by Jenny Brown
But she felt a pang of disappointment as she realized that his eagerness to make her into his mistress the previous night had indeed sprung only from his need to fulfill the terms of his brother’s will. Shameful as it was to admit it, she could no longer deny she had been clinging to the hope that, when he’d decided to make her his mistress last night, Lord Hartwood had felt some attraction to her. Clearly she had been deluded, and that realization brought home again how heedlessly she’d acted in offering herself to him. It was fortunate she had escaped without harm, but now that she understood the true situation, she would heed his advice and put all thoughts of love from her mind. Clearly, if she didn’t, she might be badly hurt.
But if a will was involved, that raised another question. “My lord, if it should come to light that I am not truly your mistress, but that it’s only a role I am acting. What then? Would you lose your inheritance?”
“It is up to you to ensure that no one finds that out,” he said grimly. “If you betray our scheme to anyone, you will be dismissed, immediately.” Then in response to the worry that must have shown on her face he continued, “But I’m coming to think there’s a good chance you will pull it off. Otherwise I wouldn’t let you attempt it. You have spirit and intelligence and some acting talent besides, and—” his teasing smile returned “—you are also possessed of a more than tolerably fine bosom. I shall send for a seamstress to make the necessary alterations to your wardrobe and send out for shoes and bonnets. We will leave for Brighton in the morning.”
Then, before she was aware of what he intended, Lord Hartwood reached over and, after taking her chin in his hand, gave her a most luxuriant kiss. It was a kiss of exactly the sort one would give one’s real mistress, a rich warm kiss that lingered on her lips far longer than was necessary considering there was no one else in the room to observe them. But she took it in stride, figuring that, in view of what was at stake, Lord Lightning probably thought it best to take advantage of any practice he could give her here in private, before they went out into the world to play their roles in earnest.
Chapter 6
Though she enjoyed the journey, having never before traveled in the comfort provided by a private carriage, Eliza did not look forward to their journey’s end. Her new protector’s mood, which had been cordial when their journey had begun, cooled noticeably as they neared their destination. For most of their journey he’d ridden outside on the box with the coachman, leaving her inside alone with her thoughts. He had invited her to join him at his table when they stopped for luncheon, but his air of preoccupation had prevented any but the most superficial conversation, so she had been unable to find out anything further about what she should expect when they arrived at Brighton and his mother’s home.
Right before their arrival, he ordered the coachman to bring the carriage to a stop and joined her in the compartment.
“Have you been having second thoughts about our arrangement?” he asked. “There is still time to change your mind.” When she shook her head no, his upper lip quirked into a rueful grin, and he said, “Then you are fortunate in your composure. I’ve been quaking in my boots at the thought of the interview that lies before us. I have never been able to face my mother with equanimity.”
“Your relationship with her is strained?”
“It is.”
“And how long has this coolness between you persisted?”
“Only since my birth.”
His tone made further discussion impossible, but in any case, there was no time for discussion. Lord Hartwood now held out a small, but exquisite, box toward her, saying, “It would please me if you would wear this now. It is most definitely not a gift, and I shall want it back later, but it’s important you be wearing it when first you meet my mother.”
He opened the box and lifted from it a heavy golden necklace studded with blue stones, each one the size of a robin’s egg. Because of the size of the jewels, Eliza at first assumed they were paste, but after inspecting them briefly she had to conclude that if they were paste, they were paste of a very high quality indeed. They looked quite real.
“They are sapphires,” he said tersely. “They were once the property of a rajah.”
“They are very beautiful!”
“Perhaps. But so much misfortune has resulted from their purchase that I have often suspected they bear an ancient curse.”
That surprised her. “I should not have believed you to be so superstitious.”
“It isn’t superstition that makes me say that, but scientific fact. Fifteen years ago, my father gave in to the demands of his mistress, Mrs. Atwater, and purchased this necklace for her. His extravagance brought the family close to ruin. To save the family, my brother was forced to wed a wealthy bride. But before he could do that he was obliged to abandon a young girl of gentle birth whom he had seduced with a promise of marriage and got with child. My mother insisted that I take credit for the girl’s ruin so my brother’s wedding could proceed without hindrance. That is what led to our rupture.”
“Do you mean to tell me she forced you to take on the reputation of a cowardly seducer when it was your brother who should have borne the blame?”
“Exactly. The heiress’s father would have called off the match in a moment had he learned the truth. But the girl died trying to give birth to my brother’s dead babe, and since, with her dying breath, she only named a Mr. Neville as the author of her ruin, my mother insisted one Mr. Neville would do as well as another and that I owed it to the family to take the blame, no matter what the cost to myself.”
“But that is monstrous! Had she no feeling for what was right? Why couldn’t the match with the heiress have been made with you instead of your brother?”
“He was my older brother, my father’s heir. No heiress would have wished to wed a younger son like me. But even if she had, my mother would not have tolerated it. James was her favorite. He always had been.”
“But wasn’t your mother grateful for your sacrifice?”
“Women aren’t capable of gratitude,” he said coldly. “James was my mother’s darling, and she soon convinced herself that the girl’s ruin truly was my fault, rather than accept that her favorite child could have behaved so dishonorably. She had always prided herself on the strength of her morals and flattered herself that her favorite son had taken after herself—instead of after ourfather.”
“But if it was James who was guilty of causing the poor girl’s death, not you, my reading of your character was correct—you are not guilty of the crimes that darken your reputation!”
Lord Lightning drew back, his face hardening. “I am guilty of far worse. Do not delude yourself. I was innocent of that young girl’s ruin, but I was Black Neville’s son and shared my brother’s tainted blood. Once I had taken on the blame for my brother’s crime, no decent woman was willing to be seen with me. It was only a matter of time until I had exceeded both James and my father in vice.”
He fixed her with an angry look. “I’ve already warned you. If you indulge in sentimental fancies and persist in imagining that I’m something I am not, I will bring our connection to a speedy end. I am not a good man and you must never again forget it.”
“I shall not, Your Lordship. You have my word on it.”
He held up the necklace to catch the little bit of light that shone in through the carriage’s window and smoldered deeply within the heavy azure stones. “Mrs. Atwater was extravagant, as women of her sort usually are, and fell upon hard times once my father was gone. Besides the necklace he’d left her nothing to support herself or the bastard he had given her. So after his death, I was able to purchase the necklace back from her, accursed or not. Allow me to help you on with it.” He leaned over her and draped the necklace around her neck, fastening the ornate clasp.
The stones lay heavily on her chest. The pendent hung almost into her cleavage and emphasized how low her bodice was cut.
“It becomes you well,” he announced. “The fire of your hair and th
e warmth of your eye contrasts with the icy coldness of the stones.”
Eliza shivered. It felt as if the extravagant jewels were burning through her skin. Lord Lightning had paid for its purchase with his integrity.
Her face must have shown some of her distress. “I hope you are not about to give way to superstitious fear,” he said. “The curse on these jewels has already been fully discharged—upon myself. I doubt they have any energy left to harm you.”
Forcing herself to give the appearance of composure, she replied, “That was not what troubled me, Your Lordship. It is only that no matter how hard I try, I always end up losing bits of jewelry. My Aunt Celestina was constantly chiding me for it.”
Lord Lightning’s dark eyes brightened momentarily with that look he got that was so close to laughter but still kept something back. “You need have no fear that you will lose these,” he assured her. “All eyes will be upon them. Besides, as soon as my mother has seen them on your neck, they will return to my custody. I will have made my point.”
They soon reached the outskirts of Brighton. The thoroughfare became more crowded, and the carriage slowed. As Eliza gazed through its window, she could not but feel excitement at the thought of finding herself at a fashionable watering place at the height of the summer. They drove past a wide open area, planted in grass, which was bordered by a wide paved path on which ladies and gentlemen promenaded. Beyond it, in the distance she saw a rambling building that presented the oddest jumble of architectural forms, both classical and fantastical, squatting among a crowd of more ordinary buildings. It was topped by a rounded dome and flanked on each side by what looked like tall minarets.
“The Regent’s pavilion,” Lord Hartwood explained, curtly in a tone that suggested no desire to play tour guide.
The air was moist and a stiff breeze blew briskly, challenging the elegantly dressed ladies for possession of their tiny parasols. Eventually the carriage entered a narrower street and after proceeding only a short distance, slowed and then stopped.
It was with some trepidation that Eliza let her new protector hand her out of the carriage and lead her up to the elegant doorway of the house in which she would spend the next two weeks. She walked carefully, still getting used to the dainty high-heeled slippers he had presented to her. She did her best not to trip on the diaphanous skirt that blew around her legs in the hot July breeze, whipping up to reveal the lacy stockings beneath.
Though not conversant with the latest rules of fashion, she knew the outfit she wore was not one that by any stretch of imagination would be worn by a lady. Her copper curls, which had been shorn in front à la Grecque at Lord Hartwood’s command, sprang forth from beneath the exaggerated bonnet he’d chosen for her, topped with vulgar artificial fruit. She wondered what his mother would make of it.
She would find out soon.
His mother’s house was narrow but elegant, its façade covered with an unusual pattern of black-and-white tile. There was a tang of salt in the air; the sea could not be far away. The door swung open at their approach, revealing a small vestibule paneled in some dark wood where a footman, bowing deeply, motioned them toward the door that led to a small reception room, explaining that Lady Hartwood would attend them shortly.
The room they entered was dark. Its single tall window faced the rear of the house and was draped with a heavy brocade swag. Lord Hartwood led her to a chair whose clawed feet and gilded scrollwork recalled the elegance of the past, though she noticed its upholstery was worn away in places and its cluttered ornamentation was far less elegant than the furnishings she had seen at his town house. Given the shabbiness that surrounded her, she should have felt herself less overawed than she had been by Lord Lightning’s magnificent dwelling, but if anything she felt more uneasy. How would she cope with the coming interview with his mother? Back in London, where her new protector knew exactly what she really was, it had been easy to imagine herself playing her new role. But to actually be thought of as a fallen woman, to face another woman’s scorn devoid of the propriety her aunt had considered so essential—she could not help but feel fear tap at her heart, though she sternly repressed it. There was no reason to give way to such shameful emotion. She was merely playing a role.
“You may as well sit down,” Lord Hartwood told her in a low voice. “It will be half an hour or more until Her Ladyship can bring herself to greet us. After all, it has been only fifteen years since last she saw me.”
“You have not visited her in all that time?”
“I was gone into the army for some years. Then, when I returned, she barred her door to me.” He was unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “She had her reasons. Unlike my father and my brother, when I left the paths of righteousness, I did not keep my peccadilloes secret. Though my mother easily forgave them sins pursued out of public view, she could not forgive me my lack of hypocrisy. She sees me now only because she is compelled to by James’s will.”
“But if she hates you so, why is she willing now to welcome you and help you claim your inheritance?”
“It is to receive her own inheritance that she must tolerate my presence. James’s will stipulated that if she did not let me attend her for a fortnight she would forfeit this, her permanent home. She has no other property of her own and no income save what I allow her. Because my father squandered her dowry on his mistress, she was left ill provided for at his death, and what James left her has been tied up by the lawyers pending this visit of mine. Indeed, since James’s death, she has only been able to remain in her home through my sufferance. I’ve had my man of business pay her servants and allow her a comfortable allowance. It gives me a certain pleasure to know that it is only my efforts that stand between her and poverty.”
“It does you credit. Given her hostility to you, it would have been understandable if you had allowed her to suffer the consequences of her neglect.”
“I am not interested in earning credit,” Lord Hartwood growled. “And did I not warn you against finding good in me where there is none?”
“Indeed you did, Your Lordship,” she said, schooling her expression. “And I shall take care in the future to do my best to put the very worst interpretation possible on all your actions.”
“Excellent! I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Their discussion was interrupted by a loud scraping sound coming from the hallway. “My mother is coming,” he whispered harshly. “Remain seated when she enters.”
How unspeakably rude! But there was no time for Eliza to frame a reply, as the door to the parlor opened and a footman wheeled in a bath chair. As he pushed Lady Hartwood toward them, her son swung around from the side table against which he had been lounging and came over to rest his hand firmly on Eliza’s shoulder. The gesture at once established his familiarity with her person and made it impossible for her to ignore his command that she remain seated. She attempted to remain calm and to behave as she imagined someone like Violet might do, who had been raised in poverty without the benefit of the kind of education in manners Eliza had received. But since she had been schooled in good behavior, her heart pounded with embarrassment as the older woman rolled toward them.
Lord Hartwood’s mother was dressed entirely in black. Her only jewelry consisted of a jet mourning ring and necklace bearing a small miniature portrait outlined in hair. At first glance, it was hard to believe the woman before her was Lord Hartwood’s mother. Where his figure was trim and muscular, hers had run to fat. Her coloring was dark where his was fair. But on further examination there was a certain similarity in the strong, Roman nose that was such a prominent feature of both of their faces. And certainly there was something similar in shape of the steely eyes with which they coolly regarded each other.
Head held high, Lady Hartwood let her eyes sweep over the face of her only remaining child, then rested them on Eliza, gazing for a long time upon the glittering necklace that hung between her breasts, before turning back to her son. Her face showed no trace of emotio
n. “So you have come, Edward,” she said. “I trust you had a pleasant journey. We will dine at eight. I have invited some people of trifling importance to help celebrate your arrival. It’s astonishing what people will do to be able to say they have dined with a title. Though, of course, no one of any consequence would wish it known that they had dined with you.”
She motioned the footman she was ready to leave, but before she could go, her son spoke up. “How kind of you to welcome us so graciously, Mother. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of introducing you to my own particular friend, Miss Farrell. She has kindly agreed to accompany me for this fortnight. Please see that she is given the room adjacent to mine.”
Again his mother’s gaze raked over Eliza, coming to rest on the sapphire necklace that dangled in her cleavage, but her features showed nothing but a steely determination to maintain her composure. “Unfortunately, the only room that is free to accommodate Miss Farrell is a small one in the attics where the other servants sleep.” She favored Eliza with a look that would have curdled milk. “It is quite hot and uncomfortable at this time of year. But you may have her things sent up there.”
A look of fury flashed over Lord Hartwood’s face, but in a moment he recovered himself, and like his mother, arranged his pale features to show nothing but cold control, making the resemblance between the two of them more pronounced. “I trust you will still let me sleep in my own room.”
“I cannot stop you.”
He turned toward Eliza. “You need have no fear of suffering unduly from the heat. My room has always been a comfortable one. Please feel free to make it your own.” He turned back to his mother. “Also, before I forget, I’ve invited a guest to join us at dinner. I hope you can accommodate her. It’s been many years since I’ve seen Mrs. At-water. I hope you will make her welcome, too.”
