The Mistress Memoirs

by Jillian Hunter

  Mason reached for his beer. The mug shook in his grasp. “It is impossible. How could he be that brazen? He must be insane. Haven’t you done anything to stop him?”

  Hay sat back, not a trace of sympathy on his thin face. “Do you realize how highly placed—how influential—his family is?”

  “But it’s mad. My father didn’t murder Viscount Norwood.”

  “No,” Hay said thoughtfully. “Your father admitted on his deathbed that you poisoned the man.”

  Mason let the mug drop to the table. “How do you know that?”

  “There were other witnesses in the room besides Colin Boscastle and the priests. Two physicians, a blood letter, and three business associates. Your father condemned you with his dying words.”

  “But I was not even of age,” Mason said, sweat soaking the back of his linen neckcloth. “What motive would I have to kill my father’s partner?”

  “I don’t know, Mason. But it was you who poured the viscount’s wine that night, wasn’t it?”

  “I never—I barely remember anything that happened before the viscount became ill. It was thirteen years ago.”

  “You went to the sideboard and fetched a bottle of wine. You filled the viscount’s glass, didn’t you?”

  Mason’s head began to pound. “Damn you, I don’t remember!”

  “Yes, you do,” Hay said without emotion. “There were witnesses who saw what you did that night. Was I there? Do you remember?”

  Mason put his hand over his eyes. “Not everything, but I know I never poisoned anyone. I don’t believe there were witnesses at all. I don’t believe my father accused me of murdering Joshua Boscastle, either.”

  “Think back. You felt important because you were invited to attend a dinner and the Boscastle brothers had to stay home.”

  Mason swore under his breath. “I—”

  “You had a rivalry with Colin over the slut you couldn’t have then. You don’t even have a claim on her now. She has shifted her allegiance to him without a qualm.”

  “This isn’t true—”

  “It is.”

  “You weren’t there that night!”

  “But are you positive you didn’t pour the viscount’s wine?”

  Mason stood, shutting his eyes until the throbbing in his head subsided. “I don’t know. Maybe— I—”

  Hay rose in undisguised disgust. “What a useless performance to put on in your own defense. You cannot even convince yourself of your innocence.”

  “But I’m not on trial. Do you believe I committed murder?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe.”

  “I want him out of my house. I refuse to live the rest of my life unable to sleep at night for fear he will destroy me.”

  “He is destroying you.”

  “Then what do I do?” Mason said raggedly. “Face him in a duel?”

  “He would kill you,” Hay said, putting his hand on Mason’s shoulder. “And if by some miracle you survived, it would not end there.”

  “No,” Mason agreed, his face pallid.

  “Will you take my advice now?” Hay asked slowly. “I may have an answer, but it would require both of us meeting in London, and I have to plan for your escape.”

  “My escape?” Mason said, too stunned to do anything but agree.

  “You will leave here tomorrow by public stage for London. You must not speak of your intentions to anyone, not even your footmen. Dismiss them today.”

  “Will you at least give Georgette a message from me?”

  “Yes. I will pay her off and terminate your arrangement as is written in the contract for such an eventuality.”

  Mason breathed out a sigh. “I will have nothing, then.”

  “You’ll have your life. Be grateful for that.”

  “You haven’t sent her the letter of termination yet, have you?” Mason said, suddenly suspicious.

  “That is an insult. Do you believe I would draw up a contract you hadn’t read or forge your signature except in the event of an emergency? Why do you even ask? I am your oldest, perhaps your only friend.”

  Mason felt himself sink into a pit of despair. “I have sent her presents and letters—I promised I would. And she promised to write to me.”

  Hay gave him a humorless smile. “What more proof do you need of her betrayal?”

  Chapter 36

  On the morning of their departure, Kate discovered Georgette seated at her dressing table, drably clad in a gray silk gown she had last worn in half mourning for her husband. “Really, madam,” she said. “Isn’t that taking fashion to express one’s sentiment a little far? I know how deeply you feel the loss of leaving this house and the hopes that you had for Mr. Earling, but that is rather morbid.”

  Georgette frowned at Kate’s reflection in the mirror. “The only reason I’m wearing gray is because it travels well. I’d rather die than meet members of the aristocracy with the children’s fingerprints on my gown. I intend to change the minute we arrive. Have you seen the processional outside?”

  Kate walked to the window. It was a typical overcast misty morning and yet excitement enlivened the estate. Liveried footmen darted about loading luggage into four black traveling carriages, five wagons, and a crested coach drawn by six white horses. Even the dogs seemed to sense the air of excitement, barking and tripping up the servants scurrying across the lawn.

  “You don’t have to wear gray, madam. Besides, it’s too tight in the bosom. I’ll travel in a separate coach with the children so that you will arrive looking as bedazzling as ever.”

  “It will be the last time,” Georgette said with a wistful shrug.

  Then suddenly they were in each other’s arms, holding back tears, talking at the same time, saying anything but that they would soon be parted, perhaps each lost without the other.

  Georgette composed herself first. “Undo my gown.”

  “Why?”

  “You are right. The children won’t be allowed to embrace me until after I’ve been introduced.”

  “But your belongings are packed.”

  “Kate, a woman can’t change her past, but she can change her clothes—which will be the first thing that Brian’s family will notice about me. We haven’t left yet. Could you not ask the footmen prettily to help you find a more suitable gown for me?”

  “I don’t want to disturb all their work.”

  “I’ll never ask anything of you again.”

  “We both know that isn’t—”

  A screech cut through the outer hall.

  Georgette turned; Kate moved straight to the door. “What is this unearthly clatter on the stairs?” Georgette whispered. “Do you think they’ve come for us?”

  “Hide in the dressing closet,” Kate said quietly. “No one could have sneaked into the house with that cavalcade outside.”

  “Of course they could. What better time than when everyone is distracted?”

  * * *

  Packing up the house reminded Colin of moving camp for battle. Mason had not fulfilled his promises as a provider or protector. Therefore, Georgette had convinced the servants to remove from the walls the most valuable portraits, tapestries, and candle sconces that time allowed. “Where does she intend to put them?” Colin asked Bledridge in consternation.

  “It isn’t right for a butler to belittle his mistress, sir, but mark me, she’ll find a place. She’s never been on the market for more than six months at a time.”

  “Six months?” That was half a year of Colin and Kate living in cramped quarters with—well, he’d find a place, too. Maybe he would buy a farm. It was better they live under one crowded roof than to force anyone onto the streets. He searched from corner to corner of the music room. The morning light broke across the bare spaces on the parquetry floor.

  “Wasn’t there a piano in here?”

  “Yes, sir, there was.”

  “Don’t tell me—”

  “Yes, it’s in the last wagon. Lovingly wrapped in Mr. Earling’s tapestri
es.”

  “My God,” Colin said. “So much for a subtle escape.”

  A shriek from the main body of the house, followed by a series of bumps, drew Colin and Bledridge to the door in alarm. Colin ran out toward the staircase, from the top of which the chaos seemed to issue.

  Another scream of unbridled emotion pierced his ears. Bledridge stationed himself behind the arm Colin rested on the balustrade. “I’ll catch whoever lands first. You take the second.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bledridge said, positioning himself, knees bent.

  Colin raised his voice. “Don’t hurt your sis— Stop!”

  Too late. Charlie had already launched Etta down the stairs in a brass-hinged chest, the lid thudding, his behind bumping on a silver serving tray alongside her.

  “Watch out below!” Charlie shouted, losing his cap as he, on his tray, and Etta, in the chest, gained speed.

  Colin vaulted up three steps, swooping Etta into his left arm, halting the runaway chest with his right, and leaving Charlie for Bledridge to rescue.

  “What’d you do that for, sir?” Charlie asked, arms and legs flailing in the air. “We were having a race, and I was about to overtake her.”

  “You could have cracked your heads open,” he replied, setting down his squirming captive in the hall.

  “You sound like Miss Kate,” Charlie said dolefully.

  Colin blinked. He’d just realized that Etta was wearing a corset over her traveling dress. “Is that what I think it is?” he demanded. He looked down at the trunk, whose contents had been tossed about the stairs: sleeves, gloves, stockings, fans. “Where did this all come from? Your mother’s closet? We can’t carry another piece of luggage on our parade. And Etta, take that thing off, or she will be furious.”

  Etta stepped out of the unlaced corset. “These are Nan’s. They hold her together. She forgot to pack. She can’t go without them.”

  “I should hope not,” Bledridge said, shuddering. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to Colin, putting Charlie on his feet. “Shall I gather up the disturbing evidence before anyone else sees it?”

  “Please do.” Colin gestured Charlie and Etta to sit on the bottom step. He paused as a door above groaned open in the sudden quiet.

  “Now you’re done for,” he said quietly. “Kate’s heard. Take this last piece of advice from me: When we arrive at my cousin’s house, this conduct—these antics—must continue. I cannot abide perfectly behaved children. And don’t make me tell you again.”

  * * *

  Georgette took Brian into the garden for the last time. She had been afraid of this moment since he was born, but finally she had dredged up her courage and told him who he was. He accepted the truth with a maturity that stunned her.

  “I loved my other father,” he said, walking slowly beside her.

  She smiled sadly. “He loved you, too. There’s no reason we should not respect his memory.”

  “He was old,” Brian said. “He never took us outside.”

  “Yes, but he was good to us when he was alive. He gave us a home.”

  Brian bent to pet one of the dogs sniffing at his feet. “Does that mean Etta and Charlie aren’t my brother and sister?”

  “Of course they are. I’m still your mother, too, but you and the two terrors have different fathers.”

  “Why didn’t he come back to see me?” Brian asked, his brow furrowing.

  “I didn’t tell him about you,” Georgette said softly, looking around to see Colin coming toward them. “Ask him yourself. I’ll go for a stroll with the dogs. You can have a manly talk about it.”

  Brian looked at her in concern. “Will he take me away?”

  “Not forever,” she said. “I think he’ll do what is best.”

  * * *

  Colin looked up at the window for courage. He knew Kate was watching, and he thought he saw Nan’s withered face between the curtains, too. What was he supposed to say to his son? It had been easier to behave normally when he hadn’t known for certain that Brian was his.

  Brian stared at him in curiosity.

  “Your mother told you, I assume. What do you make of the situation?”

  “It depends, sir.”

  Colin frowned. “On what?”

  “Well, I don’t mind being your son, except you’re rather bossy, but I do mind if I can’t be with the rest of my family.”

  “I’ll never stop your family from seeing you,” Colin said, hoping that was the proper response. “You’ll have other family, too. Uncles and aunts and young relatives like you.”

  “Someone has to take care of my mother, sir. She doesn’t know how to do much of anything except—”

  “Yes,” Colin said before Brian blurted out what they both understood. “We’ll find a way to take care of her, if necessary. All of you. Is that acceptable to you?”

  Brian shrugged. “It’s not like I have a choice, is it?”

  “Well, you’re not exactly going to be hauled off with a ball and chain.”

  “Can I have a horse?”

  “Absolutely. And we’ll ride together all around town.”

  “Not with Kate or my mother. They’re awful about horses.”

  Colin laughed. “But they have qualities that make up for that failing.”

  Brian glanced up at the window.

  Colin wanted to put his arms around his son. He said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to watch you grow up.”

  “I know why,” Brian said. “I’d have gone with you if I had been allowed.”

  “I love you.”

  Brian grinned. “Go on.”

  “You don’t have to say anything for now. We’ll work it out together. Just swear to me you won’t run away again. And, Brian, I’ll never stop you from seeing your family. If you are unhappy living with me and Kate, I’ll understand if you want to leave.”

  “But not run away?”

  Colin grinned back at him. “You won’t ride that fine horse I promised for months if you do such a stupid thing again.”

  Chapter 37

  A small crowd of villagers stood at the side of the road to witness the courtesan’s departure. Georgette waved from the window as if she had been crowned queen and now, to the regret of her subjects, must depart for the royal palace. Squire Billingsley’s son stared at her in love-stricken sorrow. The rector bowed his head in an attitude of prayer, perhaps of thanksgiving to see her go, perhaps for her redemption.

  Kate thought it might be a little of both.

  “I told Nan I had admirers,” Georgette said, heaving a sigh. “Did you notice the three men cursing outside the driveway? I never failed to give them a smile of gratitude for their services. It grieves them to lose the small light I brought into their lives.”

  “It grieves them to lose the money you owe them, madam,” Kate retorted. “One is the haberdasher, the other the linen draper. The third, I believe, is—”

  “Let Mason face his creditors,” Colin said, smiling ruthlessly at the thought. “If there is anything left of him after he reviews his books.”

  Georgette’s mood brightened. “Do you think your family will recover some lost funds?”

  “If I do, I’ll pay for the piano.”

  “And lessons?”

  “Georgette, if any of those three children show the least aptitude for music—and shrieks don’t count—I shall buy you a private concert hall.”

  * * *

  “I suppose I have the marquess to thank for this escort,” Colin said to the head groom of his cousin’s household, who would supervise the journey.

  “In part, sir. But it is Lieutenant Colonel Lord Heath Boscastle and his wife who are planning a party to welcome you this weekend. His lordship hopes that this guard will be sufficient for your travels.”

  Colin’s mirthful gaze took in the caravan from its gilt-paneled coach to the pack wagon and pony at the end. Brian sat astride the gray that Colin had bought from the blacksmith the previous night. Lovitt sat mounted a few paces ahead at the gate.
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  “I’m humbled,” Colin said to the groom. “I came here to do what I thought was right. I caused chaos, and now my family, who I abandoned, answers my call for help the first time I ask.”

  “Sir,” the groom murmured, touching his forehead in respect.

  “Do we have to sit in the driveway all day?” Charlie called out from the window of one of the smaller, black carriages.

  Colin nodded to the groomsman. “Thank you. It’s best to get on the road as soon as we can.”

  Tom, watching Colin’s every move with pride, hastened forward to mount the mare he had been holding by the reins. Colin hadn’t taken a step before he noticed Brian turn to look at him in distress.

  “Sir,” he mouthed. “Sir.”

  Colin glanced past his son and through the gates to the slightly built fair-haired man in a gray frock coat and buff trousers who was trying to slip into the hubbub unnoticed. He carried a bulging leather bag and stopped in uncertainty before he strode past Kate’s carriage to where Colin stood.

  A few of the maids waved shyly at the man from their windows. Etta started to shout at him that her cough was gone and that she had passed it to Nan, who had given it to her mother, and that they had the tomcat in the carriage.

  “Hold still, child,” Nan cried, and pulled Etta back into the coach, drawing the curtain to shield either the world from disobedient children or the children from the disgraceful world.

  Colin straightened. He didn’t reach for his gun. What he saw in young Stanley Wilkes’ face could not be fought by physical force.

  “Sir?” Stanley said, swallowing hard. “I’ve come to ask your permission to speak with Miss Kate alone for a few moments.”

  Colin felt a muscle quiver in his cheek. “She’s in the head coach.”

  Stanley looked up, seeming to lose his nerve.

  “She’s traveling with Mrs. Lawson,” Colin added. Wilkes was good-looking, now that Colin saw him in the daylight. Tall, lithe, but not a weakling. He had an unassuming face wreathed in red-gold hair, and he had gentle eyes. What else was he carrying besides his bag? How had he arrived, on foot or by horseback? Did he intend to leave by himself?