by Jade Lee
“He has tired of paying for my keep,” she said.
Mr. Wakely arched a brow. “I doubt you are that expensive. You have only three good gowns purchased by Lady Rose, as she is wont to tell everyone. And if you were to leave, he would have to pay for a housekeeper. You are a cost savings to your uncle, not an expense.”
She bit her lip, pleased beyond measure that someone understood her value. “Thank you,” she finally managed. “I have learned to economize.”
“You’ve done a great deal more than that, I warrant. Which brings me back to the first question. Why would he do such a drastic thing? He is not unaware of your value, I assure you. The earl knows enough about his money to see that.”
This in turn caused her step to falter as she gaped at him. “Truly?” she said. “You think he knows—”
“Of course he does!”
“But—”
“He knows, Maddy. Now smile and keep walking.”
It took her a moment, but she managed to do it. All this time, she simply thought he didn’t see what she did for him—for Rose and for his home. But he did? Uncle Frank knew how very much she managed?
“Really?” she said more to herself than to Mr. Wakely. “He really knows.”
“Yes,” he said, then he patted her hand in a polite gesture as he smiled at a nearby matron. “So why make his, um, most recent choice?”
The choice to throw her out of his house. The answer was obvious, of course, not that she wanted to face it so squarely. He was forcing her hand, guessing that she would succumb to his advances rather than face the street.
“I won’t do it,” she said firmly, repeating the vow she had uttered just this morning. “I will not do it.”
Mr. Wakely arched his brow and spoke, his voice low and slow. “You will not be cast aside?”
“What? No! I won’t become his mistress just to have a roof over my head!”
“Ah. As I suspected.”
Maddy didn’t really hear his words. She was too busy fuming less and less silently. “To think I believed him the kindest of men when I came to London. I never thought he would stoop so low. I thought he was ignorant of household things. But to know what I am worth, to know that I am a help, and yet still demand more! And such a demand! Oh, I vow I will scratch out his eyes!”
Mr. Wakely didn’t respond. He simply walked with her and occasionally admonished her to lower her tone. She could tell by the taut feel of his arm that he was angry, but no one else would know as he nodded to various people they passed.
Eventually, her passionate diatribe wound down. After all, this was not really new information. Whether done out of ignorance or lust, the situation remained. Her uncle would throw her out in less than a week’s time. And on that unsavory thought, her words finally sputtered to halt.
After a moment or more of silence, Mr. Wakely spoke. “What do you intend to do then?”
“I intend to apply at an employment agency tomorrow morning. I could be an acceptable governess.”
He nodded. “I am certain you could. But, um, I’m afraid you will not be hired. Not as a governess in any gently bred home.”
Again, his words were delivered so blandly, his tone so polite that she did not at first understand his meaning. “What? Why not?”
“I’m afraid, Miss Wilson, that any reputable agency would make some inquiries regarding your past before recommending you to a client.”
She nodded. She already knew that. “But my past is exemplary. If anything, it is rather bland.”
“Not if . . . I beg you, Maddy, do not cry out . . .”
Maddy tried to stop walking. She tried to face him square in the eye, but he would not let her. He forced her to keep meandering aimlessly through the maze of people. “Mitchell, what are you trying to say?”
He grimaced, and she could tell he had no love of what he was about to tell her. “You will not be hired if you have been an earl’s mistress for the last three years.”
It was easy to keep silent. She didn’t understand the least thing he’d said. “But that is what I am saying. That is his bargain with me. He will not throw me out if I become his mistress.”
Mr. Wakely shook his head. “But a few months ago, he began telling people that you have been gracing his bed for years now. Almost since the very moment you came to London.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she snapped. And it was perilously close to a scream.
“Of course it is, and I suspected it was a lie more than a month ago.”
“A month ago,” she murmured. More than a month ago. Which meant that her uncle had been spreading his slander from the very beginning! It took long moments for the truth of that to sink in. And for her to take the next logical step. “But that means I never had a chance to find a husband! He ruined me from the very beginning!”
“Er. Well, yes. But very quietly, as these things go. He made it clear that he would ruin anyone who made such a thing known.”
“But he is the one who created the rumor!”
“Yes. Obviously. And I believe his strategy has backfired somewhat in that it has clearly hurt Rose’s chances. It’s all rather unsavory, don’t you know, courting a girl in front of her father’s mistress.”
“But I’m not!”
“I know! I know!” He rubbed a hand over his face and directed her to a bench. It was in an open hallway and people were constantly moving back and forth, but this tiny space was empty.
Maddy sat down, feeling her entire world shift. It wasn’t so large a shift, really. Her uncle was angling to have her as his mistress. She knew that. And yet she had trouble processing the cold calculation of it all, the spurious rumor, the ruination of her chances before it had even begun. “He is my uncle,” she said, her words and her entire body feeling very small.
Mr. Wakely had no words except a sigh. His expression was miserable, and his hand continued to pat hers with unspoken sympathy as he stood beside her. But this news was so much beyond what she had imagined for this night. When she had made her plans this evening, she had imagined it ending with a kiss. A passionate kiss shared between an engaged couple.
“That’s why you didn’t offer for me last month,” she said. “Because you thought I was his mistress.”
He swallowed and looked aside. “As I said, I realized it was a lie some time ago.”
Her gaze leaped to his. “But then—”
“I am a banker, Miss Wilson. Management of money requires the strictest moral code. No one would give a man of uncertain character access to their funds. A man in my profession must appear to have the highest moral standard.”
She frowned, not understanding what he meant. “But I have always found you to be most proper, most circumspect.”
He nodded, taking the compliment for what it was. But his words went somewhere else. “As I said, a man in my position must have every appearance of holding himself and the world to the highest moral standard. His work ethic must be unshakable, his hobbies must be modest, and . . . um . . . his wife must be above reproach.”
She stared at him, at last understanding his difficultly. Mr. Wakely was a younger son. He did not have a title nor any kind of steady income beyond what he earned every day. He was educated at the best schools, had friends in the highest levels of society, but at the heart of it, he stood on the shaky pedestal of public opinion. Were his character to come into question at any time, then he could lose his livelihood completely.
“That is why you haven’t offered for me. Because my character has been assassinated.”
“I care for you, Miss Wilson. And I think, perhaps, that I could love you.”
Hope leaped into her heart, but one look at his face told her that he was not prepared to offer for her. She looked away, misery making her eyes water and her chest squeeze tight.
“I am not easily swayed by public opinion, Miss Wilson. And I believe a great wrong has been done to you.”
But it wasn’t enough. She could tell by his apologetic tone
of voice. Then, to her shock, she felt his knuckles under her chin. With the gentlest of pressure, he drew her face back toward him. He still remained a proper distance apart from her. People still moved up and down the hallway. But there was an intimacy in his gesture that she felt deep in her heart.
“I have been waiting to see if this is love, Miss Wilson. I find you stalwart and loyal. You have a level head and a good heart.”
She winced. He described her as a good dog.
“These things carry a great deal of value for me,” he continued.
“But it is not love,” she said. “It is not passion.”
He sighed. “Truth be told, I am not a very passionate man.”
She searched his face for some clue but found nothing. “Then what? Why have you courted me all these weeks, dancing with me at ball after ball, only to dash my hopes now?”
He tilted his head in an apologetic shrug. “I have been testing the waters, so to speak.”
“To see if this was love?”
He nodded. “Yes. And also to see how my clients reacted. My interest has been noted.”
Yes, it certainly had. Rose already had them married with six children. She spoke of it constantly enough to make Maddy snap at the girl when days and weeks went by with no proposal.
She bit her lip. “And what has been the reaction?”
“Fully half of them have heard of, um, your reputation. At least two directly from the earl himself.”
Maddy hurt too much to even whimper at that.
“If this is love, Maddy, then I will marry you anyway. I would prefer to wait until I am better established. I am still quite young as a financial advisor, and already my business has been hurt. I need to see if the situation recovers itself or gets steadily worse.” He sighed. “It will do neither of us any good to marry only to end in the poorhouse.”
“How long?” she whispered to her fan. “And how . . . how will you know if this is love?”
He sighed and was forced to step backward as a bevy of young girls swept through the hallway toward the ballroom. The set was beginning. The musicians were tuning their instruments.
Meanwhile, Mr. Wakely extended his hand. “I should take you back to your cousin. You have a dance partner for this set, do you not?”
Did she? She didn’t even know, and suddenly she didn’t care. What good was a dance when everyone thought her a tart? Uncle Frank’s tart!
“How will you know?” she asked, her voice coming out thick and harsh.
His expression was miserable, and a small part of her was glad. Let him suffer for not telling her these things earlier. Let him stew in his guilt for not helping her avert disaster months ago. If nothing else, she could have at least told potential suitors the truth.
The idea was ridiculous, she knew. Nothing cemented a rumor like denying it. And yet, she wanted to vent her fury at someone and poor Mr. Wakely was the only one here.
“How?” she repeated, more loudly now. “And when?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I’m sorry, so very sorry, but I just don’t.”
It was all the answer she was going to get. She knew him well enough to see that in this he would not waver. Then he surprised her again. “Let me call on you tomorrow. We can talk more then.”
She nodded. What other choice did she have but to wait on his pleasure? Perhaps she would enjoy being a chimney sweep, she thought with a slight gurgle of hysteria. Apparently that was all a woman of unsavory reputation was suited for. Except, of course, she was much too large to perform such a task.
“Ah!” she cried with false cheer as she pushed to her feet. “There is my partner for the next set waiting right next to Rose. Thank you, Mr. Wakely, for your escort. I believe I shall manage the last few steps alone.”
She felt him hesitate, the tension in his body unmistakable. “Miss Wilson . . .” he began, though he clearly didn’t know what to say. “Maddy—”
“Tomorrow, Mr. Wakely. Do please call on me tomorrow.”
He hesitated. For a man who was always reserved and always certain, that simple moment spoke volumes. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more than his discomfort. And so with a brittle smile, she gave him her curtsey and walked away.
She managed to make it through the next set, thank heaven, though she had no idea who it was with or what was said. She stopped trying to flirt, and barely held on to being pleasant. Why bother when it was all useless anyway?
Soon she found herself back on the sidelines, sitting with the wallflowers and praying that the evening would end. That, or perhaps a heavenly message carried by angels would suddenly appear in front of everyone. It would say with unassailable veracity that she was no man’s mistress and never would be! And if a huge lightning bolt incinerated her uncle at the same time, she would not grieve in the least.
She was so enamored of this idea that she almost missed it when a gentleman appeared before her. His clothing was obviously new, the color an unfashionable dark brown. But his shoes were rather nice. Comfortable boots clearly worn in places well beyond London ballrooms. Her father had owned a pair just like that.
“Excuse me, Miss Wilson, but I wonder if you might give me the pleasure of this dance?”
Maddy froze. She knew that voice. She had dreamed of it nightly for the last six weeks. He couldn’t possibly be here. Not tonight of all nights. Not when everything and absolutely nothing had changed. He couldn’t be here.
But he was. He stood before her with his hand outstretched and a pleasant smile on his clean-shaven and still tan face.
“Kit?” she breathed.
“Dance with me, Maddy,” he said. “Please.”
“But it’s a waltz.”
He smiled, the sight looking more relaxed than she had ever seen. “All the better.”
Chapter 19
Sweet heaven, she was beautiful. Kit could barely speak over the pounding of his heart. Every day—and every night—of his absence from London, he had thought of his angel, dreamed of her, fantasized about her. Always he had put her in an ugly dress and slowly peeled the horrible thing from her sweet skin.
But tonight’s gown wasn’t hideous. In fact, the white silk draped her beautifully, shimmering the lightest kiss of fabric across her full breasts and narrow waist. Gowns were not supposed to be tailored tightly to a woman’s curves, mostly because the ladies of the ton did not have Maddy’s figure. Similarly, her dress was not quite tucked against her waist, and yet it was cut to reveal exactly how exquisite a body she possessed. A simple blue ribbon crisscrossed between her breasts and flowed ever downward to emphasize her glorious height. The only thing that kept it from being completely seductive was the modest blue scarf she wore, pinned by that ugly broach.
“You are stunning!” he breathed. “I want to force you back into the ugly castoffs because this dress makes you too beautiful.”
She was staring at him, her mouth agape, and her cheeks blanched to a ghostly white. But at his words, she recovered a little. Her mouth closed and her cheeks flushed with the barest hint of pink. But it was too soon gone and he now realized how pale she looked and how gaunt.
“Have you been starving yourself?” he asked, suddenly alarmed. “Are you ill? Maddy, what is amiss?”
She blinked and he watched her gather her wits. In a moment, she went from total shock to a composed lady of the ton. She grew taller, her mouth pinched shut, and her gaze shuttered closed behind half-lowered lids. He found he much preferred her in stunned disbelief.
“Mr. Frazier, I did not realize you had returned to town.” At least her voice was not completely under control. It trembled ever so slightly.
“I arrived two days ago. It took me all of that time to find where you would be tonight and obtain an invitation.”
She clearly did not know what to say about that. Her gaze skittered away and her hands fidgeted in her lap. Something was gravely amiss. He was about to press her for more details when a voice cut through their isolated disc
ussion.
“Mr. Frazier! It is you!” said Lady Rose as she came to his side. Reluctantly, he turned around to greet the confection in flounces. Clearly her seamstress how outdone herself. The girl wore fully eight layers of lace.
“Lady Rose,” he said as he bowed over her hand. “You look like a confection atop a cake!”
“I know!” she said with a girlish giggle. “The more plain Maddy gets, the more I am pushed to frills.”
“Come, come,” he said with a grin. “Turn around and let me see the frills fly.”
“Oh, Mr. Frazier!” she cried, though her eyes danced. “That’s not exactly appropriate deportment for a young miss.”
“Ah, but I like a little scandal in young ladies. For me, sweet Rose. Spin just once.”
“Welllll,” she drawled as she wrinkled her nose in flirtatious delight. “Only because you asked so nicely. And only once! Otherwise Maddy will have my head for behaving badly.”
“Never,” murmured Maddy from the side, but Rose wasn’t listening. She was already beginning to twirl. Slowly at first and then with increasing speed while her ruffles lifted. She did seven or eight full turns before spinning back to a gasping halt, her blue eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed red.
“Oh my!” she cried breathless as she fake stumbled against him. He caught her, of course. It was what she wanted as she hung overly long on his arm. “I am quite done in!”
“Nonsense,” he said, laughing with all good humor while silently trying to think of a way to be rid of her. “You are the peak of health. In fact, you are so perfect that I must see if you have a dance available.”
“Oh, Mr. Frazier!” she cried in mock dismay. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
He lifted her wrist and looked at her card. As he expected, it was completely filled. “No space for me. Well, perhaps tomorrow night. If you but tell me—”
“Vauxhall,” she said on a gasp before he could even finish his question. “An end-of-the-Season gathering before everyone leaves for the country. The Countess of Thornedale has taken a box.”
