Mistress in the Regency Ballroom: The Rake's Unconventional Mistress / Marrying the Mistress

‘Yes, you do. It’s about what you saw earlier. With Mr Jeffery.’

‘Oh. Were you giving him a set-down?’

‘Not at all. It was a fudge between them, and Bart was embarrassed. Nothing was taken from his pocket. It was just a bit of nonsense. It would please Bart if you were not to mention it.’

‘Oh, boy’s pranks, you mean.’

‘Exactly. There are certain things a woman is innocent of when she has no brothers.’

Letitia blinked, not knowing how to reply to that. Without knowing it, he had pinpointed a basic truth that lay behind her writing problem, not simply by being brotherless, but being without the kind of understanding that comes from years of observing what young males do, how they behave together, what they look like under the formal attire and what they say to each other. It was a private jest between friends. She ought to have guessed.

Caught unawares, she foolishly pursued the other matter instead of granting him the last word. ‘So what am I to tell my sisters, my lord? I would not want them to think it was I who invited you here this evening.’

‘Miss Boyce,’ he said, visibly stifling a sigh, ‘you appear to be rather obsessed by what other people think, despite your efforts to make it seem otherwise. If I were you, I’d leave me to deal with my own affairs as I think best and try minding my own business.’

‘It will be very much my business, Lord Rayne, if my sisters were to suspect me of keeping you here at Richmond. In fact, they have already asked me if you have visited me. How foolish is that, I ask you?’

‘Extremely foolish, Miss Boyce. I cannot think of a single reason why I should want to call on you at Paradise Road. Can you?’

‘Not unless it was to take a look at the alterations I’ve made since you looked it over. Enjoy the music, my lord.’

The tiff gave her nothing like the satisfaction she had hoped for and, if it had not been for her pupils’ efforts to please, and her own part in that, she would have felt even more irritated than she did. As it was, the parents were well satisfied that they had made the right choice of school for their daughters and that their money was being well spent on all the right accomplishments. In that respect, the exercise had been well worth the effort.

Sir Francis and Lady Melborough went even further by letting it be known that Lord Rayne had agreed to give their daughter some riding tuition and to find her a better mount than the one that had been Mr Jeffery Melborough’s hack. Then, it was only a matter of minutes before first one father and then another approached Lord Rayne with similar requests, effectively appointing him as personal tutor to their daughters and charging him with the purchase of suitable horses to replace the present ones, to Letitia’s quietly seething anger. The only saving grace in her eyes was that the extra lessons would be outside school hours and it would be the parents rather than she who paid him. The only one to miss out on this new arrangement was Miss Edina Strachan, whose relatives had not attended.

‘You did that on purpose, didn’t you?’ Letitia said to him.

‘I didn’t actually have to do anything, Miss Boyce. It was Miss Melborough herself who broached the subject to her father and he who asked me what I thought. What I thought is what I’d already said to you. Simple as that.’

‘You have a knack of getting your own way, that’s all I can say.’

‘I wish it was all you could say, ma’am. Unfortunately, I do not hold out any hopes on that score until you’re taken in hand and held on a tight rein.’

‘Which will not be your business, my lord.’

‘Not yet. You’ll have to be caught first. Goodnight, Miss Boyce.’

This was not, however, the last she heard from him that night, for as she stood listening to the quietly spoken vicar’s wife, mother of Verity Nolan, the deeper voices of Lord Rayne and Lord Elyot came to her ears from the other side of a wide marble column, weaving around Mrs Nolan’s opinions of the piano duets.

‘Attracted?’ said one, in answer to some question. ‘Intrigued, certainly. I can’t say I’ve ever come across such a combination of looks, intelligence and prickliness.’

‘So well balanced,’ Mrs Nolan was saying, eagerly. ‘Of course…’

‘You’ve had it too much your own way, Sete. That’s the problem.’

‘…there were times when the bass line was a little strong, but…’

‘Yes, I know I have. She seems to think so, too.’

‘What about the sisters? Not so much fun?’

‘….but that’s only to be expected. A little more practice, and…’

‘Getting tedious, Nick. Too predictable. The elder one is a cracker, and I fancy the challenge. You can see why she and the mother don’t see eye to eye.’

‘So, you fancy taking on a blue-stocking.’ There was low laughter and some words about no stockings at all that made Letitia blush. ‘Well, give it a try and see how it goes. She may prove to be worth the trouble, if looks are anything to go by. D’ye think she’s interested?’

‘She’s very green, for all her ways. And I think she may be interested, but she’d not admit it. I may need some help, Nick. Are you willing?’

‘Of course. You helped me with Amelie. Just let me know.’

‘Thanks, I will.’

‘Miss Boyce?’ said Mrs Nolan. ‘Are you all right? You’re very flushed, my dear. I was saying—’

‘Yes, quite right, Mrs Nolan. More practice, I’m sure. Now, I must go and say farewell to Lady Melborough and gather my brood together.’ Slipping away into the crowd, Letitia made her way in a daze between the chattering bodies, her mind reeling from the kind of talk she should not have listened to. As her first taste of the way brothers spoke to each other in private, it would have been more enjoyable if the subject of their speculation had not been herself.

It now became imperative for Letitia and her pupils to take their leave of their hosts, pack themselves into carriages and escape to the safety of Paradise Road away from the controversies surrounding Lord Rayne’s unwanted presence. If he had not been invited, Letitia was sure she would not be feeling so annoyed, even if she ought to have anticipated some trouble, in view of her previous experiences.

Her farewell to her host and hostess, however, could not be rushed through in a few brief words, and when Sir Francis took her to one side, impolitely monopolising her attention, it was more than she could do to snub him by refusing point-blank to cross the threshold of his large library where he promised to show her a rare volume of John Donne’s poetry before she left. Just to one side of the columned hall, the white double doors were wide open and, since anyone could see inside, Letitia saw no danger in following him.

John Donne was one of her favourite poets, but the library was not well lit and, when Sir Francis opened the book upon his desk and moved it across to show her the handwritten script, she found it impossible to see much except the first decorated letter. Deciding there and then that this was to be the extent of her obligation to him, she bent to look more closely as his hand smoothed over the pattern of words on the page. His body moved too close as only a father would have done, innocent but invasive, nevertheless. His breath smelled of brandy. She was tired, emotional and, she thought later, too keyed up to think sensibly, and what happened next was as much the result of her over-reaction as Sir Francis’s uncomfortable closeness.

She moved away and took a hasty step backwards, hitting her heel against some unseen object, and crashing down over the top of it on to the carpeted floor, forcing a yelp from her lips.

Lights tipped and jerked crazily.

Hands reached out.

Shapes bent over her.

A man’s face loomed through a haze of shock.

‘No…no, don’t touch me!’ she whispered. ‘I can manage alone.’

‘Miss Boyce, take my hand. It’s me, Rayne. Let me help you to get this footstool out of the way. You fell over it, I believe. Are you much hurt?’

Somewhere behind her, she heard the deeply cutting voice of his brother asking Melborough what in hell’s name he thought he was doing to invite a young lady to be alone with him, telling him with unarguable finality that it didn’t matter whether the doors were open or not, he should have known better. The thud of Sir Francis’s footsteps on the carpet was swallowed into the soft hum from the hall.

Letitia struggled to sit upright against the desk. ‘My eyeglasses,’ she said. ‘I heard a crack just now. They’re hanging from my wrist. Please, if you would move your foot, my lord.’

There was a tinkle of glass as he obliged. ‘Damn!’he said.

‘Oh…oh, no!’

Crouching down beside her, he removed the ribbon from her gloved wrist from which dangled the golden scissors-spectacles, one half now empty of glass, its pieces on the floor. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I didn’t see them there. Why in pity’s name doesn’t he get some lights in here?’ Carefully, he picked up the pieces. ‘Truly, I’m sorry. I’ll have them mended immediately. Leave it with me. Come, Miss Boyce, you should go straight home. Can you stand now?’ Tucking the broken parts into his pocket, he held out his arms to her as Lord Elyot watched.

Although she had heard, only a few moments ago, how indelicate their talk about women could be, she made no protest as his arms enclosed her shoulders and gently pulled her upright, nor did she object when his cheek almost touched hers. She clung to his arm. ‘Yes, I can stand, thank you. Ouch…oh, ouch! I’m all right, really. It was nothing.’