Mistress by Mistake

Chapter 9

Charlotte sat in the late morning sun, Bay’s letters in her lap. He had not come to her last night, even though she had put on one of Deb’s provocative dresses and waited with a saucy, mistressy expression on her face. His valet, Frazier, a short red rooster of a man, had delivered Bay’s regrets in person, keeping his flinty gray eyes firmly on her face and not her bosom. He seemed to be checking her out anyway, then disappeared down to the kitchen to visit with Mrs. Kelly. By the time he was done, he’d know all about her ill-fated scheme to flee Jane Street. And how very wicked his employer was to tie her up and ravish her with raspberry fool.

Charlotte felt an unfamiliar ache of desire. She knew she should not like this captivity, but it was growing on her. Just like a pimple on her arse, it was inflamed and uncomfortable, yet she could not remove it.

So she had decided to torture herself further by reading Bay’s love letters to Deb. Well, they were not exactly love letters, more like lust letters. There were twelve of them, two for each week he’d spent away. She was saving the ruby necklace one for last, like the last sugared rose on a chocolate gâteau.

She had arranged the letters in the order that they were written. Bay seemed methodical in dating each missive, his handwriting bold yet legible. She settled back on the iron garden bench and unfolded the paper, trying to block out the sound beyond the brick wall. A new garden was being put in next door, with workmen toting in almost full-grown trees and flowering bushes. Someone was spending a pretty penny to make the garden look as though it had been established for years. She had observed the activity from her balcony earlier, watching in appalled fascination as one of the laborers removed his shirt to reveal a large black cross tattooed on his brown shoulder. He made a total of two gentlemen she had seen shirtless in her whole life, and she’d only woken up on Jane Street for four mornings. Who knew what she’d see-and do-next? She blushed at her own daring and began to read.

To the Divine Deborah,

I arrived safe and sound at the old ancestral pile two days ago. I believe as a Dorset girl yourself you would be at home. The front lawn is the ocean, its sheep the whitecaps scattering on the beach below. It is always good to be back, although denying myself your company will take all my strength.

My grandmama is very frail as you might expect. She is ninety-five but once claimed she didn’t look a day over eighty. The doctor has not given me reason to hope for her recovery, so I must warn you now to be patient. I am uncertain when I will return to Jane Street, but I hope you are settling in. Mrs. Kelly and Irene have been instructed to grant your every wish. Should you have need of a gentleman’s assistance, my old batman Angus Frazier can be counted upon. Simply tell Mrs. Kelly to send for him.

I have been thinking about your mouth, Deb, your lips so full and plump. A blushing rose hue owing nothing to artifice, I believe. You have been cruel to me for weeks, forbidding even the most chaste of kisses. I assure you when you are in my arms at last, there will be nothing chaste about it.

I remain your most obedient

and ardent servant,

Bay

Charlotte wiped the tear from her cheek. Deb did not deserve this letter. Here was Bay at his poetic and practical best. She tucked the letter into the pocket of her gray dress. As a concession to the absent Bay, she had left her cap in the drawer. Her hair, still scented with his lime soap, fell down her back like a wanton’s. She picked up the next letter. It was shorter, but still managed to convey Bay’s desire through his worry.

Dearest Deborah,

Just the briefest of notes to let you know you are in my thoughts even in this difficult time. The situation remains unchanged. I know one night with you will help me forget the nights we spent apart. I look forward to seeing you in the blue negligee that matches your eyes. And then I look forward to seeing you out of it.

Your obedient and hasty servant,

Bay

And Deborah had taken that negligee with her. Arthur Bannister was probably lifting its hem right now in some French coaching inn. For some reason that thought made her cry even harder. She bound all the letters up with a blue ribbon and shoved them into her pocket so as not to smudge the ink. She was bawling rather noisily now, oblivious to the sweating, swearing men next door.

Charlotte was not much of a crier. Even when Robert abandoned her, she had steadfastly refused to join her mama in wailing and woe-ing. The next month her parents were dead, and she allowed herself a few discreet tears in the churchyard. Deborah, hanging off Harfield’s arm and looking perfectly beautiful in new mourning clothes paid for with Harfield’s reinstated allowance, was making enough fuss for both of them. There were very few people to see or hear her-the Fallon family had fallen as low as one could go without actually being convicted felons. The people of Bexington were happy to see the back of them all. Harfield’s father, the Earl of Trent, had purchased their house for a song and then flattened it, not that Charlotte would ever go back there.

And now here she was, living on the most notorious street in London, falling in love with a man who wanted her sister, a man who would send her back to her temporary cats as soon as he got his hands on his necklace. Charlotte sobbed and sniveled into her hands.

“My goodness. Whatever is the matter, my dear?”

Charlotte gulped, then quickly wiped her nose. The wooden door in the wall was open, not the side where the crew was hard at work, but the other. An elegantly dressed woman stood in the doorway, a basket with cuttings on her arm. She wore a spotless white pinafore over a teal silk dress. Her dark red hair was twisted up with aquamarine combs that caught the sunlight, and her gray eyes were wide with concern.

“Oh! I do beg your pardon for disturbing you.”

“Nonsense. I hope you don’t mind that I am disturbing you. Angelique and Helena kept the door unlocked so we could visit on occasion. I’m afraid I didn’t have the opportunity to meet the other young woman who was here before you. I’ve been away for a few weeks. Sir Michael isn’t cruel, is he? I have ways of dealing with that sort of thing, you know.”

“Oh, no. No, he’s not cruel at all.” Only if you counted the way he had completely coerced her body to do his bidding so that she was a mindless puddle. Charlotte wiped her snot-covered hands on her skirt. “How do you do? I am Charlotte Fallon.”

“Ah. You must be the Divine Deborah’s sister. I never met her, but I did see her in passing. Now that I look at you, you are very like her, are you not? You might almost be twins.”

“I am the elder by four years.” Charlotte was finding this conversation terribly awkward. But really, this stranger was in the same boat as she was. Charlotte shoved her mortification in her other pocket.

“You have no idea who I am, do you, Miss Fallon?”

Charlotte tried to laugh. “You live on Jane Street, so I imagine I know part of your story.”

“Ah. There you would be wrong. I am the Baroness Christie, but please call me Caroline. My husband, Edward, is Baron Christie.”

“L-Lady Christie?” And she had a living husband?

“Quite. May I sit down on your bench? I’m afraid when I bent to pull up a few weeds I did something to my back.”

Charlotte knew her mouth was still hanging open. “Of course!” she said hastily, scooting to one end. Bay’s letters crackled in her pocket.

Caroline set her basket between them, the heavy scent of peonies wafting through the air. Charlotte fingered a warm silky dark pink petal. They were her favorite flower. The ones at her cottage must be in bloom too, only they were ivory. And drooping their heavy heads right now since she was not there to cut them.

Caroline rubbed the small of her back. “I’m most vexed with my gardener. A total case of while the cat’s away the mouse will play. The flower beds are in a shocking state without my supervision. It’s not as though the man has to take care of Christie Park, for heaven’s sake, just a tiny city patch.” She removed her gardening gloves. On her wedding ring finger were an enormous diamond set with smaller stones and a matching diamond wedding band. Charlotte tried very hard not to gape. “Anyway, a bit of history. My husband and I separated five years ago after an unfortunate misunderstanding. Unfortunate for me, at any rate. He purchased my accommodations without my consent, naturally. I have tried to make the best of things. Of course in the eyes of society I am quite ruined, but there’s no reason for me to waste my time or tears, although I can tell you I once did. What has upset you so much, Charlotte?”

“I-I don’t really know. I’ve had a bit of a misunderstanding, too. My sister, the infamous Divine Deborah, ran off to get married. She is married. She left me here to explain the situation to Sir Michael, but somehow things have gotten a trifle out of hand.”

“The old bait and switch. I once knew a pair of sisters-the Condon girls-who were forever doing that to their beaux. Men never knew which one of them they were kissing.”

“I assure you I never meant to even kiss him. I most certainly didn’t intend to take Deborah’s place in Sir Michael’s bed. It just-happened. I am-I was-a respectable woman. Mostly.” But not lately.

Caroline laughed. “Aren’t we all? If you need a friend, I’m right next door. I receive every Thursday afternoon. Most of the girls stop by if they are not busy with their gentlemen. You should come and meet your new neighbors.”

Charlotte felt her world tilt a little. The baroness was a most unconventional woman. She watched as Caroline rose from the bench with a wince. “It’s a hot brick in bed for me this afternoon. And that is all that’s been in my bed for five years except my cat Harold, in case you were wondering.”

Charlotte stuttered over her good-byes. There was a crash and a curse on the other side of the wall. “The Marquess of Conover,” Caroline whispered. “Known as the Mad Marquess. They say he lost his soul in the desert.”

“Does he have a tattoo?” Charlotte whispered back.

“I’m sure I couldn’t say, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Thursday, then. Anytime between three and five. I look forward to seeing you.”

Dear Lord. She had just been invited to sip tea with Cyprians. Her mama would have fainted-gracefully-dead away.