The Perfect Mistress (35 page)

He gasped. “I did not seduce you.”

“My apologies.” Her eyes narrowed. “Of course you didn’t. I was every bit as responsible for last night as you.”

“Yes,” he snapped, “you were.”

“Because I … I wanted you.”

He scoffed. “That was obvious!”

“I wanted to be in your bed.”

“Enthusiastically, I might point out.”

“Because I am just like my great-grandmother?”

“I didn’t say that. In fact, you’re the one who keeps saying that.”

“Nonetheless, it’s obvious that’s what you’re thinking. I see it all now. Your entire devious plan.”

He stared. “What devious plan?”

“You were the one who first mentioned that other men might be interested in me because of my great-grandmother’s nature. Which obviously means you were thinking the exact same thing.”

“I was trying to warn you.” Indignation sounded in his voice. “You’re not being fair.”

She ignored him. “So once you had me in your bed—”

“Again, by mutual consent.”

“—and had your way with me—”

“You certainly had your way with me as well.” He huffed.

“—then I would be so … what? Swept away by passion?”

“There was sweeping on both sides if I recall.”

“That I would gladly relinquish the memoirs to you?”

“It was not a plan,” he said staunchly.

“And then what?”

He drew his brows together. “What?”

“Did you expect me to follow in Hermione’s footsteps? To become your mistress?”

“No!” He huffed. “That thought never crossed my mind. I thought you’d become my wife!”

“Because that’s the proper thing to do after a night of passion?”

“Yes! No! That’s not why at all.”

“Come now, my lord, I am not the type of woman you want for a wife.”

“No, you’re not,” he snapped.

“Then we are agreed.”

“We’re not agreed on anything!”

“Apparently!” She drew a deep breath. “Did you really think you could get the memoirs this way?”

He hesitated. The thought had crossed his mind.

“I do so hate to disappoint you.” Her eyes narrowed. “My plans have not changed in the least. I shall sell the memoirs for publication the moment I return to London, which I intend to do as soon as possible.” She started for the door. “Oh, and I do apologize that you shall have to go back on your word to Lady Holridge. You have nothing well in hand. Absolutely nothing.” With that she nodded and took her leave.

For a long moment he stared at the door. What exactly had he done that was so wrong? Yes, he had made assumptions about a future together that might have been premature. And certainly it might not have been wise to indicate to Lady Holridge the memoirs would not be published. He had known that before he had said it but it had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. And perhaps it had been presumptuous on his part to assume that she would acquiesce to his desire not to publish the book now that they had shared a bed.

But this was a woman who had taken care of herself with no help from anyone for the last three years. One would think she would have been grateful to have a man take charge. He winced. That, no doubt, was where he had made his biggest mistake. Nor had it been wise to admit that she was not what he wanted in a wife. But what he wanted had changed. Now he wanted a wife who would drive him mad. Now he wanted Julia.

He would return to London at once. Further discussion with Julia today would serve neither of them well and she needed time to come to her senses and realize he was only trying to help. And then he would … court her. Yes, that’s what he’d do. Send flowers—not roses—and tokens of affection and notes professing his love. He’d write poetry if necessary and he would walk in that damn park every morning if he had to.

He had come here in the first place to rescue her and he was not about to let anyone, even Julia herself, stand in the way of his doing just that. Whether she realized it or not, she needed him. And damnation, he needed her.

And he refused to spend the rest of his life without her.

… therefore I was quite touched and most grateful. It was apparent, to my delight, that his lordship had been thoroughly trained.

It has often seemed to me there is very little difference between the training of a man and that of a dog, although a dog is usually much easier. He will learn proper behavior by little more than the repeated offering of a delectable morsel as a reward for his actions. Men are very much the same. Promise a man something delicious, something he wants quite badly, and he will do precisely what you wish him to do.

His lordship had obviously been taught to consider his words before they left his lips, a quality rare in most men as it goes against their nature. But dear Cedric had been well …

      from
The Perfect Mistress,

the Memoirs of Lady Hermione Middlebury

“Welcome home, Lady Winterset,” Daniels said in his usual competent manner. “I trust your stay in the country was uneventful?”

“Let us say it was interesting, Daniels. Thank you,” Julia said with a wry smile.

It was good to be home. Even the heavy weight that had settled in Julia’s stomach when she had argued with Harrison had lessened.

He had left Veronica’s last night to return to London alone. Julia and Veronica had taken the first train this morning. While Veronica was well aware something had transpired between the two of them—Harrison’s abrupt departure was ample evidence of that—she was wise enough, for once, to keep her curiosity to herself. Julia was grateful for that. She had no desire to discuss her feelings or emotions or anything at all regarding Harrison with anyone, alive or dead. Hermione too had been absent.

It had been a long, lonely night and Julia had scarcely slept a wink. By this morning she had realized that in spite of his smug, superior attitude he was indeed only trying to help and doing so in the only way he knew how. The fact that ultimately he had treated her like an incompetent was annoying but somewhat understandable. The blasted man did indeed think he knew best. She suspected now the anger she had directed at him had more to do with her fury at her former in-laws than his well-intentioned actions. She had already decided to forgive him as his heart was in the right place and even offer him an apology of her own. Not that she had done anything really wrong, but she shouldn’t have taken out the anger triggered by William’s family on him. Besides, he had pointed out her financial circumstances were a direct result of their own actions. It was thoughtful and most appreciated.

She pulled off her gloves and removed her hat, handing them to the butler.

“There have been several callers in your absence,” Daniels said. “Mr. Cadwallender, Mr. Ellsworth, Baron Holridge and Lady Holridge.” He paused. “I told them you were away.”

“But you didn’t tell them exactly where I was?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

“Absolutely not, my lady.” A firm note sounded in the butler’s voice. He was too well trained and protective to have told any of her callers exactly where she was although Lady Holridge was right. Determining her whereabouts would have taken little effort. “And your grandmother has—”

“Julia!” Grandmother appeared at the top of the stairs, a beaming smile on her face, and gracefully descended. “What a charming little house this is.”

Her grandmother’s smile was contagious and Julia’s heart lightened. “Eleanor! How wonderful that you’ve come at last. I was nearly ready to fetch you myself.”

“For good or ill, I am here now.” She reached the foot of the steps and enfolded her granddaughter in a heartfelt embrace. Then she stepped back and studied her. “Oh, dear, as bad as all that?”

Julia widened her eyes in an innocent matter. “What?”

“Come, come, darling, I know all about it.” She tucked Julia’s hand into the crook of her elbow and led her into the parlor.

“What, exactly, do you think you know?” Julia said cautiously.

“Well, I know you’ve fallen in love with Lord Mount-dale.” She chuckled. “I do so love the irony of that.”

“Because his father was once involved with Hermi-one? Yes, I suppose.” Julia frowned. “But it’s not at all amusing. I am quite distraught.”

“Perhaps if you hadn’t been so stubborn and proud you wouldn’t be so distraught. Although both questionable qualities do run in our blood. Mores the pity.” She seated herself on the sofa then patted the spot next to her. Julia obediently sat. “Now then, have you forgiven him for doing what he thought was best even if he was perhaps wrong? Although I must say, I too would have been hard-pressed to stay quiet under the circumstances.”

“Eleanor.” Julia chose her words with care. She wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to hear the answer. “How do you know about any of this?”

Eleanor raised a brow. “How do you think?”

Julia braced herself. “Hermione?”

“Who else?” Eleanor shook her head. “My mother has spoken to me nearly every day since the day she died. We did not part on good terms.” She sighed. “I was angry with her for a very long time. Of course, she was living in France and it’s quite easy to remain angry with someone when you don’t see them and can ignore their letters.” She met Julia’s gaze directly. “But it’s very hard to ignore someone who is dead and is present whether you wish them to be or not.”

“I have noticed,” Julia said faintly. It was one thing to suspect whose voice Eleanor heard, it was quite another to confirm it.

“She can be most persistent.”

“I have noticed that as well.”

“I can’t say I ever forgave her as much as I came to realize her actions had nothing really to do with me.” Eleanor grimaced. “And then I asked her to forgive me.” She shook her head. “But I wasted so much time. Time, my dear, is something you never get back.”

“I suppose not.”

“So, do you intend to be stubborn and justifiably outraged or forgive him and get on with your lives together?”

Julia smiled. “I may well have already forgiven him.”

“But you have not yet told him?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“Excellent. And you will waste no time in doing so?”

“I intend to tell him when next I see him.”

“See that you do. Forgiveness is a difficult thing, both to seek and bestow, and only grows more difficult with every passing day.” Eleanor shook her head. “But time is precious. One day you think you have all the time in the world to forgive or do whatever it is you wish to do and the next you find there is no time left at all.”

Julia studied the older woman curiously. “What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing you don’t already know.” She smiled and patted Julia’s hand. “You have decided to forgive him. You will do so as soon as possible and that will be the end of it. Or rather the beginning, I think.”

“Eleanor.” Julia paused. She wasn’t entirely sure how to ask this. “Why is Hermione still here? Shouldn’t she be, well, somewhere else?”

“Heaven, you mean?”

“Yes, I suppose. I have been reading her memoirs—do you know about the book of memoirs she wrote before her death?”

She shook her head. “I knew nothing about them until my brother died. She and I agreed that you should have them. That you needed them.”

Julia nodded. “Because I needed the money they would fetch.”

“There was that, of course, but more … It’s difficult to know who you are without knowing those who came before you. It’s also very easy to repeat mistakes of the past if you have no idea what they were.” Eleanor thought for a moment. “The memoirs are only the beginning, of course. You should know this, the history of your family. It’s past time, I think.”

Julia nodded. “Then please, do go on.”

Eleanor drew a deep breath and began “My father died when I was barely a year old and my mother then chose to live her life by her own rules. At first glance it would appear that, in doing so, she wasn’t very good as a mother. But she did love her children.” She paused. “When I lost the man who was arguably the love of my life—”

“My grandfather?”

“No,” she said simply. “He had died several years earlier, and make no mistake, I did indeed love him. However, the love I am speaking of was lost because I was unwilling to forgive something that had nothing to do with me although I did not realize it at the time. And when I did forgive, it was too late. He had married someone else.” She shrugged. “Around that same time your mother met and married your father and I retired to the country. They were indeed made for each other and I did not think my presence in their life was necessary. In that I now see I was wrong. She still needed me and I was too lost in my own misfortune to understand that. It caused a rift between us that never truly healed.” She blew a long breath. “My mother—Hermione—died a few years later and began her visits to me. It seemed better for your mother to believe I was mad than to think I had abandoned her.” Eleanor met her gaze directly. “Which in truth I had.”

“Surely she didn’t think—”

“I don’t know what she thought. I didn’t try to find out.” She shrugged. “I always thought there would be time, you see. Time to be closer and time to know you. She never brought you on those rare visits of hers, protecting you from your mad grandmother, no doubt. But I always had the feeling she and your father were so close there was little room left for a child.”

“They were wonderful. I couldn’t have asked for more caring parents,” Julia said indignantly, even if she had long ago acknowledged, if only to herself, that her role in her parents’ lives was peripheral at best.

“Of course they were.” Eleanor smiled. “And you should pay no attention to anything I say.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh. “I am very old, you know, and my mind is not what it used to be.”

“I doubt that.”

“You were asking why my mother’s spirit still lingers.”

“And you have changed the subject.”

“Indeed I have. A privilege of age, my dear.” She nodded. “Unfortunately, there is no answer. My mother and I have discussed it at length through the years. Initially, we assumed she was here to set things right between us. Once that was accomplished and she remained, we had no idea why. Nor does it really seem to matter although I do think she would like to move on to wherever it is she is going.” She shook her head. “I hate to think she is doomed to wander the earth forever.”