Mistress by Mistake

Chapter 24

He’d walked on the shingle until he reached the tumble of unclimbable cliffs, then turned back into the wind to head for home. Still too enervated to go back to the house, Bay perched on a sun-soaked rock, surveying the abandoned seduction site. The tent poles had collapsed, the basket of food overturned and picked clean by swooping gulls. A long dark stain of wine had dried on the ruined carpet.

And then there was the chamber pot, glistening white in the afternoon light. Bay’s lips twitched, remembering. But the seriousness of his situation brought a quick halt to his amusement. Jamie was as mad as Anne if he thought to marry her and run off to Scotland. What Anne’s parents would think was anyone’s guess. Life as a doctor’s wife was quite a come-down from life as a viscountess, but nevertheless an improvement over being an inmate in an asylum, no matter how humane.

At the heart of it, he couldn’t imagine Anne turning from him to Jamie in less than twenty-four hours. It smacked of the kind of desperation only possible if one was completely unbalanced. How could Jamie settle for a wife like that, far from the home he grew up in, away from his elderly father and friends? Both he and Anne were tethered to their obsessions.

Bay knew what it was like to crave Anne’s touch. In losing her he had lost years of his life, put himself at needless risk, frozen his heart to new possibilities. Charlie had thawed it with the heat of her tongue and body. Now he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

And he had left her alone at the house to sort out his mess. He was a craven fool.

The glass door to the back parlor was still open as he left it. His instinct had been to slam it when he stormed out of the room earlier, but his better self had prevailed. Charlie sat at the tea table, its starched linen cloth wafting in the light breeze. A dried-up sandwich sat untouched on her gilt-edged plate.

“I’m sorry,” he offered before she could say anything. “I shouldn’t have run away and left you with Jamie. I was just so-so-flummoxed.”

“Bay, I want to go home. To Little Hyssop. It’s almost time anyway.”

He couldn’t have heard her correctly. He reached for a hand that was fisted tightly in her lap, but she clutched the fold of her dress. “Why?”

“Jamie says he’s taking Anne back to the Bucklands until we get all this sorted. I think you should give him the money and send them away. Far away. Until you do, I just can’t stay here.”

“I’ll protect you, I swear. Frazier and I were in the process of hiring some men from the village to patrol the grounds round-the-clock.”

“Too late.” Her blue eyes were bright with tears. He cursed himself for leaving her by herself to worry and placing her in danger. Anne could be walking up the drive right now, armed with one of Jamie’s bedpans to return the favor.

He didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t even want her as far away as the next room. But it was clear from her stricken expression she was scared half to death. “You’re right. I’ll send Frazier with you. And Kitty, I suppose.”

“Frazier! Is he fit enough?”

“Angus Frazier’s a tough old bird. Believe me, he’s marched miles with worse. It’s just a superficial wound. I think he wears the sling to garner sympathy from his bride-to-be.”

Her smile was wobbly. “You must think I’m an awful coward.”

“No, my love, you are a sensible, respectable woman, as you’ve reminded me time and time again. And anyone with the grit to use a chamber pot as a weapon is a force to be reckoned with. You are the bravest woman I know.”

“She could have shot you. When the gun went off-” She swallowed back a sob.

He pulled her up against him quickly, the china on the tea table clattering. Yes, she had fainted last night, but the enormity of everything was finally hitting her in all its grim glory. He’d seen some of his troops go through stages such as this-functioning because they had to, then suddenly going to pieces. Bay couldn’t bear to see her hurt or uncertain. He would deal with Jamie and Anne, then claim Charlie at last.

“Hush, hush,” he whispered into her temple as she wept. “It will be all right. Everything will be all right. I’ll see to it, and then I’ll come for you. You can leave tonight, as soon as we can get you packed up. Frazier will think he’s on holiday, two pretty girls to ride with. Let me go talk to my coachman. He’s an old army man, too-used to moving on short notice.” He murmured comforting nonsense as she slowly stilled in his arms. Whatever it took to calm her fears, he was prepared to do. He acknowledged his own fears were elevated as well. Until he saw Anne for himself, he would doubt any solution Jamie proposed.

He wouldn’t be separated from Charlie forever, just long enough for him to find a permanent solution to the problem of Anne Whitley. Charlie would never have reason to worry about anything ever again, save what to order for dinner or what color to repaint the parlor. An idea was even now beginning to form, taking amorphous hold on his imagination, but he wouldn’t speak of it until he could explore it further. In the meantime, the woman in his embrace needed kissing in the very worst way, something he was eminently qualified to do.

From the corner of the coach, Charlotte had observed the blushes and the giggles, the secret glances, the “accidental” touches of her companions as the carriage rolled through the countryside bounce after bounce. She definitely felt like a fifth wheel as Angus Frazier and his Kitty were thick in the throes of their love affair. She couldn’t begrudge them their euphoria; if things had been different, she would be similarly enraptured by Bay. It was in fact amusing to see the gruff Frazier as besotted as a schoolboy with the tiny maid. Charlotte was quite looking forward to their wedding as well as her own.

But right now she had a more pressing problem than wedding arrangements. She simply didn’t know where she was going to put Mr. Frazier and Kitty when they got to her little cottage. It was not as though she had servants’ quarters, or even the need for servants. The upstairs rooms were crammed to the ceiling with Deborah’s spoils from her years as a courtesan. Kitty would just have to share Charlotte’s bed, and Mr. Frazier was doomed to sleep on the lumpy sofa, poor man. Bay would not hear of them returning with the coachman and the carriage once she was safely back in Little Hyssop. She was to have the security of Angus Frazier’s protection until Bay decided otherwise.

Throughout the trip, Mr. Frazier had taken his guard duties seriously, but the farther away from Bayard Court they travelled, the more relaxed Charlotte became. It was unlikely that Anne would somehow discover their whereabouts. If it wasn’t for the baby, Charlotte would feel craven for leaving Bay behind. She missed him fiercely, especially when confronted with the two cooing lovebirds opposite.

She had almost-almost-told him what she suspected when they parted. But she had been so very desperate to leave. She’d been irrational, really, now that there was distance in both miles and days to reflect. If Bay resolved the Anne entanglement quickly as he promised, he would know soon enough.

The carriage rumbled over the last bridge and into the village proper. Charlotte felt a sense of peace as she viewed the familiar stone buildings, their flower boxes overflowing, their front steps swept spotless. Bay’s driver knew just where to go from his last visit, when he brought his horticulturally challenged master on his “garden tour.” But the carriage stopped short on the lane.

“Bother. This is Mr. Trumbull’s house. Mr. Frazier, could you hop out and tell John to go down to the end?”

Frazier did as requested, but was back in seconds. “There’s a cart blocking the road, Miss Fallon. Piled high with furniture and boxes it is. Have ye been evicted?”

“Certainly not! I own my cottage free and clear.” It couldn’t be thieves, could it, taking advantage of her absence to empty out her home? “Kitty, you stay here.” Charlotte stepped down from the coach, grateful that Angus Frazier would be at her side to confront whoever was stealing her possessions. Not that she had anything of value, except for her broken jar of money and Deb’s things.

Deb! Her sister came flying out the open door, covered in one of Charlotte’s own aprons, and, remarkably, one of Charlotte’s caps affixed to her glossy dark hair.

“There you are! Do you know I’ve been worried sick? I wrote letter after letter. When I didn’t hear from you, I persuaded Arthur to let me come down to see what was wrong. And then that old man next door told me you were visiting me, which you most assuredly were not, because why would I be looking for you if you were with me in Kent? Careful with that!” she interrupted herself, speaking to a pair of men balancing a mirror between them. “That really should be wrapped in a blanket. I say, Charlie, you wouldn’t have a spare one I could borrow? I should hate to have seven years of bad luck, just when my luck has turned. Charlie, I’m the happiest woman in the world. You’ll never guess! The most amazing thing! I’m going to have a baby! And Arthur’s home is delightful, but it will be ever so much better with my lovely things in it. His uncle didn’t have much taste, I’m afraid.” Just then Arthur came out the door clutching the hideous stuffed parrot. “No, not that, darling. I’ve changed my mind. Charlie, I want you to keep this. As a token of my affection. Now where have you been, you sly puss? And with whom?” She cast a somewhat disparaging eye on Angus Frazier, who stared right back at her, his mouth hanging open.

Charlotte was quite sure she gave off a similar sense of shock. While Mr. Frazier was probably surprised at her resemblance to her sister, Charlotte was stunned to see Deborah in domestic garb, chattering like a magpie, and pleased to be pregnant. Not only had luck turned, but the world had turned and was tilting on its axis. Charlotte thought any minute now she’d drop off and be tossed off into the firmament.

Deb pulled her close in a hug, temporarily tethering her to earth, and whispered in her ear. “Well, say something! Stop gawping like a looby. Don’t ever tell me that this man is your protector. I left you set for life with Bay.”

“It’s complicated.” Charlotte escaped the embrace. She wasn’t sure Deb was ready to hear all about the last several months, nor was she ready to explain the recent past with any lucidity. Art theft, imprisonment, kidnapping, armed sexual assault, and insanity were not typical topics of conversation. “Congratulations on your marriage, Arthur, and your good news.”

Arthur turned quite pink. “Thank you, Charlotte. Deborah, sweetheart, come inside and sit down. I don’t want you to tire yourself out.”

From what Charlotte had seen already, the only thing apt to be tired was Deb’s tongue. A small battalion of men moved to and fro up and down the stairs, loading the cart. “Mr. Frazier, perhaps you and Kitty and the coachman can refresh yourselves at the Pig and Whistle. They do a very nice lunch.”

“Are you sure, Miss Fallon?” He seemed suspicious of Deborah, having heard all of Mrs. Kelly’s and Irene’s tirades against her. Deb had not made herself popular in her brief tenure on Jane Street.

“Perfectly. You might do a bit of shopping as well, after. We’ll need something for dinner and breakfast.”

“I don’t like to leave you alone with these people,” Frazier mumbled for her ears only.

“I’ll be fine,” Charlotte said stoutly. Arthur could always hit any intruder in the head with the parrot.

“I know you’ve been sitting a spell, but you haven’t been sleeping well. You take care of yourself, too.” Frazier warned.

Charlotte was tired. She missed the length of Bay’s body against her in the night. Sleeping with Kitty in inns was not the same at all. Arthur tucked the parrot awkwardly under one arm and assisted Deb back into the cottage as though she were made of spun sugar. Following, Charlotte bit her lip as Deb milked her maternal status for all it was worth.

Mercifully, everything in the parlor was just as Charlotte had left it, except now Arthur propped the parrot on the mantel. Its malevolent beady eyes took in the comfortably shabby room, no doubt wishing for her sister’s more familiar exalted objets d’art. Deb kicked off her fancy embroidered slippers and lay back on the sofa, putting her feet up on a cushion.

“Be a dear and massage my feet, Arthur. Now, tell me. Who was that funny-looking red-haired man? And who is Kitty? Never tell me you were travelling with one of your cats. What a nuisance they’ve been, by the way, yowling at all hours ever since we arrived, getting underfoot of the removal men. Nasty creatures. I don’t see how you can stand the little beggars.”

“Prefer a dog, myself,” Arthur interjected as his hands smoothed over Deb’s stockings. “A nice beagle. Had one when I was a boy.”

“Yes, yes.” Deb waved her hand vaguely. “You may have one when we get back to Bard’s End, but it is not to come into my house and mess on my carpets. Nor will it nip my precious baby. Arthur, you must see to its training.”

“Yes, my love.”

Charlotte suppressed a giggle. For all Deb’s domesticity, she had not lost imperious sway over her husband. Arthur was completely in her thrall, no doubt pinching himself several times a day that he was actually married to London’s most sought-after courtesan.

“What has happened, Charlie? I even stopped at Jane Street and inquired of your neighbor Lady Christie. What an elegant woman she is, even if her life’s a scandal. I do wish I’d gotten to know her when I was there. She told me you simply disappeared, the house was shut up, and if I was to find you to send her felicitations. Oh! And she said she bought a red dress and her husband was apoplectic. Very odd, that. Anyway, tell me everything.”

“Well.” Charlotte wondered about Deb’s reaction when she told her about the engagement. Arthur compared rather unfavorably to Sir Michael Xavier Bayard, and Deb would think if she had played her cards patiently, she might have been Lady Bayard instead of Mrs. Bannister. She might as well get it over with. “I was with Bay at his estate in Dorset. He’s asked me to marry him, and I’ve said yes.”

Deb jerked her foot out of her husband’s hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, you tease. Where have you been really?”

“I’ve just said, Deb.”

Deb sat up. “I can’t believe it! Where is your ring?”

Charlotte looked at her naked hands. “I-I don’t have one yet. A ring isn’t the important thing anyway.”

“Oh, you are so naive. Look what Arthur gave me.” She leaned over and thrust a good-sized winking sapphire under Charlotte’s nose.

Charlotte felt a twinge of spite. She untied her fichu, revealing the magnificent ruby necklace.

“My necklace!” cried Deb.

“My necklace,” countered Charlotte. “And you know you took it without permission.”

“It was an accident. I was in such a hurry to marry my Arthur I didn’t pay attention when I was packing. What a lot of trouble the silly thing caused. That man who interrupted our blissful honeymoon at Patrice’s chateau put a damper on us for days. It looks very nice on you,” Deb said grudgingly. “But that dress-don’t you have anything more suitable?”

“You know I don’t. Look, Deb, I’m happy for you. Please be happy for me.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I have everything I’ve ever wanted-a house of my own and a child on the way.” This was news to Charlotte, but she held her tongue. After a pregnant pause, an embarrassed Arthur cleared his throat. “And you, of course, Arthur! That goes without saying. But Charlie, are you sure Bay will marry you? He’s not a marrying kind of man.”

“I’m sure,” Charlotte said, praying that it was true.

The next hour passed as Deb gave orders from the couch while Charlotte brewed up tea and a fierce backache. Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief when the cart rattled off, taking the clomping, stomping men with it. Arthur and Deb repaired to the relative luxury of the Pig and Whistle, saying their good-byes as they were making for Kent with all the treasure at first light. Charlotte was spared sharing her supper with them-fresh bread, ham, and beans from her garden, which were running riot up over the poles. She and Kitty and Angus had dined in the cozy kitchen together, and the couple was now readying the two cleared-out attic rooms for nightfall, although Charlotte imagined just one of the pallets would be slept on tonight. Frazier’s arm was fully healed, and there was no reason why he could not consummate his engagement. Charlotte had no objection, as long as they weren’t too noisy. She was looking forward to sleeping undisturbed in her own bed beneath her own worn quilts.

By now Little Hyssop’s rumor mill was working overtime. First there had been Charlotte’s sudden departure, then her sister’s arrival and the removal of a king’s ransom worth of oddities from the tiny cottage, then Charlotte’s return with two servants in tow. She’d have a lot of explaining to do in the morning and needed all the rest she could get.

She went into her little back bedroom off the kitchen and opened the window to the summer night. Her hollyhocks had grown up taller than she was and mostly blocked her view of the stars. But she made her wish anyway, undressed, and crawled into bed. Fingering the heavy necklace still at her throat, she was reassured. She may not have a ring, but she had something better-a man who swore he loved her and would protect her always.

She woke in the middle of the night to loud growls. The sound was not at all catlike, and it came from indoors, not out. Frightened, she grabbed a trusty candlestick and tiptoed through the dark to the parlor. Angus Frazier had angled the sofa against the hall entryway, and was guarding her noisily against nighttime visitors in his sleep. Either that, or Kitty had thrown him out for the ruckus. Charlotte noted on her way back to bed that the kitchen door was blocked with a chair. No Little Hyssopian would gain access to her cottage tonight. She fell back asleep with a smile on her face, and woke to the smell of frying bacon, which gave her stomach only a minor lurch. It was to be one of the good mornings. She pulled on her gray robe and stepped into the kitchen.

Sunlight streamed in through the open back door. A jar of fresh-cut flowers was centered on the set table, and Kitty was in total control. A pan of eggs bubbled on the stove, and bread had already been buttered. “Good morning, miss! Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead. This looks lovely, Kitty. The food and the flowers. Thank you.” She sat down like a true lady of leisure as Kitty poured her a cup of tea.

“Oh, your garden is a wonder, Miss Fallon. I could be happy living in a cottage like this. It’s just perfect.”

“It is, rather. Not fancy, but I’ve been happy here.”

Or as happy as one could be, lonely and more or less poor.

She would miss her cottage when Bay came for her, silly as that was. Bayard Court was beautiful, and she was sure his house in town was as well, with its fabled French chef, but Little Hyssop had been her home for a decade. Charlotte looked at Kitty’s shining face as she stirred the eggs. “I say, I’d like to make a wedding present of it for you, when Sir Michael and I marry.”

Kitty dropped the wooden spoon. “You’re joking!”

“I’m not. But perhaps I spoke too soon. Mr. Frazier might not like it. I don’t know what he could do to keep busy in Little Hyssop.”

“Oh, now that he’s got Sir Michael settled with you, he’d love to retire. He gets a small pension from the army, you know. Enough for us to live on. And I’m sure Sir Michael would be generous. He owes Angus his life. Saved him single-handed from a band of rogue Frenchies, he did. Bad ’uns. They killed them all.”

Charlotte shuddered. It was difficult to imagine Bay using his artist’s hands to willfully kill other human beings. But of course he had. It was his job, or he would not be here today.

Of course, he wasn’t here. But perhaps there was a letter from him. He had promised to write. Charlotte ate her breakfast quickly, washed up, and braved the walk into the village. Her walk should have taken just five minutes. However, it seemed every one of her neighbors had work to do in their front gardens this morning, and her trip down the lane was a slow but steady one. She deflected most questions to their obvious disappointment, stuck faithfully to comments about the weather, and found herself in the tiny tobacco shop that doubled as Little Hyssop’s post office after most of half an hour had passed. Mr. Forrest’s eyes lit up as she entered, the bell jangling behind her.

“There you are! I’ve got a passel of mail for you, what with the month you’ve been gone. Your sister was in here yesterday, accusing me of withholding her letters, because she’d not heard from you. Off on a secret adventure, eh?”

“You might say that. I’ll take my mail, and a few ounces of pipe tobacco. You pick it-something not too strong but aromatic.” Mr. Frazier might as well benefit from her gauntlet.

“Don’t tell me a fine lady like you has taken up that habit.” He waited expectantly, but Charlotte simply shook her head, rifling through the letters. Her sister’s hand was on most of them, but one brought a smile to her lips.

A letter from Bay! To her, not to her sister. Charlotte slipped the letters into her reticule, then paid for the tobacco and practically ran home. Let the neighbors talk. She went directly to the back garden bench beneath a trellis of roses that were past their prime but still fragrant and carefully broke the seal.

Dearest Charlie,

You haven’t even been gone a day, but I miss you more than I can put into words. Wish me luck. I have an appointment tomorrow with the Bucklands and Jamie. If things go my way, we should have everything settled within a month or two. Until then, I shall dream of you every night. All my love,

Bay

Charlotte leaned back, then reread the few lines. It wasn’t half as romantic as she’d hoped, and vague to boot. Although it was gratifying he’d written before she’d even exited Dorset’s borders.

And two months! It was an eternity. Getting Jamie and Anne to Scotland couldn’t possibly take that long. She wanted to write right back to him, but was distracted when one of the stray cats rubbed up against her stocking with unusual affection. Hungry again, even after Kitty put the breakfast leavings out. Sighing, she went inside to inspect her larder. But first, she pressed Bay’s letter between the pages of her Bible, right where her marriage lines would be written. Someday.