Rules for Being a Mistress

by Tamara Lejeune

  “Are you not dancing?” he asked. He was surprised. He had never known Miss Vaughn to want for a partner.

  She shrugged. “I might, if someone asked me.”

  “I am asking you.”

  “In that case, Lord Oranmore,” she said coldly, “I’d be delighted,” and allowed him to sweep her off in a fast Viennese waltz.

  “And how do you like being Lord Oranmore?” she asked him.

  “I like it very well, Miss Vaughn.”

  “Do you find that it’s easier to get a woman into bed now that you’re the Big Lord?”

  “Yes, Miss Vaughn,” he replied. “Yes, I do.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Is that so?” she snapped.

  His grip on her hand tightened almost painfully. “The waltz is a very short dance,” he said impatiently. “So let us come straight to the point. Where is she?”

  She did not pretend she didn’t know who he meant. “Didn’t you find her?”

  “She was no more at your house than your bloody harp was,” he said tightly. “As you well know! Need I remind you, Miss Vaughn, that I paid you thirty thousand pounds for her?”

  “I suppose you want your money back.”

  “No,” he said angrily. “I want what I paid for.”

  “Don’t worry, my lord,” she said coolly. “I’m sure you’ll find someone to commit adultery with you. Men always do.”

  “Where is she, damn you?” he snarled.

  “She’s gone, Ben,” she said quietly and firmly. “You’ll never find her. Perhaps,” she added, “she wasn’t yours to command, after all. Perhaps you’re not quite as fascinating as you seem to think. Besides, you’re getting married in a week, are you not? You’ll have Lady Serena to command soon enough.”

  “I have your harp, Miss Vaughn,” he said harshly.

  She stumbled, but made a quick recovery. “What? You said—”

  He went on coldly, “If you don’t tell me where she is, I will break it up for firewood along with your pianoforte. And don’t pretend you don’t care, Miss. The Dowager Duchess of Kellynch would hardly want to display your harp in a glass case in her drawing-room in Dublin if it meant nothing to you.”

  “How did you get it away from her at all?”

  “I stole it,” he explained. “That seems to be how things are done in Ireland.”

  “You mean you snuck in at night and—”

  His lip curled. “I don’t sneak anywhere. The butler announced me. They were drinking tea in the parlor. I smashed the case and walked out with it. No one said a word.”

  Her eyes shone with admiration. “They must have thought you were a madman.”

  “I am a madman,” he replied. “You would do well to remember that, Miss Vaughn. If Cherry doesn’t want to see me anymore let her tell me so face to face. That is all I ask. I don’t want to destroy your harp, but I will.”

  “I have your watch and your ring,” she said quickly.

  “My grandmother sent them to you?” he said sharply. “She told me she sent them to my betrothed. She must have thought…”

  “Where would she get a silly idea like that?” said Cosima.

  The music ended, catching them both in surprise.

  Benedict grasped her arm. “I don’t give a damn about my watch or my ring. I want to see her. I must see her. I will trade you the harp.”

  “Oh, Ben,” she said softly. “As long as it’s not in that bitch’s drawing-room, I don’t care a damn about that harp. Sure I never even learned to play it.”

  He looked utterly dejected. He had nothing left to bargain with.

  Cosima couldn’t bear the broken look in his eyes. “The park,” she whispered. “Wait in the park after the ball tonight, and I—She’ll come to you.”

  “She’s still in Bath?” he said incredulously. “What park?”

  Her eyes flickered. “Our park,” she said softly. “Camden Place. She’s been here the whole time, Ben.”

  “Are you keeping her locked up?” He stared at her, revolted. “I swear to God, if you have harmed her in any way, I will wring your bloody neck!”

  “Cosy?”

  Lord Westlands suddenly appeared at her side. “Is everything all right?” he asked, eyeing Benedict with suspicion. “You look flushed, Cosy.”

  “I’m just tired, that’s all. Please excuse me!” she murmured, rushing away from them.

  “What did you say to her?” Westlands demanded of Benedict. “Why is she so upset?”

  “I imagine she is upset because you are marrying someone else, my lord,” Benedict replied. “She even sold her house to provide herself with a dowry worthy of you.”

  Westlands flushed. “I am not going to marry someone else,” he muttered. “Cosy knows that I love her. If she would only trust me a little!”

  Alarmed, Benedict forced the younger man to the side of the room.

  “What about Lady Rose?” he said sharply. “You made a commitment to her.”

  Westlands glanced around furtively, torn between the need for secrecy and the need to defend himself from the inference that he was a complete cad. “Kindly keep your voice down, my lord!” he whispered. “Rose knows all about it. We’re eloping tonight, after the ball.”

  “Indeed,” Benedict said coldly. “And what becomes of the girl you leave behind?”

  Westlands scowled at him. “Rose is eloping with Dan, of course. The four of us are going together.”

  “Who the devil is Dan?” Benedict demanded.

  “Dan,” Westlands elaborated. “Dante Vaughn. You know: Cosy’s brother!”

  Benedict stared at him. “I thought the boy was in India.”

  Westlands grinned. “He had to come back for his girl, didn’t he?”

  Chapter 22

  After putting her mother and sister to bed, Cosy went to her own room to change. Already she regretted promising Ben that she would meet him in the park. She sat down on the bed and set her candle on the table next to it. Reaching up, she unpinned her blonde wig and slipped it off, taking the close-fitting stocking cap underneath with it. Her scalp itched, and she scratched it, dragging her nails through the short red locks.

  Vocabulary was by no means the strong suit of Lieutenant Dante Vaughn. “What in the bejasus have you done to yourself, woman?” he cried, stepping out of the shadows.

  Cosima gasped in surprise, jumped to her feet, and whirled around to see her brother. In the next moment, she was being lifted off her feet as the young man enfolded her in a bear hug. “Faith, and you put the heart across me!” she complained when he had set her on her feet again. She took a careful inventory of him. Everything seemed to be in order. Green eyes. Shock of blond hair. Nose that had been broken at age nine. Lopsided grin with inexplicable, yet fatal charm, and a chipped front tooth. He was not in uniform.

  “What are you doing here, Dan?” she demanded. “You’re supposed to be in India with the rest of the regiment. You’ve been cashiered, haven’t you? What did you do?”

  “I made it as far as Gibraltar,” he answered. “I wasn’t cashiered. I got bit by a monkey. It wasn’t my fault!” he added, laughing as she punched him in the arm.

  “Not another Munchausen story!” she said sternly.

  His green eyes widened. “A what?”

  “Never mind! They shoot men for deserting, did you happen to know that, Dan?”

  “I’m no fecking deserter,” he said angrily. “I’m away without leave, that’s all. Even if they don’t believe I was bit by a monkey, I’m an officer, and they can’t flog me.”

  “Oh, Dan!”

  He frowned at her. “So what did you do to your hair? Are you sick or something?”

  “What?” Awkwardly, her hands went to her hair. “Penance.”

  Dante gave a low whistle. “Are you pregnant?” he demanded. “Is that why Marcus is so fecking eager to marry you?”

  “What are you talking about?” she said angrily. “Marcus is engaged.”

  Dante flushed darkly. “I knew how
it would be when I left. That fecking aunt of hers hated the sight of me. First she said I could dance with Rose, because I was Lord Westlands’s cousin, but then she changed her mind. She made Rose dance with some fecking ancient geezer and why? Because he had money. Well, at least I’ve both my fecking arms, unlike himself!”

  Cosima’s legs went out from under her and she sat down hard on the bed.

  “It made me sick to think of that old bastard getting his cold, scabby hands on my Rose, I tell you. Well, hand, I should say, for he had only one, and the left one at that.”

  “Are you in love with her, Dan?” she asked him quietly.

  He snorted. “I am feck,” he answered. “You know I don’t believe in all that shite. No more than yourself. She’s got money, this girl. She’ll be the making of me.”

  “Dan!”

  “There I was in me hospital bed in Gibraltar,” he said. “I started thinking about the class of woman I might find in India. Girls and women, not fit to be married in England, so their parents ship them off to India in desperation. I thought to myself: Dan, you’re better than that. Why not arrive in style with a rich and lovely young wife? Have you seen her, Cosy? Lady Rose Fitzwilliam? Sure, I can’t wait to get my leg over all that beauty.”

  “You’re disgusting,” said his sister, but Dante only laughed.

  “So we’re leaving this night,” he said, unperturbed. “Marcus is bringing Rose to meet us at Bath Abbey. We’re going to Bristol. Marcus has found a clergyman who will marry us for five pound. Get your things, woman. You’re coming with, so you are.”

  “Do you think for one moment that I would take part in your scheme?”

  He laughed. “You will. I’m going to marry Rose and her pretty portion, and you are going to marry Marcus. You’ll be a countess one day, you lucky bitch, when the old man dies. That boy’s head over ears in love with you. It’s touching, really. He thinks you’re an angel, and I hadn’t the heart to tell him the truth, poor sorry bastard.”

  “I’m not going to elope with Marcus,” Cosima said firmly.

  “Ah, come on,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It’ll be grand. Amazing! Fantastic! A double elopement! Are you waiting for the big society wedding in Westminster fecking Abbey? ’Tis Catholic you are, and you’ll take what you can get.”

  “I’m not going to marry Marcus,” she said. “Much less elope! I don’t love him, Dan.”

  “You’ve changed more than your hair,” he observed. “What’s all this crazy talk about love? You’re not in love with someone else, are you?”

  “I am,” she said fiercely.

  “You damn fool! With that face, you could take your pick! No, I’m pleased for you, Cosy, really,” he added quickly as she glared at him. “Is he a nice man?”

  “He is not,” she said proudly. “He’s a cold, heartless bastard.”

  Dan grinned at her. “Sure a nice man would be no good to you. What you need is a dragon to guard you from all the snakes in this life. You, with all that beauty on your face.”

  “Funny,” she said coldly. “I was just thinking the same thing about Lady Rose!”

  He laughed easily. “I’ll look after her, so I will. Are you sure you won’t come?”

  “Certainly not.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself. All I want, then, are Granny Vaughn’s pearls to give the girl. I’ve nothing else to give her, and I’m the first to marry, so you’ll hand them over.”

  “I will not,” said Cosima, her green eyes narrowing.

  “You will,” he insisted. His green eyes narrowed too.

  Benedict waited in the park with growing impatience. There was a candle burning in the room he knew to be Miss Vaughn’s. Through the filmy lace inner curtains, he could see moving shadows. What the hell was she doing? Where was Cherry? Was Cherry even in the house?

  He was reflecting for the hundredth time on the indignities of his position, when, abruptly, the candle in the window went out. He crept closer to the gates of the park. It had begun to rain, so there was no fear of being discovered by the Watchman, who could be relied upon to stay warm and dry in his sentry box.

  The front door of No. 9, Upper Camden Place, opened silently, and a young man came out. To Benedict’s astonishment, Cherry ran after him, and clutched his arm. Without speaking, the young man threw her off so violently that her head struck the door frame, and she fell down on the steps. Rage swept through Benedict’s spare body like a pillar of fire.

  “You there!” he shouted, frantically fitting his key into the lock of the gate.

  The young man took off running in the direction of Lansdowne Road. “Come back here, you cowardly bastard!” Benedict shouted, running out of the park to help Cherry to her feet. Blood was trickling down the side of her face.

  “Ben!” she whispered, as he clasped her to his body. “Thank God, you’re here. You have to stop him! He’s going to do something terrible. He—”

  “Hush,” he commanded, dragging her into the house. Once inside, he took out his handkerchief and pressed it to the side of her head. It was dark as pitch in the hall. He moved her toward the door to the sitting room.

  “Mother’s asleep,” she protested weakly.

  He didn’t question why Cherry was calling Lady Agatha Mother. He scarcely noticed it. “The kitchen,” he muttered, and began dragging her in that direction. “I am going to clean that cut. Then I am going to find the man who hurt you, and I am going to—”

  He paused as she stumbled on the stairs.

  “Who was he?” he asked her, helping her to her feet.

  “It wasn’t his fault,” she said quickly. “He got bit by a monkey!”

  “Oh, dear God. You’re delirious,” he said, white-faced with concern. He pushed her into the kitchen, overriding her protests, and placed her in the chair nearest the fire. “Let’s have a look at this cut,” he said, sitting down in the other chair. The tortoiseshell cat hissed indignantly, and jumped down.

  “There’s no time, Ben,” she said. “You must help—”

  “Silence,” he said, wiping the blood from her face. The cut was mercifully small, but it bled profusely, and a thick, hard knot had already formed around it. He stood up and got the whiskey bottle from the niche in the chimney. He felt murderous anger toward Cherry’s attacker, and he had to force himself to be tender with the girl. “This may sting a little,” he said, pouring a little whiskey onto his handkerchief.

  “There’s no time,” she insisted. “That was my brother Dan. He’s supposed to be in India, but he came back to England for Lady Rose.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, cleaning her cut.

  “You have to stop him, Ben! He’s going to kidnap Rose and make her marry him!”

  He snorted. “From what I understand, the young lady is perfectly willing. Lord Westlands is going to marry Miss Vaughn, and Rose is going to marry what’s-his-face.”

  “You knew? You knew, and you did nothing to stop it?”

  Angrily, she pushed his hand away from her face.

  “It is not my place,” he said, “to interfere. Now hold still.”

  “You helped Nuala Redmund!” she pointed out.

  “And from that you deduced that I intend to make a career out of stopping weddings? Nuala is my responsibility. Rose Fitzwilliam is not. As for Miss Vaughn, after the way she has treated you, and me, I don’t care if Westlands takes her to Perdition.”

  She winced again, but this time it was his words that stung.

  “I love you, Cherry,” he said quietly. “You must come with me to London. Surely you can see that now.”

  She was already shaking her head. “Ben—I can’t—”

  “You must try to trust me a little. I will find a way to make you happy, I swear.”

  She lifted her eyes to his. “If you want to make me happy, stop Dan from ruining that poor girl’s life. She thinks she’s in love, but he’s only interested in her money. And getting his leg over, of course! Like all men.”

  Benedict
remained unmoved.

  “She’s only seventeen! She has her whole life ahead of her. She deserves better than my galloping eedgit of a brother! Look what he did to me! I’m bleeding! Do you want that girl’s blood on your hands as well?”

  “No, of course not,” he said finally.

  “Marcus is supposed to meet Dan at Bath Abbey with Rose and the carriage. They mean to go to Bristol tonight. He’s not even going to marry her by Catholic rites! I doubt it’s even legal. If you hurry, you can stop them, Ben. Please.”

  “Of course it’s not legal. The girl’s only seventeen,” Benedict muttered. “Oh, all right! I’ll do it. For you.”

  She caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “Thank you, Ben.”

  “Miss Vaughn should be ashamed of herself. I will make sure her part in this is exposed to the world. Aiding and abetting this rascal in what amounts to a rape! As a woman she should have more feeling for poor silly Rose. She deserves to be whipped at the cart’s tail. As for that brother of hers—” He broke off suddenly, bent down, and kissed her mouth fiercely.

  “I’m so sorry, Ben! I’m sorry for everything!”

  “What?” he said sharply.

  “I mean: I’m not sorry for anything, of course!”

  He smiled at her. “Too right you’re not. We’ll talk when I get back.”

  The amazing, fantastic, double elopement was in desperate trouble already. “What do you mean, she’s not coming?” Rose and Westlands cried in unison when Lieutenant Vaughn gave them the news outside Bath Abbey.

  Dante shrugged. “I’m sorrier than I can say, Marcus, but she says she won’t marry you.”

  Marcus jumped out of the comfortable carriage he had hired to take them all to Bristol. “What do you mean?” he demanded angrily.

  “She won’t have you, and that’s the truth of it.” Dante tried to enter the carriage where Lady Rose was sitting, almost in tears, but Westlands shoved him back. “What was I supposed to do?” Dante wanted to know. “Force her to marry you? Kidnap her?”