying that there was some kind of old agreement made between your father and him years ago. An oath to bind the two families by marriage between you and his daughter.’

  The news was not anything Dominic wanted to hear, but at least it did not regard Arabella.

  ‘Aye, a pact sworn with the earl when the two of them were young, single and in their cups. My father never meant to hold me to a boy’s drunken foolishness. And I’ll be damned if I’m pushed to it by a louse like Misbourne.’

  ‘Misbourne is risking much with his tactic; he must be very determined to make a match between you and Lady Marianne Winslow.’

  Dominic’s gaze met Hunter’s and with the mention of marriage the awkwardness of the past—of what Arabella had done—was in the room between them.

  Hunter gave a nod. ‘Just have a care over him, Dominic. He is not a good man to have as an enemy.’

  ‘I know and I thank you for the warning, my friend.’

  There was a silence in which Hunter sipped at his brandy. Then he smiled. ‘To change the subject to a lighter note…’

  Dominic relaxed and raised the glass to his lips.

  ‘You are creating quite a stir with Miss Noir.’

  Dominic stilled, then set the glass down on the desk without having taken a mouthful.

  ‘What do you mean?’ He thought of the lengths he had gone to, to keep the transition of Arabella from Mrs Silver’s to his mistress a secret. ‘You did not tell them anything of it?’

  Hunter raised his brows and there was a genuine wounded look in his eyes. ‘I hope you deem me better than that.’

  Dominic gave a nod. ‘Forgive me.’

  ‘I do not know how, but the whisper is out about you and the mysterious Miss Noir. People are intrigued by the story. And they are asking questions.’

  ‘Then let us hope that they find no answers.’ It should not matter if all of London knew that it was Arabella he had taken as his mistress. After what she had done, it was the very least she deserved. But knowing that and doing it were two different things. He knew what the gossips would do to her if they discovered who she was. They would have a field day with the complete and utter destruction of every last aspect of her character.

  ‘She must be something special that you are taking such a care to hide her,’ mused Hunter. ‘Who is she, Arlesford?’

  ‘None of your damn business,’ said Dominic and lifted his glass of brandy to his mouth. He wondered what Hunter would say if he knew the truth.

  Hunter laughed. ‘Now I really am intrigued, if you are keeping her secret even from me.’

  ‘Especially from you, Hunter,’ Dominic said as if in jest, but he had never been more serious.

  ‘I am not such a bastard that I would steal my best friend’s woman,’ Hunter protested and finished his brandy in a gulp.

  Dominic drew a wry smile. ‘Knowing your reputation, I am not about to take any chances.’ Better to blame it on that than let Hunter know it was Arabella.

  Hunter laughed. ‘She must be something special.’

  All levity vanished from Dominic’s face. He tapped the base of the glass against the wooden surface of his desk as he thought of Arabella.

  ‘She is,’ he said and glanced away.

  ‘Dominic?’ Hunter probed. But Dominic had no mind to discuss the matter even with Hunter, so he just shook his head.

  ‘Do not go further, friend,’ he said quietly.

  Hunter gave a subtle nod, then smiled, refilled their glasses and raised his in a toast. ‘Miss Noir, long may the ton fail to unmask her.’

  Dominic chinked his glass against Hunter’s, but he did not smile. And as he drank the brandy his mind was filled with Arabella Tatton and what it would mean to them both were she to be unmasked.

  It was another reason he should not return to Curzon Street. And yet one more reason that did not relieve the compulsion that whispered to him night and day to retrace his steps straight back there.

  Chapter Six

  ‘He did not call upon you again last night?’ Mrs Tatton enquired over the toast. ‘That is the fourth night in a row.’

  Four nights during which Arabella’s initial relief at Dominic’s absence was beginning to turn into something else. A niggle of worry that would not be stilled. She nodded, trying to let nothing of her true thoughts show upon her face, and spread some honey upon another slice of toast for Archie.

  ‘Who did not call?’ asked Archie.

  Arabella’s mother met her eyes over his head. The two women looked at one another.

  ‘Your mama’s friend,’ said Mrs Tatton. ‘Now eat up your toast, Birthday Boy, before it grows cold.’

  Archie, mouth filled with toast, started to pretend two of the spoons were horses galloping across the tablecloth.

  Arabella felt her cheeks heat from the deception she was weaving, but knew she had no choice. It would all be so much worse if the truth came out.

  ‘Perhaps if his first visit was not entirely to his satisfaction he has changed his mind over the arrangement.’ Embarrassment flushed Mrs Tatton’s cheeks as she voiced the fear that had been gnawing at Arabella.

  ‘Let us hope not, Mama.’ God help them if he had, for Arabella did not think she could go back to Mrs Silver’s. But the manner of their parting lent her little confidence.

  A knock sounded at the door and Gemmell entered with a letter from Dominic upon a silver salver.

  ‘Delivered first thing, ma’am,’ he said and left again.

  Arabella felt a stab of dread, wondering if it contained her congé.

  Mrs Tatton looked on in anxious silence as Arabella opened the letter and scanned its contents.

  ‘He enquires as to my happiness with the dressmaker,’ Arabella said with relief.

  ‘Then all is well?’

  ‘It appears so, Mama.’ As Arabella read the rest of the bold script she could not keep the surprise from her voice. ‘He writes to say that he has given me the use of a carriage and a purse of money to spend so that I will not have to buy on credit using his name.’ She glanced up to meet her mother’s eyes. ‘So no one need know of our…situation.’

  Her mother’s eyes widened. ‘He is either a most thoughtful gentleman, or…’ she raised a brow ‘…one who has much to lose if you are discovered.’

  As far as Arabella could see Dominic had nothing to lose by her discovery. Indeed, she would have thought he would have been crowing it from the rooftops. A most thoughtful gentleman. Not a description that could ever be applied to Dominic Furneaux. Or so she had thought.

  ‘Much as I detest that he must pay for us…’ She glanced across at her mother’s shabby dress. ‘You and Archie are in dire need of some new clothes.’

  ‘We should be saving the money so that we may leave this situation as quickly as possible. Archie and I can manage just fine as we are, Arabella.’

  ‘Both of you have only the clothes upon your back, Mama, and nothing more. Your shoes have holes in the soles. And your hands have been paining you. His payment is generous.’ She pushed away the thought of what it was he was paying for. ‘I will
ask Gemmell to organise new wardrobes for you. And I will visit the apothecary myself to fetch you something for your joints.’

  Mrs Tatton worried at her lip. ‘You are sure he will not notice? About the money?’

  Arabella glanced again at the letter. ‘He makes it clear he does not wish for an account of my spending.’

  ‘Well, I suppose in that case…’ Her mother nodded, but the furrow of worry between her brows lifted only a little.

  Arabella pushed the thought of Dominic and her situation aside. There were other matters to be considered today, and she intended to apply herself fully to them. ‘Let us talk of more pleasant matters. It is a certain boy’s birthday.’ She raised her voice so that Archie would hear and looked over at her son. ‘And as a special treat I thought that we might take a trip to the park. Robert, the groom, has a little mare called Elsie. Would you like to sit up on Elsie’s back while Robert walks her around the park?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please!’ Archie’s eyes were wide with delight and he slipped down from his chair and started to gallop around in excitement. ‘Can we leave right now?’

  ‘We had best get ourselves ready first!’ Arabella laughed.

  ‘Are you sure about this, Arabella?’ Mrs Tatton asked.

  ‘It is still early, Mama. There should be few enough people about to notice us; even if they do, there is nothing to associate us with this house or its master.’

  Archie paused as he galloped past the mantel piece to stroke a hand against the ribbons that Arabella had festooned there. She smiled at the pleasure on his face and knew that the decorations had been worth it, even if she would have to take them down and hide them away just in case Dominic arrived.

  ‘And remember that we are to have a special birthday lunch,’ said Mrs Tatton. ‘Cook is making a cherry cake and lemonade and some biscuits too.’

  ‘Hurrah!’ shouted Archie. ‘I love birthdays.’

  Gemmell came in to organise the clearing of the breakfast plates. ‘And how old are you today, young master Archie?’ he asked.