Regency Rumours: A Scandalous Mistress / Dishonour and Desire

‘I don’t really know. It was like she didn’t want to. They telled me she was well enough and that the babe was well too, and that she’d chosen to stay where she was, thank you very much. And that’s all.’

‘And you didn’t get to see her or the child?’

‘Lord, no, m’lady. I didn’t get no sight of them.’

‘So you don’t know whether this is the truth, or whether she’s being prevented from leaving?’

‘Well, no.’ He looked at the door, then back at her. ‘But she’s had her bairn and they said she’s all right, so perhaps it’s for the best. I dunno.’ He fished into one baggy pocket and brought out a leather purse weighted with coins. ‘They wouldn’t take it,’ he said, passing it to her and watching how her hand sunk a little.

‘They actually…sent it back? Well, that’s a first.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘Thank you, Fenn. You did your best. Did they tell you.?’

‘Tell me what, m’lady?’

A hand crept to her breast. ‘Did they say…whether it was.?’

Fenn understood. ‘Oh, aye. It were a little lass. Night, m’lady.’

‘Good night, Fenn. And thank you. You did your best.’

The mother would rather stay where she was, in that dreadful place, with a new babe? Yes, and I’d like to know who gave the orders to turn all benefactors away at whatever cost to the unfortunate inmates. Was it you, my fine lord? Could it have been you, by any chance? You, with your lack of compassion and your wandering, knowing hands? Damnyou…damnyou…

If anything more had been necessary to persuade Amelie that this so-called friendship must cool, this was it. Not only had she made a complete fool of herself in allowing a most indecent intimacy, but now he would believe her to be no better than a low woman ready for anyone’s favours. All her earlier protestations about caring nothing for her own social contacts would be worthless, for she had shown herself to be desperate and ready to drop the handkerchief at the first man to show an interest. Well, she had warned him that their friendship would not last. Now, he had better believe her.

Wriggling deeper into her warm bath, she scrubbed vigorously at the parts where his hands had smoothed. ‘Like a horse…a mare.’ she growled.

‘Beg your pardon, m’lady?’ said Lise.

‘My hair. Is the shampoo ready?’

She could never have grown to like him, anyway, a man with so little pity in his heart that he could actually forbid a woman’s release from a squalid workhouse to the safety of a caring employer. He must know that there was no likelihood of exploitation or abuse in such circumstances. And he was a womaniser, too. Never was there smoke without fire, nor had he bothered to deny it.

One more thing was certain. Caterina must be better protected from men like Lord Rayne. Perhaps she ought never to have allowed the introduction in the first place. Yes, it had been a mistake. Both friendships must be slowed, before it was too late.

Accordingly, Caterina’s breezy request to go driving in the park and to leave cards at the homes of her new friends met with a puzzling refusal that put an end to any chance of meeting Lord Rayne, which was what she had intended. Instead, she was taken through the aspects of housekeeping and accounting using Mr John Greig’s The Young Ladies’New Guide to Arith-metic, which did little to banish her yawns or her frustration.

Later that morning, the mantua-maker arrived for a fitting of Caterina’s new gowns, though her young assistant had gone down with something and had not arrived for work. Amelie suspected that the child was close to starvation.

After a light luncheon, they went into the garden to practise the sketching they had missed at Kew, and there Henry came to say that Lord Elyot and Lord Rayne were in the hall asking if they were at home.

Caterina was already on her feet, drawing-pad and pencils discarded.

‘No, Henry,’ said Amelie. ‘Tell their lordships we’re not at home today. Caterina, come back if you please and finish your study.’

‘Very good, m’lady,’ said Henry.

‘Aunt Amelie!’ Caterina squealed. ‘How can you say that? You must know how I want to see him. Please…please, let me go. He’ll want to—’

‘Not this time, my dear. Take my advice on this. It doesn’t do to show too much interest at this stage, you see. Make him wait a while. In any case…’ She bit her lip, regretting the necessary deviousness.

‘In any case what? Don’t you like him?’

‘Of course, I cannot say that he’s not a charming companion, but such men are not innocents, you know. They tend to…well…change partners rather too frequently for most women’s comfort. Such men break hearts, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, I’m not afraid of that,’ said Caterina, knuckling away a tell-tale tear. ‘I haven’t given him my heart, so he can’t break it, can he?’

‘You’d be surprised what men can do, my dear.’

Although her aunt’s enigmatic remark did very little to inspire a recognisable drawing of an artichoke head, it provided food for thought in other ways, one of them being the exact nature of Lord Rayne’s interest. Being less experienced than her aunt in such matters, Caterina was by no means sure that he would care as much as she did about her being unavailable. All this waiting was a huge risk, at seventeen years old.

Her fears were allayed next day when Lord Seton Rayne arrived after breakfast in his brother’s perch-phaeton to ask if Miss Chester would be allowed to take a turn with him round the park and up the hill. Amelie was speaking to her housekeeper, Mrs Braithwaite, in the hall when Lord Rayne was shown in, so it was well-nigh impossible for her to refuse the invitation with anything like a convincing excuse. Realising that this would do nothing to cool matters between the two of them, she could only beg Lord Rayne to be careful with her niece, to return her in exactly two hours and not to allow her to drive, no matter how much she might wish it. If Caterina had not yet given him her heart, she had certainly loaned it to him.

Expecting that Lord Elyot might follow his brother’s example and hoping he would not, Amelie went up to her workroom where she had already begun a painting of her artichoke in an interesting state of decay. The tap on the door and the arrival of the footman caused her heart to leap uncomfortably, but it was only to deliver a letter, the handwriting of which she didn’t recognise, nor did it have the assured flourish of an aristocrat’s hand.

Laying her fine sable pencil aside, she broke the wafer and opened the sheet of paper, puzzled by the unfamiliar scrawl.

Then, before reading it, she searched for the signature at the bottom and found the words that drained the blood from her face. I remain your most obedient and loyal servant, Ruben Hurst.

A sickness churned inside her, and she held her mouth to prevent a cry escaping. This was a man she hoped had vanished from her life forever and, although she had never seen his handwriting before, she had seen enough of him to wish him perpetually at the ends of the earth. Which is where she believed he had gone.

Her hand shook as she read:

Dearest and Most Honourable Lady, My recent return to Buxton has made me aware of your removal from that town, which saddens me, for I had hoped to speak with you about our future sooner than this. However, while staying at St Anne’s Hotel, I discovered that enquiries were being made about you other than my own, these from a manservant in the employ of the Marquess of Sheen, a magistrate of Richmond in Surrey, where I understand you to be residing. Without revealing my own interest, I tried to ascertain the nature of this man’s enquiries and the reason thereof, but all he would say was that it was a personal matter. Nevertheless, from the escutcheon on his carriage door, I discovered that it belongs to the Marquess’s eldest son, Lord Nicholas Elyot. Which begins to sound, my Dearest Lady, as if your past is about to follow you whether you will it or no, as the man has taken the liberty of interviewing your erstwhile neighbours. I believe he is soon to be on the road to Manchester, whereas I am to leave Buxton at my leisure by post-chaise tomorrow. I shall send this news to you by mail, for you to receive it soonest.

Assuring you of my Highest Esteem and Devotion at all times, I remain your most obedient.

Lowering the unwelcome letter to the table, Amelie propped her forehead with one hand and stared at the words which, more than any she could think of, were the most disagreeable to her. Furious that her privacy should be so invaded, she felt in turn the raging forces of fear, resentment and indignation, followed by a desire to pack her belongings and move on again before the troubles of the past could reach her.

Ruben Hurst was the ghost of her past who had wedged himself between her and her beloved husband. He was a man who lost control of his affairs to such a degree that he could ruin the lives of others. He had ruined her life quite deliberately, and eventually she’d had to move away. And so had he. Now he had found out where she was and, of all the times when she needed the protection of a husband most, Josiah was not there to do it.

What made this news even more unacceptable was that Lord Elyot, the man from whom she was hiding her other self, the ‘do-gooding’ as he would see it, had somehow known of it from the start, otherwise why would he want to investigate her so thoroughly? Was he muck-raking? And she had even had him in her home, let him escort her to a ball, had danced with him and…oh…the shame of it! What a deceiver the man was.

Once again the footman knocked and put a toe inside the room. ‘Lord Elyot, m’lady, asks if you’d be pleased—’ ‘No, Henry! I will not be pleased to see him. I’m not at home.’ ‘Er, yes, m’lady. Though he may find that hard to believe.’

‘He’s not supposed to believe it, Henry.’

‘Very good, m’lady.’ The door closed.

Within moments, he was back. ‘Lord Elyot says to tell you, m’lady, that he’ll call tomorrow afternoon and hopes you’ll receive him.’

‘Order the phaeton for tomorrow afternoon, Henry.’

Henry grinned, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Very good, m’lady. Anything else?’

‘Yes. Get Lise to come and make some tea.’

Having bought tickets for a local charity concert for that evening, Amelie decided that there were more pressing matters to be attended to. The idea that Lord Elyot and his brother might also be there was only a passing thought in her mind that had nothing to do with her decision, she told herself.

That afternoon, she sent her housekeeper and maid to the house of the mantua-maker’s young assistant to ask if a contribution of food would be acceptable to the family. Furthermore, would Millie, when she was sufficiently recovered, care to come and work for Lady Chester as a seamstress and to live in at Paradise Road? The grateful reply came within the hour, a small victory that soothed much that was disturbed in Amelie’s mind. It had occurred to her more than once that it might not have been the most diplomatic method of solving Millie’s problem, but she feared that the mantua-maker would do her utmost to delay the matter of the girl’s welfare, and delay was unacceptable in cases of dire need.