Duchess of Seduction (Hearts in Hiding Book 3)

by Beverley Oakley

  Yet surely the advice of a sensible woman would not go astray? There were few of those in his life, he reflected, thinking of his mother, who now lived with them, and of Cressida’s frightful cousin, Catherine. Perhaps Mariah, as a kind woman with considerable experience of life, could offer some insight into the reasons for Cressida’s withdrawal the past ten months.

  He drained his brandy and set down his glass. First, though, it was understandable that Mariah would be anxious to learn the progress he’d made concerning her unexpected request several weeks ago. A request he was possibly in a position to discharge though he feared the answers promised only heartache. There was much to admire in this woman who had suffered with such dignity and Justin had no wish to add to her pain.

  Sensing his uncertainty, she became businesslike. “You have discovered something, Justin, and I have not the patience to wait for you to tell me in your own words and time. I am sure you wish to be on your way , too.”

  Justin nodded. “You have waited a long time, Mariah. I understand that.” He weighed up the kindest way to couch his response when he had no news to gladden her heart. Directness was always the best way forward, he decided, before reflecting he and Cressida had been anything but direct with one another lately. “There are several possibilities, Mariah.”

  “Several?” She took a breath, drawing herself up and fixing him with an incisive look.

  One dainty, black slipper peeped from beneath the flounce of her once fashionable cerulean gown. Mariah had always dressed elegantly, but in the dim light, Justin could see the signs of wear, the discreet darning.

  “Yet nothing conclusive?”

  He shook his head. For a long time there was silence. “Mariah, if you need money—”

  She raised her hand, cutting him off. “I sing for my supper every Wednesday, Justin. Mrs. Plumb has been a good friend.” She indicated the small drawing room in which they sat. “She gives me my privacy when I need it and ensures I do not lack entertainment.”

  Justin gave a wry laugh and patted his masque beside him. “I wish it weren’t necessary to disguise myself, Mariah. I feel like a thief in the night and don’t know how I’d begin to explain these visits to my wife.”

  “Your wife should value even more the prize jewel she married. You’ve not told her about what you’re doing, Justin? You promised me you would.”

  His urge to confide in Mariah about his marital problems was checked by her mild criticism of Cressida, and he regretted unburdening himself when he’d hinted that his wife was no longer as eager for the joys of the marital bed as she once had been. But it had been so good to see Mariah again after so many years and natural to revive the friendship with its old familiarity .

  “Cressida is an angel. I’d trust her with my life, but since you are concerned that she mixes with some of the parties involved in my investigation, I assure you that my lips are sealed.”

  “Cressida is a lucky woman.”

  Justin glanced at Mariah’s face, serene and faintly sympathetic in the light cast by the Argand light on the low table nearby. He did not think jealousy was behind the faint contempt he sensed. Mariah and he had shared similar interests and an affectionate rather than passionate physical relationship all those years ago. He’d been generous when he’d given Mariah her congé, though her illustrious marriage to Lord Grainger ought to have ensured her comfort for the rest of the days.

  It was, in fact, when Mariah looked set to be left all but destitute by the aging peer who was in the process of divorcing her that she and Justin had met. Mariah had already risen to great heights in her own right when she’d won Grainger’s heart. The once- famous opera singer had gone on to win Justin’s after she’d sought legal advice while struggling to maintain her dignity—and enough support to keep body and soul together—in the face of Grainger’s appalling treatment of her during the final months of their marriage. Mariah had given the youthful Justin her loyalty and her gratitude for his friendship. Much later, she’d given him her body. What she hadn’t given him were satisfying reasons for her humiliating divorce. Faithless on her part had not been one of them, anyway.

  “It seems Cressida would rather put you through the mill than offer a reasonable argument for her cruelty. You don’t suspect she has a lover?”

  Two days ago, the suggestion would have been implausible. Nevertheless, Justin forced a laugh. “You always were my champion, my dear Mariah,” he said, “but since you have never met my wife, I beg you to refrain from passing judgment. I must be blamed for this erroneous perception of her, for, I assure you, a man could have no better wife.” Smiling, refusing to countenance the churning in his breast, he added, “Cressida is the most conscientious of mothers. It is a trial and a sadness that our youngest is not robust, but I will not hear Cressida criticized for choosing her son’s comfort over mine on occasion.”

  “Perceptions matter as much as the truth.” Mariah fixed him with a direct look. “The word about town is that Lady Lovett has not been seen more than three times by your side during the last year. You are lonely, Justin.”

  The concern in her expression was genuine, not a gambit for offering him the solace of her charms.

  Indeed, it was on account of his genuine liking and respect for his old friend and former mistress that Justin allowed her to persist with the subject.

  “Have you never suspected there might be someone else, Justin?”

  When he shook his head, she countered, gently, “I was married to Lord Grainger for many years. I thought I knew him better than I knew myself. It was only in the final year of our marriage that I discovered I did not know him at all.”

  This was not the time to question Mariah about her husband or to put his own marriage to such close, uncomfortable scrutiny. Justin rose and went to the window. “As I have already made plain, Mariah, nothing stands between Cressida and me except”— holding back the curtain, he stared into the moonless night—“the children.” It was the first time he’d put it into words. A vision of their young, happy faces blurred in his mind. Unhappily, he added, “They are everything to her.”

  “Children play an essential part in the success of a marriage, as I well know”—her voice wavered—“but they cannot provide her with everything she needs, Justin.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mariah, it was thoughtless of me—”

  “You are too sensitive if you thought your words implied that, just as your many children may be the reason for your troubles, the lack of children was the entire reason for my divorce and current situation.”

  He no longer wanted to pursue this line. Mariah was quite likely to prise from him deeper pain and grievances than he wished to articulate.

  “Cressida has given me three healthy daughters and a son, yet I am as drawn by her beguiling charm as I was the day we met.” He realized the words sounded trite and rehearsed. Forcing himself to cast aside his despondency, he began to pace. “She is an extraordinary woman and, just as she is devoted to family life, I am devoted to her.”

  Mariah gave a desultory little clap. “Bravo, Justin. I wish all husbands were as loyal to their wives as you are to your Cressida. I hope she may yet prove she deserves you.”

  From the window embrasure, Justin turned. “She does so every day. Cressida is kind and gentle, and it is only natural that with the arrival of so many in the nursery, she is less driven by the carnal desires which curse we men.” With a restless sigh, he returned to the sofa, giving Mariah a rueful smile. “You sought my services in the hope I might put an end to your pain and suffering by at least supplying you with an answer to the one question that has haunted you for eighteen years—the identity and location of your daughter.” Taking her hand, he squeezed it lightly. “Though so different from my wife, you are a woman, Mariah, who craves the same things Cressida does, the joy of seeing one’s children grow. Ironically, Cressida has this in such abundance she no longer needs me as much as she once did. I have her love and affection, and
I tell myself it should be enough.” He shrugged, as if it didn’t hurt. “I’m following your investigation for you as a friend and, as discussed, I refuse payment for these services. But...” He dissembled, unsure where his thoughts were taking him. Deciding there was no need to censor the activity of his brain, he proceeded with unusual recklessness, his throat suddenly dry as he realized how much he wanted advice. “But, Mariah, as a friend, and a woman experienced in life’s sorrows and disappointments, perhaps I could ask from you some small payment? Perhaps you could tell me plainly if you believe all hope is lost.” He hesitated. “And, if not, suggest how I might rekindle my wife’s desire?”

  Mariah’s look was kind. In the manner of her countrywomen, she gave an expressive shrug. “Have you tried talking to her? That’s always a good beginning.”

  “I hear the irony in your tone, and I concede that words are the obvious, but sometimes the hardest, way to begin.” Frustrated, he added, “Cressida knew nothing about relations between men and women when I married her, though she seemed to have no aversion to her...bedroom duties.” Indeed, her unexpected enthusiasm and the heights of passion that had quickly elevated their relationship beyond the early kindling of their love could not have been feigned.

  Until Thomas’ birth. No... She had withdrawn long before that. Not just in the purely physical sense, in the bedroom. Once, they’d kissed and cuddled but it had been a long time since they’d done even that.

  With three children in the nursery, her wifely devotions had swung definitely in favor of motherly duties, though it was only in the past ten months she had developed the regular megrims that seemed to coincide with any visit he made to her bedchamber.

  “Cressida was obviously born to be a mother.” He raked his hand through his hair. The evening had been most unsatisfactory. He could tell Mariah nothing that would give her comfort with regard to her search for her lost child, meanwhile, Mariah’s mild criticism of Cressida needled him, though he’d pressed on to discuss the marital problems that neither he nor his wife seemed able to broach.

  He picked up his demi-mask as he prepared to leave, returning to the subject of the business that had first brought them together. Briskly, he said, “I have been stringing out your anticipation by talking of my marital concerns when I intended merely to tell you that I have found not one, but two, likely avenues to pursue. Next time I visit, I shall have the list of the children who were admitted to and removed from the Sedleywich Home for Orphans in the years in which you are interested, Mariah. My report is begun, and I am following your lead, though I must tell you now, if your suspicion is correct, great effort has gone into muddying the trail that might reveal your daughter’s new identity. I should know before the end of the week.”

  Mariah clasped her hands to her heart. “You are a good man, Justin, and you have always been kind to me. Thank you for coming here tonight when, really, you have little to impart to give me hope. And yet, I do still hope.”

  Her smile was tinged with the radiance he remembered. “If I can do anything in return, it would be to suggest that when you get home, take your wife into your arms, and ask her what is troubling her. Words may be the hardest way to broach the subject, but you have to give her the opportunity to say what’s in her heart before you reveal the state of yours.”

  Chapter 4

  “You have a visitor, ma’am.”

  Cressida’s heart sank. Millie, the parlormaid always adopted that tone when it was Catherine. Disdainful and

  under sufferance. It was just the way Cressida felt only she was too well bred to show it.

  “Please, show her in.”

  A visit from her cousin was the last thing she desired but Catherine was never one to wait. Even if Cressida had instructed the parlor maid to say that her mistress was out, Catherine would have barged in before Cressida had a chance to escape.

  And then there’d have been hell to pay.

  So, as Catherine breezed into the drawing room and settled her lanky, horsey frame onto the green plush sofa, remarking, “You don’t look at all yourself, Cressy, darling. Surely you’re still not mulling over what we spoke about the other night,” Cressida had to dig her fingernails into her palms to restrain any possibly unwise remark.

  Four long days ago. The longest of her life.

  “Of course not.” She hoped she sounded chilly enough to deflect the subject or that she could come up with inspiration for something to divert Catherine who was always like a dog with a bone when she discovered a person’s raw nerve.

  “Well, I sincerely hope you’re not,” Catherine said, almost brightly as she pulled the bell rope to order tea for them both. She’d always behaved as if she owned the place. “You forget how lucky you were, Cressy, that you were able to follow your heart, marry money and that you retained your husband’s interest for so long. Just because Justin has taken a mistress doesn’t mean you are less to him than you ever were. He just wants more. Like most men.”

  Cressida glared at her cousin and darted a quick glance about her to make sure none of the servants was in earshot. “I don’t for one minute believe he’s taken a mistress, Catherine. But since you’ve clearly decided he’s consorting with this Madame Zirelli, perhaps you’d like to tell me a bit about her. I’ve never heard of her.”

  She was encouraged by the skepticism with which she managed to lace lace her tone, disappointed when Catherine responded matter-of-factly, “Neither had I, until Annabelle told me the curious story of Miss Hardwicke’s uncle’s determination that Madame Zirelli sing at his niece’s wedding.”

  “Miss Hardwicke’s uncle? Sir Robert, do you mean?” Cressida frowned. She’d heard Annabelle mention this illustrious member of the family who’d made a great fortune across the seas and had never been back to England.

  “That’s right. Well, he’s coming back for Miss Hardwicke’s wedding, and of course Annabelle is doing all the organizing as Miss Hardwicke’s poor mother is on her deathbed—”

  “But what’s Sir Robert got to do with Madame Zirelli?” What did this have to do with Justin? Cressida leaned forward to quiz her. Catherine was wrong.

  “Well, Sir Robert has lived abroad the past sixteen years, in case you didn’t know, and he’s returning for the wedding but with the oddest request. He charged Annabelle with the task of hunting down the finest soprano in all England and has especially instructed Annabelle to seek out this Madame Zirelli.” Catherine leaned back and her voice took on an edge of scorn. “Of course, Annabelle’s husband took over the search after Annabelle learned of Madame Zirelli’s...well, unsavory past...and it led him to Mrs. Plumb’s house of ill repute.”

  “Then naturally Justin is merely helping to locate this Madame Zirelli.” That was it! What a joyful discovery!

  Catherine raised an eyebrow. “And it would seem Justin knew just where to look.” She sighed as if her cousin were displaying the greatest ignorance.

  “Surely, Cressida, you can’t imagine your husband led a blameless life before he whisked you down the aisle? Be glad his name is associated with only this one woman. Why, James—”

  But Cressida wasn’t interested in James. James was a whore- monger. Innocent though she was, she’d heard the label used in association with her cousin’s husband, and for that reason alone, she must try and feel some sympathy for Catherine, who’d never known the love and loyalty Cressida had taken for granted all these years.

  At last Cressida had discovered the logic behind the terrible innuendo and she’d never felt stronger. “I’m sorry, Catherine, but I don’t take everything at face value like you do. Justin is deeply loyal. I have never found fault with him as either a husband or a father.” Her thoughts trailed away. It was true, though, that she knew nothing of Justin’s female associations before she’d married him.

  But then a terrible thought occurred and without stopping to think, she blurted out, “This Madame Zirelli...if indeed Justin did have an association with her... Perhaps she was not someone he could marry�
�” The idea of Justin losing his heart to someone else before her time but being unable to follow his inclinations was a terrible one and put their entire marriage in a new light.

  “Without wishing to sound unkind, you were hardly a glittering prospect, Cressy.” With some slight consideration for the bluntness of this assessment, Catherine hurried on at her cousin’s injured look, reminding her of what Cressida had always taken comfort in. “Justin lost his heart to you the moment he saw you, and, despite all the persuasion that could be exerted, he married you, penniless though you were. This Madame Zirelli was married to Lord Grainger, though I believe their divorce was being finalized when she and Justin— Well, anyway, suffice to say you must forget this foolish idea that Justin is returning to some long-lost love.”

  Cressida closed her eyes briefly, opening them on a smile as Mille returned bearing the tea tray .

  “I’ll pour,” she murmured, leaning over to perform the niceties while her mind whirled over a million possibilities.

  “You’ll pour.” Catherine gave a world-weary sigh. “Is that all you can say? Is that all you can do?”

  Helplessly, with the tea pot in mid air, Cressida stared at her cousin. “What else can I do?”

  “You can tackle Justin on the matter or you can investigate. The latter is what I’d do.”

  “But I’m not you and we’re so—”

  Catherine was staring at her with raised eyebrows. “Different?” she supplied. “Yes, I’m the brazen siren and you’re the insipid shepherdess yet do we not both seek the same thing? Satisfaction?”

  “Happiness is the word I’ve have used,” Cressida murmured, casting her cousin her most demure look while inside she raged.

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I will speak to Justin,” Cressida muttered, putting down the teapot with a clatter.