Marrying the Mistress (10 page)

‘Well, my dear,' said his brother, ‘you must do whatever you feel is correct. But let me say this: Linas would not have wanted us all to go into months of mourning for him. For you to be seen in public at this time will not cause even the lift of an eyebrow from his family, and indeed, Burl's decision to accompany you will prevent comments from anyone.'

‘Yes. Thank you. But I didn't think it would be seemly to dance.'

Looking across at his wife's nodding approval, Mr Monkton's beaming face softened even more. ‘Wife,' he said, ‘I don't know why we didn't think of that ourselves. We
could
go, for an hour or two, for a game of cribbage? A chat with friends? Just to be seen? How d'ye like that idea? No dancing?'

Cynthia was a farmer's daughter with the healthy
glow of a ripe apple and eyes like pips, her hair a curly mouse brown, her wide smile only one step away from laughter. ‘We'll go and purchase tickets before we return home,' she said, ‘and heaven only knows what I'm going to wear. I suppose it will have to be black?'

I assumed that she would want to talk of gowns, but I was mistaken. It was little Claude's third birthday the following week, and she wanted Jamie to spend the day with them at Osbaldswick. Would I take him and Goody over there after breakfast on Tuesday? Still, I could not help feeling relieved when they eventually departed, leaving a strained silence behind them.

It was almost lunch-time and Jamie would be hungry, and I could not keep him and the women waiting while Winterson and I hammered out the dents made to my family's façade by Pierre. Or tackled the vexed question of the ball and his sudden decision to escort me there.

‘What d'ye think of the red-carpet idea?' he said as we returned to the dining room.

‘Not much. Deep gold, perhaps, or pale green. That is, if you really intend to keep the chair covers as they are.'

‘I wouldn't dream of changing them. Same for the curtains?'

‘No. White brocade curtains with gold bobble-fringe, to match the gilding on the architrave.' I'd had years to think about it.

‘White? Really?'

‘Yes, really. Echoes the ceiling and frieze. Reflects the light. Widens the narrow windows. It's always been so dull in here. That's why I made the floral covers in pastel shades. But why not ask Lady Slatterly's opinion? She'll be the one dining in here most, surely?'

‘Tch! You
have
got a bee in your bonnet about her, haven't you? There's really no need, you know.'

‘The hem of my skirt is wet,' I returned. ‘I must get Jamie and go.'

‘I shall call round to see you later on.'

‘I shall be in the workrooms all afternoon. I have clients to see.'

‘Then I'll call round this evening.'

‘You're staying in York tonight?'

‘If need be. And no, the lady will not be here with me.'

A quick retort flew unbidden to my lips as if my heart felt the need to deny its caring. But the issue of beds, Linas's and mine, was too personal to discuss in the same breath as the Slatterly woman, and I dare not trust my voice to speak without revealing the unsoundness of my feelings. ‘Perhaps tomorrow might be better,' I said, lamely, hoping he'd insist.

‘This evening. After dinner.' His hand rested on the doorknob as he waited for me to reach him, though I could not meet his eyes. ‘What is it?' he said, softly, deeply. ‘Did she upset you?'

I knew he referred to his sister-in-law, yet there was no truthful answer to his query. With one hand on my forehead, I hid my eyes, shaking my head rather than give him an unconvincing no.

‘Then what? Is it too soon for me to be making changes here? Does it distress you?'

‘No, it's not that. Earlier…when Jamie and you were…together.' The words tumbled out, revealing what I ought to have kept to myself. It was foolish of me. It was not his problem, but mine, yet he appeared to understand without more being said.

‘Well, yes. That small point did not escape your cousin, any more than it has escaped Medworth.'

My hand moved down to my mouth. Medworth too. ‘Then Jamie must not be seen with you, my lord. You must see that,' I whispered.

‘That's not the answer, is it? You know it isn't.'

‘Then what is?'

Jamie's wail reached us through the door, and the brass knob in Winterson's hand began to vibrate urgently. Slowly, still looking at me, Winterson opened the door just enough to allow the angry little fellow to edge through, his face red with indignation. ‘
Uncaburl!
' he yelled.

‘Whoa!' Winterson said, sternly. ‘Manners, young man, if you please.'

On the very edge of a tantrum, Jamie stopped and looked up. ‘Sorry, Uncaburl,' he wavered. ‘Mama. I'm hungry. I'm
very
hungry.'

Holding out my arms, I enclosed and lifted him, feeling his warmth melt into me, and through half-closed eyes I was unable to hide the all-consuming craving for fulfilment that had been with me for days.

It had been a tiring but enjoyable afternoon spent in talk of little else but fabrics and designs, colours and styling details, the clients ranging from a dowager marchioness to the adolescent daughter of York's wealthy gentry attending her first ball. I was back home in time to tuck Jamie into bed and tell him a story, sending him to sleep before the happily-ever-after.

Finding no good reason to dress up for Winterson's informal visit, I changed into a loose gown of soft violet
cloth with a frilled collar and wrists over which I wore a grey sleeveless waistcoat, floor-length and shadowy-patterned, my hair only just held up by a large tortoiseshell comb. He had recently called me ‘my beauty' as if I were a horse being told to lift up its other hoof, but my disconcertingly honest mirror told me only that I had lost weight and looked rather tired. I was bound to agree.

* * *

He arrived well before I had finished picking at my cold supper on a tray, shrinking my small but pretty parlour even more, and settling himself upon my blue velvet couch that could seat three of us and only one of him. ‘Would you prefer to use the drawing room?' I said, thinking more of the distance I could keep.

‘No, it's cosier in here. Finish your supper, ma'am.'

Winterson had brought regular news of his ailing brother's progress to my drawing room, but there had never been a time when we'd discussed our relationship, or Jamie's future, or my relatives, or anything as ephemeral as a local ball. ‘You could have given me some warning,' I said to his opening of the subject. ‘It would have given me time to—'

‘To cry off. Yes, that's what I thought. Thank you,' he said, receiving a glass of port and placing it on the small table. ‘But I had no intention of allowing you to go without an escort. Linas would not have approved.'

‘Shall we not bring Linas into everything?' I said. ‘Have you given any thought to how it will look on Saturday when I arrive with you, his brother? Can you not anticipate the speculation, my lord?'

The slow blink, like an owl, then that deeply chilling
note of sarcasm he was so good at. ‘From one who has suggested keeping Linas out of it, that is a singular question, Miss Follet. Have
you
thought how it will look for us to arrive separately on Saturday and have nothing whatever to do with each other? Jamie's mother and guardian not on speaking terms? What will be the conclusions drawn from that, do you imagine?'

My silence answered his question while I pondered on his ability to see further ahead than me, who specialised in looking backwards.

‘Have you forgotten?' he said, more gently.

‘No. I have not forgotten.'

The Valentine Ball at the Assembly Rooms here on Blake Street was where I had met, first him, then Linas. We had danced together, he and I, saying very little, but aware of a powerful charge between us that dear Linas had no means to rival. We had been the centre of attention that evening. Yet it was Linas who pursued me, and Linas that I chose to cleave to because he needed me most and because I was not in a position to refuse his offer. I was under no illusions, after that, about Winterson's fleeting interest in me, which was no more nor less, I suppose, than his interest in many another. But for me, the disturbance in my heart was more profound than anything that had gone before, and so painful that I could hardly have called it love when I was obliged to see him regularly, for Linas's sake, and to suffer his coolness. Now, he asked if I'd forgotten, as if I might as easily have forgotten my name.

‘We need not dance,' he said, ‘unless you wish it, but it's best for all of us, as a family, if we are seen to unite on these occasions. And it's quite out of the question
for you to go alone, yet I think you
should
go. So I shall call for you at eight and I shall escort you home afterwards.'

‘The Assembly Rooms are only four doors away.'

‘I know. If it's very wet, I'll have a chair brought for you. Now, eat your supper, and then you can tell me about your French cousin who thinks he can reach Brid in three hours over flooded roads.'

‘I think I'd rather not, thank you. There's little I can tell you. He's a distant cousin, and I have no idea what he was doing in a coffee house except drinking coffee and reading the newspapers.'

‘Then perhaps I may be forgiven for constructing a few facts of my own. The apothecary on Petergate where Monsieur Follet obtained your mother's medication informs me that her name is Mrs Follethorpe and that the French gentleman calls in regularly, about once every month. Which begs the question, in my mind, whether you and the French cousin are more to each other than that.'

So, he had already made enquiries. ‘The apothecary had no right to give you that information,' I said, angrily pushing the tray away.

‘Perhaps not. But he's as open to persuasion as the next man.'

‘Well, then, let me put you out of your misery, my inquisitive lord. I changed my name to Follet when I came to seek work in York for no other reason than to protect my father's name. If he'd lived, he'd probably not have objected, since he always saw Pierre and me as future partners. As it turned out, he died only a few weeks after we left Bridlington. And, yes, it's quite
obvious that my family don't live there, for reasons which I cannot discuss with you. Pierre is no more or less to me than a devoted relative who has helped our family through difficult times.'

‘That's the first time I've ever heard you speak of your father. Could he be, by any chance, the famed Leonard Follethorpe, one-time mayor of Bridlington? No need to look so surprised. I
am
a Justice of the Peace, remember, which requires me to know what's going on in the area.' When I made no reply, he continued. ‘So, if my knowledge is correct, and I'm reasonably sure it is, may I offer you some advice? The notice appearing in your shop window advertising French laces and other forbidden things from across the Channel may not be the good idea you believe it to be. If I were you, ma'am, I would keep quiet about that kind of merchandise when there are men walking the streets of York whose job it is to winkle out receivers of Free Trade goods. If they were to suspect that you and Mrs Sanders were involved, you would be asked to provide some very explicit answers ranging back over several years. You are an unmarried mother, don't forget, and very vulnerable.'

‘Jamie,' I whispered.

‘Yes, our Jamie. You cannot afford to take risks, Helene. Can you?'

‘I had already reached that conclusion.'

‘Of course. I cannot believe you would do anything so dangerous unless there was a very good reason for it.'

‘There is.'

‘Yet it occurs to me, as it will also have done to you,
that if you are able to do so well from the sale of these luxury goods, your family ought to be living in some style by now. Are they?'

‘No. Far from it.'

‘Then perhaps it's time the business was looked into and stopped.'

‘I don't know how to stop it.'

‘Simple. You say “stop”.'

‘It's
not
simple. Prue depends on it. My family depend on it. And I depend on it. How d'ye think I've been able to manage all these years?'

‘I had already begun to wonder.'

‘Well, now you know. I'm in deep trouble and, if I were you, I'd have no more to do with me.'

‘Too late,' he said, quietly. ‘It's much too late for that.'

W
e sat for some time without speaking although the silence was loud with sound, the crackling fire, the clock, the thud of my heart.

Reaching for his glass, he held it up to the lamplight, took a sip and replaced it on the table next to the pile of notebooks I'd still had no time to read. ‘Mmm,' he said. ‘What you need, Miss Follet, is some protection. It's not usual for a lady of your standing to live without a chaperon. When Linas was close I suppose it mattered less, but I think you should give the matter some thought.'

‘I already have. I would have liked my mother to come here so that I could care for her, but she won't consider it.'

‘That's not quite what I had in mind.'

‘I have Mrs Goode, and Debbie.'

‘Yet you went out alone to visit your family in atrocious conditions. You cannot continue to do that kind of thing. It's asking for trouble.'

‘Then what am I to do? Advertise?'

Leaning forward, he extended one long arm towards me so that his forefinger just touched mine as it drooped over the arm of my chair. The shock of its tender impact caught at my mind and held it still. ‘No,' he said, ‘not yet. Not till we've explored the other possibilities. Next time you visit your family, I shall go with you. We'll take Jamie too, and show them what Monsieur Follet saw. You cannot keep that from them for ever, you know. And while we're there, we'll tackle the other problem too. Now don't start your objections too soon. You need some help in this, and I'm the one to do it. None of you can keep on living off illegal gains.'

I drew my hand away from the contact, too full of contradictions to accept whatever he was offering, too determined not to be won over at the touch of one finger. ‘That's not possible,' I said. ‘They'll think… well…'

‘Yes, they
will
think. And as Jamie gets older, everybody else is going to think too. Surely your own family should be the first to know how things are between us, Helene. Not from gossip, but from us.'

‘What d'ye mean? How
what
is between us? You're not suggesting telling them what happened, are you?'

‘I'm suggesting telling them what's
going
to happen. They'll be able to see for themselves what's happened, won't they? Your French cousin, for instance, who has hopes of owning you, one day. Isn't it better he should know sooner rather than later that he doesn't stand a ghost of a chance? And your mother too? Isn't it best that she knows, before it's too late to tell her? It's time we began to put things in order, lass.'

If I was confused before, I was even more confused after his attempt at clarification. ‘Pierre? My mother? Tell them what—that Jamie isn't Linas's?'

‘That you are to marry Jamie's father and guardian. And if you don't want to tell them, then I will. Or would you prefer Jamie to discover what it means to be illegitimate? It won't be long now, the way he's chattering.'

‘And that's what you call exploring the possibilities, is it?'

‘Yes, Miss Follet, it is. So before you give me all the reasons why you can't accept that plan, consider instead the deep trouble you just mentioned. I'm offering you a respectable way out of it. I can take on the responsibility for your family without resorting to the illegal methods that are keeping you all in danger. You're playing with fire, and that's no way to conduct a business. Mrs Sanders will have to understand that.'

Naturally, I had my doubts whether either Pierre
or
Prue would understand, but Winterson knew nothing of Pierre's part in the smuggling, nor would I tell him. The talk of marriage, however, had taken me off guard, although I could appreciate that the offer was for Jamie's sake more than for any romantic reason. He put me right on that, too.

‘Consider this also,' he said. ‘If I'd chosen to go down on one knee and beg you to be my wife, you'd have stuck your neat little nose in the air and said not in a million years, wouldn't you? Eh?'

‘Yes. Very likely.'

‘So that's why I'm ignoring the romantic bit and
telling
you that you'd better start getting used to the
idea. Fix any reason to it you like. Our son, illegitimacy, Linas, me, family likenesses, gossip, whatever.'

‘Yes, whatever. But you've missed out an important snag, of course.'

‘Which is?'

‘That I am not good at sharing a man, my lord. Your kind of life and mine would not mix. You have mistresses, I believe? Well, I don't suppose anything would change there, would it? That would be asking too much of both of us.'

With a sigh, he leaned forwards again to rest his arms along his thighs as he looked at me with a frown of impatience at my recurring theme. Or so I thought. ‘Then allow me to explain, my beauty, once and for all,' he said in a voice devoid of tenderness.

‘Oh, there's really no need,' I snapped, nettled by the reading of my mind. ‘I expect you used Linas's bed. Or did she prefer the one in my room?'

‘Huh! Listen to me, Helene. In return for land, I train some of Lord Slatterly's racehorses. It's a reciprocal arrangement that benefits both of us, so he'd take it very hard if I told his beloved only daughter to keep away. She comes and goes, but I cannot stop her if she thinks she stands a chance with me. She doesn't, and she never has. Not once. Her friends all make use of her, but I prefer not to. In fact, I'm probably the only one who doesn't, and I only allow her to stay at my home when there's a party of friends there too. Never alone. No matter what she may say or imply, that's the truth of the matter. She's already wheedled her way through the back door of Stonegate, so I've given strict instructions that she must
not be admitted while I'm out, under any circumstances. You, on the other hand, are always to be welcomed.

‘But the day you saw her there was also the day you told me you were willing to put the past behind us and be friends, for Jamie's sake. Helene, I'm offering you more than that. I'm offering you both a new life. All together.'

‘I didn't expect…that. It's further than I'm prepared to go, although I can see the advantages and I'm aware that a woman in my position can hardly afford to turn down such an offer without good cause. Especially when it comes from her child's father. But you see, my lord, ever since I discovered how you and your brother planned to make use of me as if I were a heifer of sound stock expected to produce a healthy bull-calf, the whole business of marriage has turned rather sour on me. My inclination now is to remain chaste until I can decide for myself when to continue my own breeding programme. I had not meant to keep harping on that string, but I seem not to have made it clear that I mean to stay as independent as I was when I first came to York. I find it suits me better. Yes, I know it may sound selfish, but I really cannot allow my three-year-old son to choose a husband for me.'

By the time I'd finished, I was trembling with the effort and with trepidation, too, for he was not a man to take a woman's snub lightly, having offered so much. So I rose rather quickly from my chair with the intention of putting myself beyond his reach. And his anger.

He moved much faster than I did, and I was caught under the arm and pulled back against him, off balance, my vision blurred by the lamplight and shadows, by the
sharp conflict of wills and, in my case, by an explosion of petulance. ‘Let go…let
go
!' I cried, struggling furiously inside his arms. ‘I don't want…no…I don't
want
this! You're hurting. Let
go
!'

It was all the same, fighting him, loving him, wanting the hard pressure of his body against mine. Even the pain. Even his anger. But I could hear by his breathing, by his soft whispers and by the nudging gentleness of his lips that he was
not
angry, but enjoying my struggles. His hands restrained me, forcing me to be still while his forehead came to rest upon mine. We stood, head to head, me panting with vexation and he with eyes alight, amused to see my hair slowly slithering down my cheek, the tortoiseshell comb hanging on by a tooth.

His nose rested beside mine as he spoke, gentling me. ‘That's my beauty. You think I wouldn't guess how you'd react to that? Eh? How you'd give me another roasting as soon as you had half a chance? Superb woman. Hush now. Not a heifer, sweetheart. Never a heifer. Nothing like. You were always a classy thoroughbred, temperamental, distrustful. You've not been handled well, have you? I shall have to remedy some wicked habits, but I can do it. I can make you sweet-tempered again, my lovely witch. And I shall get close to you again.'

‘I shall not marry you.'

‘Yes, you will. Of your own accord. You'll see.'

His hand raked through my hair to grasp a handful of it, tipping my face to fit against his mouth, closing my eyes as he did in my dreams, sinking me deep into the overlapping sensations that nightly craved consum
mation. I could not allow him to take me further, rendering worthless all I had striven for over the years. He had once called me unreliable, an insult that still rankled for, of all my copious faults, unreliability had never been one. Murmured so sweetly, his descriptions of me both excited and hardened my heart, for if anyone was responsible for my distrust of men, it was he. I would not make it easy for him, although my boast to choose my own time to breed was an empty threat he must have recognised. If I wanted to keep this roof over my head, I would be obliged to choose its owner above all others.

‘Let me go,' I whispered. ‘We are never going to agree on this.'

‘You think not? Well, I can wait. You'll come to me.'

‘Can you wait another four years, then?'

His head jerked back and he was once again the proud powerful hunter with eyes that glinted like polished jet. ‘Don't play the waiting game,' he warned, ‘unless you're prepared to damage yourself and our son while you revenge yourself on me. Time is too precious for that, Helene, and your heart is not really as hard as all that, is it?' As he answered me, his hand slipped beneath the grey waistcoat, pausing over my crazy heart to feel its beat before straying to one side, cupping my breast, reminding me once again how easily I had given myself to him that night.

Rather than try to find an answer, I prised his hand away, murmuring, ‘Have we explored the other possibilities, my lord? Or is that it?'

‘There were no others worth exploring, Helene. In spite of your cynicism, we
are
talking about Jamie's future here. Just remember, will you?'

‘There was never any danger of me forgetting,' I said.

Again, it was the tone of my voice that betrayed my peevish heart that would have kept its wound for ever open, if need be, at whatever cost. But I was a mother first and foremost, beyond the anguish caused to my womanly pride, and I could no more have put Jamie's well-being in jeopardy at the expense of my self-esteem than expose him to a cage of lions. He was my life, and here was I, about to reject the best possible future for him, only to wreak vengeance for perceived wrongs. What was I about? Could I afford to ignore the olive branch he was offering to put things right between us? He had even tried to clear up my concerns about the Slatterly woman.

‘Helene, look at me,' he said, lifting my chin.

I
did
look at him, and loved and hated him, wanted him, wanted to hurt him, wanted him to persist with me, to see my ritual objections for what they were and not to concede defeat. I wanted him to storm my barriers and crash through to the core that was his for the taking. I had always wanted him. I had lived, wanting him, for years with his brother and child. My body ached for him night and day without ceasing. So I looked up at him, not wanting to hear him accept one single word of my hostility. ‘Don't speak,' I whispered, placing a finger upon his lips, ‘until I've tried to excuse myself.'

‘There's no need,' he said, behind my fingertip.

I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to kiss me senseless.

‘I know I've been breaking the law. It's a way of life for the people along our coast, and when I was given
the chance to make some money for my family, I took it, just as I sold my body, and worked here in York, and scrounged to feed them and clothe myself. Now, you're offering me a respectable way out for which I am grateful. But they depend on me. The success of the shop has been built on it. You may forfeit Lord Slatterly's goodwill if you were to give his daughter the cold shoulder, but I shall certainly lose my partner's goodwill if I suddenly stop providing her with our most lucrative lines. You say you're willing to share the responsibility for my family, my lord, but they wouldn't allow it, and nor would I. Linas played no part in their lives, and nor must you. As for your offer of marriage… well, it's taken me unawares, and I must delay my answer to that. Jamie's birth certificate cannot be altered: he was born out of wedlock with Linas as his father, but I dare say memories will fade. At this moment, he needs a father more than ever he did.'