by Edith Layton
“Of course,” Amelia said in excitement. “I am not a complete fool, Regina. I do not know who you are, or even what you are. But I do know that you are in some sort of difficulty, I do know that Jason is involved with you, I do know that Sinjin could not fail to make you happy. Ah Regina, you do not know him as I do. Beneath that veneer he affects, he is good. He is noble. Perhaps he has set his feet upon the wrong course for now, but all that can change. I would swear to it. Regina, please believe me, I do want the best for him. I so want the very best for him. And I feel that you could provide that. Whatever your history, you are young and very beautiful. But more than that, you are wise, and kind and loving. You could give him so much. So much that he needs. You must say ‘yes,’ Regina.” Amelia stopped her discourse and searched for a handkerchief to stop the tears that had begun to flow. “Of all the women he has been involved with,” she went on, muted by the cloth she held to her face, “only you have the soul and spirit he deserves.”
Regina stood staring at Amelia, hating herself and St. John for what they had done to this usually careful and pleasantly composed woman. But still she could not accept what her ears had heard, still she could not understand Amelia’s compliance with St. John’s “offer.”
“Amelia,” she asked, curiously calm, “would you really accept the situation? Do you think it would be such a good thing…considering all the difficulties, not to mention the moral problems?”
But Amelia was almost beyond the limits of rational conversation. “Of course I do,” she whispered, still clutching the handkerchief to her face. “I am trying to be honest, Regina. You know what I hope no other soul on earth knows, and I am trying to say the right thing for both you and St. John. But recollect, that I put his needs first. And I do believe he needs you. How can I in any honesty urge you to say anything but ‘yes,’ feeling as I do? It is what I would say. And as I love…as I have a care for him, I urge you to.”
“Amelia,” Regina asked, so softly she could scarcely hear the words herself, “would you say yes to being his…mistress?”
But Amelia had lost control, and did not understand Regina’s question, or the purpose of it. She only sat weeping, flagellating herself for the despised tears, for the surge of sorrow she had felt when her fears, fears that she had harbored silently for almost a decade, had finally been confirmed. So she did not understand Regina’s question, or the purpose behind it, and only took it as another symbol of her present debasement, an unaccountably cruel thrust by this friend and rival who had stolen all that she knew she could never have.
She rose and went quickly to the door, and answered through a sob, “His mistress, his slave, his footstool…yes to all, why do you do this to me, Regina?” And now weeping openly, she hurried out the door, thinking in her disarray, ah how shall I ever face Sinjin and his lady after this? How shall I greet Regina again, knowing that she knows all I have lost? How shall I be ever able to face the Marquis of Bessacarr and his new wife? And laughing a little madly, she thought as she reached her own room, What shall I wear to their wedding?
Regina shook her head, and shook it again, as if to clear it, like a dazed creature. Then she went slowly to the little inlaid wood desk in her room. She carefully extracted two sheets of paper and, without hesitation, began to write upon one. An hour later she looked down at the two notes, and the six others she had discarded. The one addressed to Amelia began;
“My Dear Lady Burden, I had never until this day understood the vast gulf that separates our two worlds. No, I had never understood that fact, that to all intents and purposes, we did live in different worlds. So I must ignore your advice, for though it might be applicable to a Young Woman of your world, it would not suit mine. My upbringing, perhaps, my petty moral sense, perhaps, but.…”
The letter to St. John was shorter, and more direct. It comprised only a few lines:
“Your Grace, A very wise man recently told me that there are some men who prefer relationships that are clear-cut, like that of employer and employee. I do not think I could be your employee. I do not think that either your or my spirit could grow in such a relationship. I am not such a person. Therefore, I would not be right for you either. I thank you for all past favors. I am afraid I cannot remain to be your Obedient Servant, Regina Analise Berryman.”
And then, wearily, like a very old woman, she began to pack only those clothes that she had brought with her in the worn suitcase she had brought when first she arrived at Fairleigh.
XIV
St. John let himself into the small house quietly. It was still early in the morning by his standards, not even ten o’clock, and the ladies who dwelt in such large numbers upon this street were obviously still abed, since there was so little activity upon the pavements. How many years, he thought idly, as he opened the door, had he himself wakened, dressed, let himself out silently this early, to find the exterior world of this street so deserted at an hour when the rest of London was bustling with commerce. It was one of the pleasanter attributes of this discrete address, one of the primary reasons why the names of the actual owners of the houses was such a select roster of the peerage.
He felt curiously refreshed and alert for a man who had had so little sleep, who had ridden such a long way in the last afternoon and night. But after only a brief rest and a change of clothes, he had taken himself out on the streets at this ungodly hour to hasten the preparations he was making. He felt some small trepidation at the immediate task before him. Maria had only been installed here for a very little while and might be difficult to dislodge, but he could not suppress the small rush of joy he felt when he allowed himself to imagine her successor.
His reflections were rudely cut off when he entered the small hallway and heard a babble of voices. There was much laughter and giggling coming from the small sitting room to his left and, without a pause, he strode in the doorway, stopping the voices short. He looked at the assemblage before him with surprise. He had thought that Maria would still be in bed. Certainly, he had never known any of his mistresses to be early risers. But there, seated comfortably in the room, was Maria, in somewhat sloppy disarray, he thought fastidiously, her ample form carelessly wrapped in a feathered dressing gown, and her companions were two older, brilliantly dressed, highly made-up women.
One, a spectacularly raddled blonde with enormous black eyes, he immediately recognized as Lilli Clare, who was, if his memory served, the long-time consort of an elderly infirm Baron of his acquaintance. The other, a tiny curly-headed brunette, was Genevieve Crane, a giddy young woman whom he himself had enjoyed under his patronage a year or two ago. They looked up at him like guilty children, startled at his presence.
He had interrupted their poor version of morning tea, he imagined. He had blundered into one of their cozy chats. He had not thought of them as having a life apart from his nocturnal visits. But he shrugged and allowed himself to smile as he looked at them. After all, he thought with some charity, it was, for the time being, Maria’s house, and she had no way of knowing that he was returned to town. It was not as if she were being unfaithful to their bargain; no male was present. And though he might deplore her choice of companions in his absence, it was really none of his business. As she would soon be none, either.
“Sinjin,” she cried, gathering her gown together, “you did not tell me you were in town. It is too bad of you,” she went on, giving her rapt companions furious looks and little waving motions of her hands.
Catching her eye, they rose promptly and, muttering little apologies, gathered up their belongings and left with admirable speed, leaving only a potpourri of assorted heady scents behind them.
“I had not planned to return so soon,” he said casually, flinging off his cape, “but a certain change in plans has occurred.”
She eyed him thoughtfully for a moment, and then, allowing her dressing gown to fall open more fully, walked toward him with the slow, seductive walk he had found so entrancing before and now watched only with amusement as he saw
how her rather elongated breasts moved independently of each other as she paced toward him. Too much, he thought to himself, eyeing her rounded abdomen and the deeply defined bulge of her pubis. She wrapped two arms around his neck and sighed into his ear, “But such a pleasant surprise, St. John, such a pleasant surprise.”
He took her arms away from his neck and stood back, looking at her sympathetically. All the mystery of her, he found, was gone. He could only feel a certain small sorrow for the confused looking woman who surely was running to a premature stoutness, and whose fading dark good looks would soon take her to other sorts of establishments, far from this fashionable street.
“I’m afraid,” he said, “it is not too pleasant a surprise.” He withdrew a check from his inner pocket and laid it in her hands. “I’m afraid,” he went on, “that my plans have changed in many ways, and that you will have to find a new abode. But you will see that I have been generous, and that you have profited from our acquaintance.”
She looked, unbelieving, at the paper in her hands.
“But it’s only been a few weeks,” she shrilled. “You haven’t even given me a chance! It’s not fair. I’ve hardly even settled in. I haven’t shown you all that I can do…there’s lots more I can do,” she continued, but he put up his hand.
“I’m afraid not,” he said, and turned from her to look out the window.
“If it’s the ladies who were here this morning,” she said hurriedly, “well, you never told me I couldn’t have in a few friends. We weren’t talking about you really. We were just chatting. They are my neighbors, and all we do is chat.…”
“It’s not that”, he said in a bored voice. “It’s only over, Maria. I ask that you remove yourself before the day is out.”
“What have I done?” she wailed. “What will people think, you tossing me out so soon?”
“Say what you will about that,” he said. “Blame it on my well-known capriciousness. But remove yourself from the premises, Maria. Our association is over.”
But Maria Dunstable had been around the course too long not to know that her dismissal, so soon after her having acquired such a choice place, would look bad. And she was growing a little too old to be able to bounce back easily. She, too, had seen all the signs of her looks’ decline. She, too, had seen the inevitable signs of where her path would soon lead her, and had been ecstatic at having attracted the interest of a fashionable parti like the Marquis. Her rage and disappointment got the better of her innate good sense, and she did what she knew was unforgivable in a woman of her trade. She lost her temper.
“You poxy bastard!” she shrieked, losing all the soft-throaty cadence to her voice that she hoped she was famous for. “All right, I’ll go, but it won’t be a hardship. I’d rather sell it to a spotty grocer boy in the streets than put up with your fumbling grunting any more. I’ve had better. I’ve had ones who could make me feel something, too! Even poor Lilli’s palsied old man can do it better! And even Genevieve’s better off. She had you and she don’t regret losing you! Not for a minute! I’ve had schoolboys who were—”
But he cut her off by turning and dealing her a hard slap across her face. White-faced, he gritted his teeth. “You will leave, Maria,” he said coldly.
She looked at him, wide-eyed. She had slipped. He would never recommend her to his friends. He would call her a common doxy. She would never again have the comfort of her own apartment, she would have to work in a houseful of women, and then, as the other women became younger and more desirable, she would have to take to the streets. The enormity of her crime sank in slowly. She dropped to her knees and, throwing her arms around his boots, she wept, “Oh don’t be angry. Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. There was never no better than you, I swear it. I was only angry. Oh, forgive me.”
Sinjin’s lip curled in distaste. She was weeping uncontrollably into his legs. He forced himself to pat her head once. “I have forgotten it,” he said grimly. “Now go and pack before I remember again.”
When she had left the room and he could only hear her snuffling as she gathered her possessions together, he relaxed. He could see Regina here. He could see her sitting on the couch and smiling. He could hear her soft voice. Feel her lips. He thought of the evenings they could spend here, talking, playing at cards, discussing.… He caught himself up short and frowned. Daydreaming about a mistress who would talk and play cards with him? This was a flight of fancy, indeed! And yet, he remembered that there were those of his acquaintance whose mistresses served just such purposes. Men who maintained duel households, and seemed to treat their mistresses almost as they did their wives. There was, for example, poor foolish old Lord Reeves, whose weekly perambulations with his equally ancient mistress of many years was the cause of much amusement to all his acquaintances. For thirty years, as faithfully as a footman would wind an old clock, doddering Lord Reeves would appear to take his now senile mistress for an hour-long stroll. A mistress until death did them part, St. John thought uncomfortably.
Yet he himself had never chosen his women for anything else but sensual pleasures. The Cyprians who enjoyed his patronage were always chosen only for their face, form, or reputation. Conversation was the one thing he never attempted with any of them. But, he mused, perhaps, just perhaps, if he were to set up another household, he would in time find himself in his dotage, making his unsteady way back to this little house every week, to visit with an equally infirm Regina. The thought caused his lips to curl in an unpleasant smile. He grew impatient, and tapped one booted foot as he waited for Maria to complete her packing so that he could then lock the door behind her. The door to his, and Regina’s, new home.
When Maria had left, after giving him one long, last imploring glance, St. John let out his drawn-in breath. The fight had gone out of her. She had been docile and accepting of her fate at last. He noticed again, with distaste, as she had left, how sagging her body had been, how rumpled that face that he had found acceptable only a few weeks before. How entrancing her somewhat humid lovemaking had been. But now he could only think of clear green eyes, of a long, slender, elegant female form. Of a soft, lemony perfume.
But, looking about the house before he locked up again, he felt a tremor of unease as he thought of the other women who lived on this street. Would Regina be willing to take tea with Lilli and Genevieve, or even Maria, if she were fortunate enough to find another wealthy protector? Would she take delight in comparing notes about their noble patrons, as surely Maria and her friends were doing? What would she discuss with them? Gowns? Their past? Their men? How could she even understand them? Who would her friends be? He shrugged off the unwelcome thoughts and left the house quickly. It was done. It had been an unsettling experience, that was all. But now, at least, the house was ready.
He had planned to go to visit Melissa Wellsley next, to let her know that he was back in town, to pursue that friendship a little further. Perhaps to the furthest. For now that he had Regina, he could contemplate marriage with a clearer eye. With Regina waiting for him each night on Curzon Street, he could easily tolerate a fashionable wife raising his family away, far away, at some country address such as Fairleigh. It was part of his plan and, he reasoned, a good one. It was, after all, time that he set about the business of ordering his own house, and providing himself with an heir. He would no longer have to search about for an amiable companion, as he felt sure that the liaison with Regina would never deteriorate to something as sordid and unpleasant as his recent scene with Maria. No, he would last with her for a long time, and take his ease, at last, with a delightful companion. One he could speak with as a lady. Make love to as a courtesan. He would teach her. It was all working out so smoothly.
But still, he did not, he mused, as he walked down the street, for some reason, feel like visiting with Melissa and her delightfully anxious mama as yet. It was not yet time to send Lady Wellsley into ecstacies. He laughed to himself, wondering if all men felt that way on the eve of a serious declaration. Did they all exper
ience this…lack of enthusiasm at the prospect of holy matrimony? No matter, he reasoned, it would be easier done on a full stomach. He would take himself off to his club for luncheon first.
But luncheon did not sit well. And even the wine he sipped tasted slightly off. He was pushing the winestain from his glass into a series of little circular patterns on the snowy cloth when he became aware of someone settling down, heavily, into a chair beside him.
“Greetings, Sinjin,” James slurred as he sat down abruptly.
St. John looked at his friend with some annoyance. James was red-faced, his eyes slightly unfocused, and his neckcloth in some slight disarray, that, along with the unavoidable fact that he had seated himself without even a polite by-your-leave, all confirmed the fact that his old friend was slightly disguised.
“At this hour?” drawled St. John, lifting an eyebrow. “Really, James, does one squalling infant reduce you to this? I confess you give me second thoughts about the delights of matrimony and patrimony, my friend.”
“Never say you’ve finally been caught, old man?” James said in delight. “Who’s the lucky lady? Do I know her?”
“No such lady as yet, not quite yet,” St. John laughed. “But how do you come to such a state, James? The sun hasn’t even begun to set and you are already in no state to be seen.”
“Not so bad as that,” James said with an attempt at bluster. “Just breached an extra bottle of wine. But I’m devilish glad to see you, Sinjin. Thought you’d rusticate forever. It’s good to see you,” he said, his round face shining. “I’ve been searching for you. It’s been dull here in Town without you.”
“Now, James,” St. John said, smiling, “I’ve known you for too long to be too touched by your welcome. What is it you want of me, old friend? No, don’t bother to protest, you are at your most charming, James, and always have been, when there is something you desire of me. Whether it was a pen wiper at school, or the name of some Cyprian when you were on the town, I do know that look in your eye.”