Marrying the Mistress (3 page)

But the hand slipped away quickly to grasp her wrist and hold it immobile, and as she turned to him in sudden alarm, he moved faster than she could ever remember
him doing without stopping to cough and regain his breath. She found herself under him, pressed softly by wide shoulders that covered her, arms that enclosed her, and a large head of thick hair that touched her face with its softness, imparting a scent of new-washed linen. His lips found hers with none of the usual tentative pecking by way of introduction that was Linas's way, but with the assured and competant kisses of one who knew how to suspend a woman's protests in a limbo of delight, and it was not until he had taken his fill of her lips that her terrible doubts were able to surface and demand verification.

Pushing at his shoulders, she struggled against him as her body tried to recognise the deception, her mind still trying to persuade her not to delve too closely for fear of discovering the truth. Wordlessly, so as not to shatter the dream entirely with accusations and denials, she put up a fight that was disadvantaged in every way, which he countered in silence and with ease, and ultimately with the potency of his kisses that she allowed with nothing like the opposition she ought to have offered. Once, holding his head between her hands, she traced his features with sensitive fingertips over broad forehead and brows, over closed eyelids, cheeks and nose, firm mouth and chin, wider than the one she was used to. He kissed her fingers as they passed across, and she melted at that small tenderness before exploring the depth of his hair and the deeply muscled neck that led her on over the contours of his shoulders, down and down.

It occurred to her that he might have mistaken her room for that of another, but he would surely know
where his guests were being accommodated. If any other thoughts of reason or common sense sneaked into her mind that night, they stood no chance of being heard against the deeply urgent need that sedated her fears like a potent drug, a need borne of starvation and a sense of waste that had dogged the last year with her lover. Gradually closing the doors of her mind, she began again to lose herself in the lure of his closeness, in the touch of his hand exploring the full roundness of her breasts. Perversely, she joined him in the treachery, forbidding herself to think about the consequences or to seek answers to a host of questions that were sure to follow. She would take what he was offering her, on her birthday, the only gift of comfort she was likely to receive.

Whatever reasons he had for doing this, he was not inclined to share them with her, nor did she ask him to, for she knew this would never happen again. Ever. He was making use of her and she would do the same with him, just this once. She might have pretended it was against her will, but she knew it was not, her token struggles having lacked any conviction against his gentle but determined restraint.

Savouring every moment as never to be repeated, excited by his mastery, she refused to allow the lack of endearment or word of comfort such as lovers use to detract anything from the fleeting glimpses of heaven she saw that night for the first time. Her unlikely lover-of-one-night was not a man she could ever want except for this, for he hspeaking ad never done anything to court her favour, and an exchange of tender words between them would have been meaningless as well as hypocritical.
It was her experience alone that told her of his pleasure in her body, his delight and satisfaction with her loving. At the same time, he was a careful lover, taking time with her as had never happened for her before, bringing her to a state of ecstasy again and again, taking pleasure from her wonderment and indicating by his lips and hands the journey they would take. Yet each time was different, his energy and eagerness phenomenal.

He stayed with her until dawn to take full advantage of her newly awakened passion, feeding from her willingness and giving generously to satisfy her hunger. And as the light crept between the curtains, he disappeared as silently as he'd come, thinking that she was asleep, and she had let him go because the time for words was past. She knew it to be one of those rare events that happened without rhyme or reason to change one's life for ever, and that the experience was worth the heavy guilt she would have to bear as long as her relationship with Linas lasted. Although Linas was not faultless, he had never been disloyal to her in the way she had been to him. She could only hope he would never discover it. The worst part would be having to pretend that nothing
had
happened.

* * *

In the months that followed, that pretence was shattered when she found herself to be with child. Then, because she could not keep the information from Linas, she broke the news to him, expecting that he would put an end to their association and reclaim everything that was his, including her home. To her utter astonishment, he did not, preferring to accept the unborn child as his own along with the congratulations of his friends and
family, even though he must have known it could not be. Helene had assumed that pride in his manhood was more important to him than the truth, for he asked no questions, nor would he allow her to offer any explanation and, when the child was born, Linas's joy was as great as hers. At last, he had the heir he wanted.

* * *

The boy seemed to provide Linas with a renewed lease of life and, for the next three years he hung on as if to escort the lad through his first formative contacts with the world. But the effort could not be maintained, his hold began to slacken and, just after his son's third birthday, Linas was taken to Abbots Mere to end his days where they had begun, with his twin.

By that time, Helene had begun to suspect how adroitly she had been used by the two brothers. Now, she was sure of it.

York—January 1806

I
t would usually have taken me only a few minutes to walk from the workrooms of Follet and Sanders on Blake Street to Linas's house, but that day was an exception. That day, I was wearing my pretty fur-lined bootees, not designed for three inches of snow that had fallen in flakes the size of halfpennies since midmorning, and by the time I reached the corner of Blake Street and Stonegate, where Linas's house was, the freezing wet had reached my toes and I was dizzy with slithering over a bed of snow-covered ice. I'm a tough northern lass, I reminded myself, clutching my thick woollen shawl tighter round my shoulders. I've been in many a snow storm before. The scolding did little to ease the situation.

The steps up to Linas's front door were thickly packed with the stuff, the shoe-scraper at the side piled with it, which should have warned me that someone had
entered quite recently. But my hood was falling wetly over my face as I went inside, sending a shower of snow on to the already puddled black-and-white chequered tiles, and it was only when I threw my furry hood back that I saw more of Mr Brierley than his serviceable boots. Mr Brierley was Linas's lawyer who had, I suppose, as much right as me to be standing in the hall of his late client.

His greying forelock was plastered across his head, his spectacles speckled with snow, catching the light of the single lamp, and his attempted smile was cooled by the unusually low temperature. Linas had always maintained an uncomfortable warmth in all his rooms. Now, they were uncomfortably cold. But then, nothing was going to be usual for Linas any more after yesterday's funeral and today's thick white blanket being gently laid over him.

‘Mr Brierley,' I said, returning his half-smile, ‘I didn't expect to see you here so soon. Not for weeks. Well, days, anyway.' Shaking the hem of my pelisse, I showered his toes with snowflakes and saw him step back. My glance at the hall table verified what I feared: two grey beaver hats, two pairs of gloves, one antler-topped cane and a riding whip that I recognised. Silver-mounted. It was not what I had expected, or wanted, so soon after yesterday. I ought to go, I thought, before he appears. We shall only bicker.

The lawyer must have recognised the hint of unwelcome in my greeting, which, I admit, was not as fawning as it might have been from a client's mistress. Client's mistresses usually have expectations. ‘No, indeed, ma'am,' he said. ‘We lawyers are not known for
speeding things up, I agree, but Lord Winterson asked me to meet him here, to—'

‘To take a look round? Yes, I quite understand, Mr Brierley. Shall I leave you to it? Is that your inventory?' There was a black leather notebook tucked under his arm, and my accusatory tone drew it from its pigeonhole to prove itself.

‘Er…no. Not to take an inventory. It was Lord Winterson's wish to attend to other pressing matters before the snow delays things. Perhaps that is also why you are here, Miss Follet?'

Yes, I suppose he was entitled to ask my business now. ‘The snow will make no difference to me. I come here every day, sir. The servants need direction at a time like this.'

‘Which is exactly why we're here. To help re-settle them. I have here some contacts…' he tapped the notebook with white fingertips ‘…and they'll need the references Mr Monkton prepared for them.'

Ah, yes. References. Linas would have discussed the futures of all his employees with his lawyer and brother. Mine too, I hoped. What a pity he had found it so difficult to take me into his confidence at the same time, to spare me the worry of how I would manage on my own. I had made plans, as far as I was able, but it would have lightened my heart if he had shown as much concern for my future as he had for the rest of his household. My repeated promptings, gentle or insistent, had brought no response except irritability and fits of coughing, and finally I had stopped probing for any kind of assurances concerning me and Jamie.

‘Of course,' I said. ‘Then I shall bid you a good afternoon.'

My feet were wet, my fingers inside my woolly gloves frozen, the hall was bare and gloomy, and I did not want to see Linas's brother that day. Or any day. I reached back to pull up my hood, numb fingers fumbling with an edge of wet fur, icy water running up to my elbows.

‘I believe,' said Mr Brierley, ‘Lord Winterson would like you to be present at the reading of his brother's last will and testament tomorrow, Miss Follet.'

The shake of my head was hidden from him. ‘No, I think not,' I mumbled. ‘That will be no place for a man's mistress, sir. Please excuse me.' But my fumbling had obscured the quiet entrance of the one I hoped to avoid, and suddenly he appeared in the corner of my eye through the wet points of fur.

In almost six years there had never been a time when I'd been able to control my heartbeats at the sight of him. In the last four years—almost—there had hardly been a day when some detail of that night had failed to appear, or the wounding deceit of it fail to hurt. Between them, they had used me and I intended to make
him
aware of my anger as I had not been able to do with Linas. I could hardly bite the hand that fed me and my child, but I could and would refuse Winterson's attempts, such as they were, to make me see him in a better light. And who could blame me?

The day before, with so many people there, I had done my best not to look at him. Or not to be
seen
looking at him. Now I did, and was astonished to see the shadows of deep sadness around his eyes, the
unease of his mouth and the sagging tiredness of his shoulders that leaned against the doorframe into the study. Like me, he had kept his coat on, a long buff-coloured caped affair that barely cleared the floor, hanging loose over charcoal-grey riding coat and breeches, black waistcoat with a row of gold-figured buttons and watch-chain. His neckcloth, as always, was immaculate. His hair, as always, needed cutting.

I am ashamed to say that, in my own grief at the loss of my lover, I had spared too little thought for how he must be feeling at the loss of his twin, having to watch him fade away like a candle flame, burn low and finally extinguish. I had no cause to grumble that I was excluded, for Winterson sent a carriage for me at the end so that I too could be there for Linas's last moments when it seemed, perhaps for the first and last time, that the three of us had shared a special tenderness and compassion, putting aside the complexities of our relationship. He had even allowed me some time alone with Linas at the end, which was remarkable when his parents were waiting to do the same. I was grateful to him for that. Returning home afterwards, my life seemed to be suspended and without cause, except for little Jamie. The funeral had upset me and I had slept badly, and I suppose it must have showed in my manner.

‘Miss Follet?' he said. ‘Could you spare me a moment of your time?'

‘I told Jamie I would not be long.'

‘Please? Just a moment?' He moved to one side, holding his hand out as if he was sure I would comply.

I left my hood up. And I left Mr Brierley in no doubt
about my reticence as I swept past them both into the green book-lined study that had been Linas's retreat during his last, most painful year. The once cosy room, always littered with books and papers, was now unnaturally tidy and distressingly naked. Incomplete. I turned the wick up in the oil lamp on his desk before going to stand by the white marble fireplace, putting some distance between us, hitching up my woolly scarf against a sudden chill. ‘My lord?' I said, to convince him of my impatience.

‘Miss Follet…Helene…' he said, wearily. ‘Brierley and I had…' he sighed and looked away as if the room was affecting him too ‘…had hoped to have the will read here at Stonegate tomorrow. But, as you see, that may be prevented by the weather. If it carries on like this, those who ought to be here will be unable to manage it, or even get home again. I think we shall have to postpone it till it clears. I don't know how you're fixed for funds, to put it bluntly, but since Linas's accounts are frozen for the time being, I wondered if you might need some help until we discover what arrangements have been made for you.'

‘How kind,' I said. ‘If I had not chanced to see you here today, you might still be wondering.'

‘It was not chance. I know you still visit daily. Such habits are hard to break. I called at your home, but you were not there, so I came here to meet Brierley and to wait for you.'

‘You called…home? You saw Jamie?'

‘Yes,' he said, raising an eyebrow at my tone. ‘Is there some reason why I should not? He's grown in the last few weeks.'

‘I should have been there. He's already missing his father.'

Unthinking, I stepped straight into the bag of worms. There was a crackling silence broken by the loud ticking of the bracket clock.

‘Then this may be the best time to remind you, Miss Follet, that his
father
has just made contact with him, which you have so far been at pains to prevent by every means known to you. I could hardly have said so while Linas was with us, but now we must both try to accept the truth of the matter and do whatever is best for the child. You surely cannot be too surprised that Linas wished me to be Jamie's legal guardian?'

‘That is probably the one thing that will
not
surprise me, my lord. It's well known that a child's guardian must always be male, you being the obvious choice, but that does not alter the fact that I am Jamie's mother and, as such, it is I who will decide where he will go and what he will do. And who he'll do it with.'

‘Which is why I want you to hear Linas's will at first hand.'

‘So you know the details of it, do you?'

‘Yes, I know more details than you. That's only natural. We discussed it as brothers do.'

All too eager to display my wounds while I had the chance, I could not resist putting another slant on it. ‘Oh you
did
, didn't you? Four years ago you discussed it. In some detail. Linas wanted an heir. You obliged. And I fell for it like an idiot. Like a resentful birthday-gift-starved fool. I paid for it, too.'

‘You got Jamie. He was what you wanted. Don't deny it.'

‘But one does like to have a say, nowadays, in who the father is to be. Even mistresses appreciate some warning of
that
event.'

‘Think about it,' he snapped. ‘Had you been
warned
, as you put it, there'd have been no Jamie, would there?'

‘No, my lord. There most certainly would not.' I had to admit defeat on that brief skirmish, and I had no stomach for a prolonged argument on the topic. I closed my eyes with a sigh, holding a gloved hand to my forehead. ‘This will not do,' I whispered. ‘It's too soon for recriminations. Or too late. I'm tired. It's time I went home.'

He watched me, saying nothing as I recovered.

‘I know there will be changes,' I said. ‘I've had time to prepare for them, whatever they are. And thank you for your offer of a loan, but I think we shall manage for the time being. I also owe you thanks for allowing me access to Linas at the end. That was generous too, and…and appreciated…' My voice wavered and caught at the back of my throat, dissolving the last word. I took some deep breaths to steady it.

‘It was no more than you deserve. It was your careful nursing that kept him alive longer than his doctors had predicted.'

‘I think it's more likely to be Jamie who did that.'

‘Yes, that too. Jamie was your other gift to him. Linas was a very fortunate man. He told me so more than once.'

‘Did he?' I remarked, tonelessly, wistfully.

‘Did he never tell you so?'

‘No. Not even at the end. I think the pain made him forgetful. Or perhaps he thought I was the fortunate
one. I don't know. It doesn't really matter now, does it? But I mean what I say about not hearing the will read, my lord. I would be out of place. I am not family and I have few expectations, except for Jamie, having fulfilled the role I was employed to do, to everyone's satisfaction.'

‘You were not
employed
in any capacity, Miss Follet. You were my brother's partner. It was his decision not to marry when he discovered he had so few years to live, and our family agreed that for him to do so would serve no useful purpose.'

‘Rather like good farm management, I suppose. You see, I am well able to think it out for myself, Lord Winterson. Having a mistress to support for just a few years was safer than taking on a wife. Linas preferred an illegitimate heir able to legally inherit and keep his estate intact, to a widow who would remarry and siphon it off into another man's pockets. But don't tell me that I was not employed, for that is certainly what I was, and I shall not sit with you round a table to be told that my golden goose has gone and left me nothing except my bastard child to care for. You may be very sure I shall guard my only treasure against any attempt to siphon
him
off into another man's pocket. He may be the Monkton heir, but he is also my only legacy.
Mine
, my lord.'