Regency Rumours/A Scandalous Mistress/Dishonour And Desire (15 page)

For Caterina’s sake, Amelie thought it best to let the subject rest. ‘Well, then, I’m glad we have your blessing. It would have made me very unhappy otherwise. I would like us to be friends, my lord, and your sister too, though I’m afraid I cannot say the same …’ she looked over to the group where a loud voice shouted down the rest ‘… for everyone.’ Seeing the amusement on her companion’s face, she relented. ‘Oh dear, I hope he’s not a particular friend of yours, is he?’

But his smile told her otherwise. ‘Old Colonel Dandyprat? No, he still thinks he’s in the army. We’ve known him since we were children so we can take his silly prattle with a pinch o’ snuff. We used to mimic him a lot. Still do, sometimes. You should hear him on do-gooders … philanthropists, you know. His favourite aversion.’ His comely features adopted Colonel Tate’s florid puffiness and petulantly wobbling mouth as if he had practised for years. ‘“Them young bits o’skirt ought to be
locked up
!”’ he yelped, for her ears only. ‘“Vagabonds! Nob-thatchers! And anybody who thinks ‘em worth helping must be
addle-brained
! A load o’ loose screws, that’s what they are! The workhouse is too good for tarts like that.”’ His features relaxed as laughter overtook him again, and he did not notice how Amelie’s expression of astonishment changed to sheer relief as the uncompromising sentiments were spoken once more, this time in their original context. ‘We’d never take
him
up to the workhouse,’ he said, still chuckling. ‘He and my mother have fearsome arguments about it, but nobody ever gets the better of her. “If only you knew what
trouble
you people cause!”’ he mimicked again. ‘She tells him to go to the devil.’

‘She’s very fierce, your mother?’

‘Oh, she’s a character,’ he told her.

Amelie hoped he might have gone on to elaborate, but his place was taken by his sister. ‘Seton,’ said Dorna, ‘be a darling and rescue Hannah from Mr and Mrs Horner. The poor girl looks desperate.’ She took his hands and pulled him up. ‘Besides, it’s my turn to talk to Amelie.’

But by now, Amelie’s curiosity had been aroused by several anomalies, one of which concerned the fearsome Marchioness, another was to do with the names handed down from the ancestors.

‘Our names?’ said Dorna, in answer to her query. ‘Elyot and Rayne are both family names dating back to Tudor times. The first Lord Elyot had a son named Sir Nicholas Rayne who was assistant Master of Horse to Queen Elizabeth. He married the first Adorna whose father, Sir Matthew Pickering, was Master of Revels when the palace at Richmond was still used by the royals. Apparently, there were as many fireworks over that match as there were over the Queen’s
affaire
with the Earl of Leicester. A huge scandal, there was. Since then, the position of Assistant Master of Horse and Keeper of the Royal Stud has been passed down through Sir Nicholas’s family, which is how my father comes to hold the office. That’s why he can’t be with us.’

‘But he’s now the Marquess of Sheen.’

‘Yes, he was created earl by King George III, then he became a marquess and, as you know, one usually has to be the earl or marquess
of
somewhere, so he took the name of Sheen, since that’s where we’ve always lived.’

‘The old name for Richmond.’

‘That’s right. So Nick took the handed-down title of Lord
Elyot, and Seton became Lord Rayne. It must be so confusing to strangers, with all these names from the past.’

‘But then,
you
are a lady by birth as well as by marriage.’

‘Which is why I’m Lady Adorna Elwick, rather than just Lady Elwick. As if it matters,’ she laughed, nudging Amelie, who knew that it did. ‘The first Adorna had a brother named Seton who wrote stageplays for the Earl of Leicester’s company, and their brother Adrian acted with William Shakespeare.’

‘Really? So Adorna’s scandalous affair with the first Sir Nicholas … is that something the present Marchioness prefers to keep secret?’

‘Mother?’ Dorna’s laugh rang out as she threw back her fair head, curving her long throat. ‘Heavens, not a bit of it. Mama is no stranger to scandal. I sometimes think she thrives on it. Ah … Nick! There you are. Have you come to interrupt our cosy chat?’

‘Yes. Have you told Lady Chester that
her
house is on the same Paradise Road where our ancestors once lived?’

‘Oh,’ said Amelie. ‘I thought it was just a lovely name. Tell me more, if you please.’

He did. ‘The original Sheen House overlooked the paradise garden at the end of the old friary that stood next to Richmond Palace. The road that ran alongside it was known as Paradise Road, but that house was demolished and rebuilt as Sheen Court on the edge of the royal park about eighty years ago.’

Dorna blinked at her brother, prettily. ‘Hasn’t Amelie been to see Sheen Court yet, Nick?’

‘Er … no, not yet. We met in London, you know, and I’ve only been home for a few days.’

Sensing that it was her turn to help him out, Amelie intervened. ‘It’s not that he hasn’t invited me,’ she said, ‘but things
happened rather quickly and I’ve been quite busy attending to Caterina’s new wardrobe, her visits and lessons. I had no idea a niece could be so time consuming.’

‘Well, then,’ said Dorna, ‘you must go and be introduced to the ancestors as soon as Nick can take you there. They’re all up on the walls. And we shall be having some country dances soon. You’ll come and join in, won’t you?’ She rose, smiling as Nick took her hand and kissed her fingers.

‘Lovely meal,’ he said, as she tripped away. Placing his hands under Amelie’s elbows, he drew her to her feet and led her down the steps as far as the water’s edge.

His hand moved lightly over her waist, spreading the fingers wide over the pale aquamarine silk, and she read his thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken them. Peeping up at him in the last light of the departing sun, she was caught unawares by the sudden thump of lust against her lungs. His lips were still, chiselled and well made, manly and firm, and she knew they were hers for the asking. Drawing her mind along a different route, she asked, ‘Your sister-in-law is in love with you, did you know that?’

‘Yes, I knew.’

‘Does she know?’

‘That I know it? Oh, yes.’ He pulled her closer and, before she could protest, held her against the stone balustrade. ‘You need not be concerned by it. Nothing has ever been said by either of us. It’s something we both recognise, and accept. She’ll find someone eventually, as I have done.’

‘You didn’t find me, sir. We collided.’

‘So we did,’ he grinned. ‘And I’m very proud of you, my girl. You look magnificent. Thank you for making such an effort. I know it was not easy for you, but you’ve carried it off with flying colours.’

‘As a matter of fact,’ she replied, glancing aside to see if they were being observed, ‘it’s been very worthwhile. I have discovered all kinds of things. However, my lord, I shall never be able to condone your methods. Are
you
in love with
her
?’ Instantly, she regretted showing the persistent direction of her mind, and when he gathered her up into his arms in the shadow of a large stone pedestal, she knew what he was about to do, yet she did nothing to prevent it.

‘I have never been in love with Hannah,’ he said, softly, ‘nor shall I ever be. There is nothing to be concerned about. She is not a rival in any sense.’

‘I’m not concerned by it,’ she lied.

She had not wanted her body to respond to him, but it had begun a course of its own and was already halfway towards him as his lips sought hers, at first tenderly, then with a passion that detected her need of him. Then, with all those comforting revelations that had come her way, something began to melt around the protective shell of her heart, softening her lissom figure in the clinging silk dress, bending it shockingly close to his, letting it welcome those hands again and allowing them the same access as before.

Held by his questing lips and the brush of his skin over hers, by the deepening sky, by the seductive swoosh and lap of the river near their feet, she trembled at the touch of his hand upon her shoulder, easing away the tiny sleeve, gently, carefully. His fingertips slipped into the front of her shallow bodice, and she felt a coolness upon her skin before her breast was covered by the warm caress, bringing it to life with a melting that reached her knees, flooding her with desire.

Her ‘Ah … ah!’ was a cry from the womb that he caught in his lips and spread downwards over her throat, while she
breathed in the cold male scent of his hair in passing, touched the soft spring of his ear and tracked the sensuous progress of his mouth towards his waiting hand. She clutched at his wrist, closing her useless fingers over the edge of his sleeve somehow to prevent his lips from tasting her, and then it was too late, for the exquisite touch stifled the cry in her throat and held it there, waiting spellbound as the warmth of his tongue reached the peak of her breast and suckled, firming the nipple within his mouth.

Burying her face in his hair, she clung to him, gasping at the sweetness that overcame her as nothing had ever done before. ‘Oh, no,’ she breathed into the lush silkiness. ‘No, you must not do this.’ But she knew that he must. It was what she had agreed. It was what she wanted and feared above everything. ‘Not here, my lord,’ she begged, hearing the contradiction in her muffled voice.

His lips withdrew, pulling at the sensitive bud with a teasing last kiss. ‘Where, then? Shall I take you home?’

The words came out like a sob. ‘Not yet … please … not yet.’

Expertly, he eased her bodice and sleeve back into position and adjusted them while she stood there like a confused child being dressed for school. He was breathing hard, his voice a mere growl. ‘I’ll wait,’ he said. ‘You’re right, there will be better places than this to light your fires, my lady.’

E
xcept for the distant clack of a carpenter’s hammer and the soft thud of apples into the grass, the September morning on Paradise Road was quiet enough to support every thought, however fragile. Lise’s footsteps on the verandah made scarcely a sound as she placed the tray on the table and began to pour out the dark steaming chocolate then, adjusting the Paisley shawl around her mistress’s shoulders, she placed Caterina’s cup where she could reach it, curtsied, and left.

‘Thank you, Lise,’ Amelie murmured, stirring her drink. To her niece, she said, ‘Tell me, why was Lord Rayne so silent? Have you quarrelled?’

Caterina did not resent the assumption, since Aunt Amelie understood men much better than she did. But such things were not easy to express in words. ‘Not quarrelled, exactly. He spent more time with Hannah than he did with me, that’s all.’

‘But you were with her brother Tam most of the time.’

‘Yes, because he’s far better company and he likes to please people. If Lord Rayne prefers Hannah’s company to mine, why should I care?’

‘So if he comes to call, you’ll be unavailable, will you?’

‘He won’t.’

‘But if he does?’

‘No,’ Caterina said, dipping one finger into the froth on her chocolate. ‘I suppose I shall have to see him.’ With a sigh, she licked it.

‘Use your spoon. From what I could see, he was being quite masterful at the end. Was he angry, do you think?’

‘Oh, I can’t make him out. He ignored me all evening, then quite literally
hauled
me away from Tam to say my farewells to Dorna and
hustled
me into the carriage, and I had no chance to say goodbye to Tam. He was
so
high-handed. And when I grumbled, he said, “You can say it next time you meet then, can’t you?” Did you ever hear anything so disagreeable?’

‘You think he might be jealous?’

There was nothing Caterina would have liked better than to think so. Lord Rayne had stayed in his own corner of the carriage until a sudden lurch had swayed her in his direction and, when he caught her, his arms had lingered for a few moments longer than they need have done, making her believe that he would keep her there for the rest of the journey. But he had not, and now she was convinced that he was playing some kind of advanced game, the rules of which were unknown to her. His good night had been alarmingly abrupt, though his emphatic kiss upon her knuckles had sent a warm thrill through her that she was sure he must have seen with that one dark forbidding glance.

That, with its warning message, had followed her into her dreams, confusing her at every wakeful interlude. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I fear not.’

‘Would you like to invite Hannah to stay for a day or two?’

Caterina nodded and sat up straight. ‘That would be nice.’

‘She played well on the harp last night, I thought.’

‘She seems to do most things well.’

‘Her singing is not as good as yours. You surprised us all last night, you know. I don’t know why, but I had not realised what a beautiful voice you have when you perform. We must cultivate it, my dear.’

‘Praise the new singing teacher. He’s teaching me to breathe properly. I have breathing exercises to do now.’

‘And you’ve been doing them?’

‘Certainly I have. Did Lord Rayne …?’

Amelie smiled. ‘He watched and listened very carefully,’ she said, kindly. ‘Drink up. Time to get dressed.’

An hour later, thoughts of the birthday dinner at Mortlake were still dancing through Amelie’s mind, not least about her own reaction to Hannah which she had not been able to conceal. Nor could she say why she cared, only that she did, in which respect she was not as different from her niece as she hoped to appear. In one week, she mused, the two brothers had begun to wreak havoc with their sensibilities, causing each day’s plans to revolve around them.
For Caterina’s sake,
she told herself.
Only for Caterina’s sake. Then it will have to cease.

Yet there was a secret part of her that quivered with anticipation at thoughts of the future, and Lord Elyot’s words to her by the water’s edge brought a flush to her cheeks even now.
There will be better places than this to light your fires, my lady.
No, it would not be long before he would find both time and place, and she would no longer be able to hold him off with excuses or wiles.

Laying down her sable pencil, she gazed unseeing at the
vase of late roses on her work table while with one hand she cupped the breast he had fondled and teased, reliving in her mind the sensation of his lips and hand upon her skin. Recalling what his brother had told her, she breathed a sigh of thanks that he was not, after all, the hard-bitten cynic she had taken him for, and that what she had overheard in London had been a ridiculous but understandable mistake. Nevertheless, his deplorable methods of placing her in his debt for as long as it suited him demonstrated a kind of ruthlessness she could never approve of, even though a secret part of her craved to experience more of it.

In the event, it was not Lord Rayne who called to take Miss Chester out driving, but the two eager young captains, Flavell and Bessington, in a phaeton built for two but which, at a pleasant squeeze, accommodated three. Amelie had not the heart to protest at the wrong two instead of the right one. Consequently, Caterina’s mood was distinctly lightened in time to prepare for the evening event at Ham House and to take in her stride whatever fault Lord Rayne would no doubt find with her. It was, however, her aunt’s opinion that there was no fault to find, for she and Millie between them had made sure of it.

The pretty gold edgings along neckline, sleeves and hem of the new evening dress, sewn on by Millie, had transformed plain white lawn into something quite remarkable with the addition of a gold and diamond buckle beneath her bodice. White satin shoes with smaller gold buckles, long white kid gloves, a white and gold fan and a beaded reticule had been chosen for an exact match, while Millie’s expertise with Caterina’s hair was to crown it with a gold cord threaded through the chestnut curls like a badly tied parcel from which
coils escaped prettily over ears and neck. Both Millie and Aunt Amelie had forbidden any other adornment. ‘Time enough to pile on the jewels when you’re as old as the rest of them,’ said Amelie. ‘At seventeen you have the advantage.’

At seventeen, Caterina would rather have been twenty-two.

By contrast, Amelie had chosen to wear a clinging gown of forest-green crepe deeply cut away at front and back, the tiny bodice of which was spangled with emerald beads that trailed across the train to complement the emerald and diamond necklace and pendant earrings. A matching green ribbon bound up her dark curls, but she refused the plume, the hair ornament and the turban. ‘No, Lise,’ she said, pushing them away. ‘I’ll not go looking like a harvest festival. Pass my fan and reticule, if you please.’

She was assured that the choices had been well made when she saw the expression of admiration change Lord Elyot’s usual aloofness into something altogether more heartwarming and, when he assured them that they would take Ham House by storm, they politely protested, thinking that this must be an unusual show of exaggeration on his part. They might have known that Lord Elyot never exaggerated. From the moment they passed into the great hall at Ham House, a dozen or so conversations suffered minor fractures, sips of wine paused in midair, eyes widened and blinked and elbows nudged as the whisper went round, ‘Who’s that with Elyot and his brother?’

Amelie was no stranger to large gatherings, having entertained and attended functions with her late husband several times a week in Buxton and Manchester. Here at Ham House, just round a bend of the river from Richmond, she had not expected to know a single soul, though Lord Elyot had briefed
them on the way there about their host, the cultured sixth Earl of Dysart who had been a widower for less than a year. His hostess, Lord Elyot guessed, would be the Earl’s sister Mrs Manners, a widow who stood to inherit her brother’s title unless he produced an heir.

Amelie saw how unlikely this might be when they were greeted at the door of the reception room by a distinguished-looking gentleman in a white wig and wearing the long embroidered frock-coat of twenty years ago. But nothing could have prepared Amelie for the look of recognition that beamed from the Earl’s alert eyes beneath drooping lids and black bushy brows.

‘Lady Chester, what an evening of surprises this is, my dear. Sir Josiah and I met often in Manchester, I recall. We must talk, you and I. We
must
talk. Will you promise me?’

‘Indeed, my lord, I will,’ she responded while not taking his enthusiasm too seriously with so many other guests to attend.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Elyot, good to see you here. Saw the Marquess in town only two days ago. And who’s this charming young lady? Welcome, my dear.’

They moved on into a waving sea of plumes, frothy lace creations and turbans trimmed with yards of goffered frills, feathers and jewels, an abundance of scarves, veils and fichus, bits of gauze half covering bare backs and fronts, the wicked evening glitter of diamonds, and everywhere eyes that turned to look at the two ravishing creatures on Elyot’s and Rayne’s arms, some with envy, some with admiration, and all of them with interest.

Lord Elyot’s deeply mocking voice in Amelie’s ear was loud enough to be heard above the general hum. ‘Well, well. So you
are
known, it seems.’

‘He must be mistaken,’ said Amelie. ‘How could he have known Sir Josiah, except by name?’

‘Could it have been in his capacity as High Sheriff of Cheshire, d’ye think? If Sir Josiah was active in Chester, Dysart might have banked with him.’

‘High Sheriff? Is he really?’

‘Was,’ he said, nodding to someone across the room. ‘He’s a man of many parts. He’ll not be mistaken.’

It was not the first time Caterina had met an earl, but it was her first experience of being surrounded by so many titles and, as she and her aunt were presented to viscounts and dowager countesses, marquesses and minor lords, knights and honourables, neither of them could doubt that the grand launch had begun in earnest and that the creak of opening doors could already be heard.

Through one polished door the splendid tide of guests flowed into the crimson plush seats of the grand hall and settled themselves over the black-and-white chequered floor with occasional glances at the gallery above where more plumes nodded and diamonds flashed. Briefly, Amelie caught sight of a lovely face that withdrew rather too quickly to suggest mere appraisal of the scene, and as Lord Elyot’s eyes also withdrew from the same direction, it was only natural for her to assume some former attachment.

‘You know her?’ she said, competing with the tuning of strings.

His head inclined towards her and she felt the warmth of his skin just before she was caught looking at it. The smile in his eyes recognised her concern and soothed her with their caress. ‘I know many of them,’ he said, softly, ‘but not in the way you think.’

‘What way do I think, my lord?’

The smile deepened, just reaching his lips. ‘Later,’ he whispered as a tall black-clad gentleman walked onto the shallow dais at the far end of the hall. ‘Here’s Mr Saloman, the concert master.’

To her other side where Caterina sat contentedly with Lord Rayne, she whispered, ‘Mr Saloman,’ but the word
later
had found a niche in Amelie’s mind and so, missing most of the impresario’s introduction, she did not know what to expect until she recognised Handel’s familiar
Water Music.
Then, when she ought to have entered into the trotting rhythms and weaving patterns of sound, her thoughts lingered on the touch of his arm against hers, on the hand spread over his thigh, on the long fingers, and on her desire to smooth the dark hair that dusted the back of his wrist.

She knew he had noticed her inattention when he caught her eye with the remnant of his smile and a lazy blink, sharing those thoughts that were not to do with Herr Handel’s artistry. With deliberation, he gave his frilled shirt-cuff the slightest tug, then watched with a deepening grin as her long neck took on a deeper hue. Glancing at Caterina, she was satisfied to see her fingers tapping, and not for the first time did Amelie wonder at the cost to her own heart of this very dangerous and unorthodox liaison.

As the evening progressed, however, she began to make the discovery that high society in this part of the country was not quite what she had been used to in more introvert northern circles where the strait-laced elite would have enjoyed a bonanza of malicious speculation concerning her sudden appearance as the notorious Lord Elyot’s ‘intended’. During the intervals, Lord Rayne kept up a running commentary for
Caterina’s enjoyment, pointing out to her as many irregular liaisons as conventional marriages. Indicating yet another mistress, another
ménage à trois
, an ex-mistress of the Prince of Wales, a lover of several earls and viscounts, all beautiful, intelligent and popular women, Lord Rayne smiled and nodded to them while keeping Caterina close beside him to hear his outrageously pithy comments, not quite shocking enough to make her blush, but frank enough to make her feel womanly. In a perverse way, it was worth any number of compliments about her appearance.

While he amused Caterina, Amelie realised that what would have degraded these women forever in the eyes of this exalted society was not so much their selective promiscuity but the wrong background, a far greater sin. Lord Nelson’s mistress, Lady Hamilton, was sometimes denied the salons of certain hostesses whose invitations stipulated ‘Lord Nelson only’, for she was of common birth, ill-mannered, and an embarrassment to them. Even that might have been tolerated if, like Lady Caroline Lamb, for instance, she had been a somebody instead of a nobody.

In the company of Lord Elyot and his brother, Amelie and Caterina were accepted as respectable ladies of impeccable breeding, and no questions asked that could not easily be answered. But this did not remove the nagging worry that the man to avoid was Lord Dysart, their host, who had known Sir Josiah Chester and who would presumably feel free to tell his guests about him being a northern industrialist, a banker, and the victim of a duel. Not a perfect pedigree by any standards. As for herself, her family’s wealth was well-established and her education of the finest, but here where everyone blithely owed vast sums of money to everyone else and whose general
level of education was not high, it was still the trade connections and the degree of scandal that Amelie believed would earn the loudest condemnation in these exalted circles. Once he had heard her story, Lord Elyot himself had endorsed that view, despite the hint from his sister that scandal was written into their family’s history. Especially their mother’s.