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

‘I hope she doesn’t suspect…’

He took her by the shoulders in brotherly fashion, laughing at her touchiness. ‘She doesn’t suspect anything, Lettie. She and Lake are well acquainted, and he’s told her that the author is a certain Lydia Barlowe, but no more than that.’

‘Perhaps I should have used different initials.’

‘Nonsense. No one is ever going to make the connection.’

Her friend’s approval of Waynethorpe Manor, however, satisfied her that the author’s lack of emotional experience had not in any way affected his enjoyment, though whether she could convince her readers for a third time remained to be seen.

‘What’s the new one about?’ he asked.

‘About a young lady called Em…er…Perdita, rather like one of my pupils, in some ways.’

‘Which pupil?’

‘Any one of them. Inexperienced. Looking for excitement.’

‘Looking for love, you mean.’

‘Yes, that, too,’ she said, giving herself away at each reply. Surely Bart would recognise the heroine?

‘You have only to look at the material right under your roof.’

‘What d’ye mean?’ she asked, rather too sharply.

‘I mean your seven young ladies, who else?’ They had reached the pavement where Mr Waverley’s horse was being held by the young groom. Taking the reins with a nod of thanks, he spoke to Letitia in a confidential whisper. ‘As a matter of fact, there is a young lady who might fit your Perdita’s description, up to a point. The lass from Scotland. One of the boarders.’

‘Edina Strachan? In what way?’

‘Nothing I can quite put my finger on, but you must have noticed how inattentive she’s become this new term. Her mind certainly isn’t on her household-management accounts, and I’d swear she’d been weeping before she came to the dinner table yesterday. She moons about like a lovesick calf.’

‘You don’t think she might be in love with you, do you, Bart?’

‘Good grief, no, I do not. She’s either still homesick or lovesick, I tell you. Perhaps something happened while she was at home at Easter.You might keep an eye on the situation.’

‘Yes, thank you for the warning. I will. I’ll ask Mrs Quayle what she knows about it.’

But Mrs Quayle, the widow in whose house next door the three boarders had rooms, had nothing to add to Mr Waverley’s observations. ‘Homesickness, my dear,’ she said that evening. ‘It’s only her second term away from home. We may have to work harder on her Scottish lilt, for if she cannot be understood, she’s not going to make much headway in the marriage mart, is she? Perhaps we could get Mr Thomas to give her an extra half-hour each week?’

‘So you don’t think she’s in love?’

‘Who knows? With all those young Hussars swarming about, it wouldn’t surprise me if all seven of them were. Don’t worry, I’ll keep a look out.’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

That same evening, Letitia sat with the attractive seventeen-year-old Edina, whose guardian grandparents lived at Guildford. After talking at length about her family, it seemed that Edina was relieved to be away from their strait-laced Presbyterian influence and more involved with the kind of social life she had previously been denied. The symptoms that Mr Waverley had identified could not be homesickness, Letitia decided, therefore it must be love.

That evening, Edina’s early signs were written into the notebook with some elaboration to make up for what Letitia had not personally observed.

The remainder of the week passed uneventfully except for the visit on Thursday of Miss Garnet and Miss Persephone Boyce in the company of Uncle Aspinall and Aunt Minnie, the latter requiring a tour of the house and redesigned gardens. Sir Penfold Aspinall, a bluff, good-natured giant who had done so much to help his sister’s eldest daughter to set up house, approved of everything he saw, partly because he trusted her good taste and partly because he liked the idea of being surrogate father to his remarkable niece. His wife, shrewish and disapproving, had come chiefly to take note and then to convey to Lady Boyce every detail to which they could mutually object.

The twins’ main purpose in visiting their sister seemed to be to catch sight of Lord Rayne, whose absence had been the cause of some concern. They asked if it was true that he was visiting her.

‘Visiting me? You must be bamming!’

‘Has he?’

‘Of course not. Why would he visit me?’

‘We heard he was riding with you on Monday.’

‘Me and about twenty others on the way to Garrick’s Temple.’

‘Oh, well, if that’s all.’

‘That is all. I suppose he’ll be escorting you on Saturday?’

‘No,’ said Persephone, pouting.

‘Too busy with preparations for the foreign visitors. Apparently they’ll all need mounts,’ said Garnet. ‘We shall go to Almack’s, anyway.’

‘It won’t be the same. He’s such a tease.’

‘Is he?’ said Letitia, relieved to hear that his commitments would keep him away from Richmond that weekend. ‘Come to the garden and see my new summer-house. I think you’ll like it.’

Aunt Minnie had found it first. She was taking tea there, dunking an almond biscuit in her cup before she heard them coming. ‘Ridiculous waste of money, Letitia,’ she said, brushing away dribbles of tea from her lace tippets. ‘What are your fees for this place?’

‘With extras, usually twenty pounds a term. More for the boarders.’

‘Hmm! I don’t know what your mama will say to that.’

Uncle Aspinall chuckled. ‘It has nothing to do with Euphemia,’ he said. ‘Cheap at the price, I’d say. What are your young ladies doing now, Letitia?’

‘French, with Madame du Plessis, Uncle.’

‘Tch! French indeed,’ said Aunt Minnie, sourly. ‘That monster Bonaparte has a lot to answer for.’

But Uncle Aspinall had nothing but compliments to offer about the way his niece had furnished the rooms, the feminine colour schemes, the new garden layout and the adjoining conservatory. The hanging baskets, potted palms, window-boxes and newly planted vines had brought the garden well into the white painted room. ‘Like a jungle!’ Aunt Minnie carped. ‘Ridiculous!’

It was not until Saturday evening when Letitia gathered her pupils into the downstairs parlour for a last check that she discovered an unwanted addition to the guest list that she could do nothing about when the invitation had been issued by Miss Sapphire Melborough, the daughter of their hosts.

Letitia kept her annoyance to herself, though she would like to have boxed the pert young woman’s ears. ‘I don’t mind you inviting Lord Rayne, Sapphire dear,’ she said, fastening the pearl pendant behind her neck, ‘but it might have been more polite if you’d asked me first. And your parents. We have to be very careful about the audience, you know.’

‘But they like Lord Rayne,’ said Sapphire, understating the case by a mile, ‘so I know they won’t mind him coming with Lord and Lady Elyot. And I didn’t think you’d disapprove, now that you and he have made up your differences. I told him about our concert and he said he’d like to hear me sing.’

‘Next time, dear,’ said Letitia, turning Sapphire to face her, ‘ask me first, will you? He may be one of Richmond’s haut ton, but the 10th Light Dragoons, or Hussars, whichever you prefer, have quite a reputation.’

Sapphire’s bright cornflower eyes lit up like those of a mischievous elf. ‘The Elegant Extracts is what I prefer, Miss Boyce. It’s so fitting, isn’t it?’