Lady Lovett's Little Dilemma

by Beverley Oakley

  “Yes,” he said, carefully, “before I married you, she was my mistress.”

  “Then you admit you lied to me just now!” Cressida clapped her hand to her mouth. “Why not just tell me I forced you away? That I pushed you into the arms of this woman who could be relied upon to…give you the comfort I couldn’t—”

  “Good Lord, Cressy, you are overwrought!” Seizing her shoulders, he drew her up, tilting her chin with his forefinger as he forced her to meet his eyes. “That is not what happened at all. I have not been unfaithful in mind or body for the entire eight years we’ve been married.”

  “Then tell me what were you were doing at Mrs Plumb’s?” begged Cressida. “Last week, when I saw you there for the first time, you were in her sitting room, clearly not expecting me. Yet when a…widow in need of manly attention came knocking you—”

  “Do you think I don’t know my own wife?”

  Cressida shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.” Miserably she sank down into the cushions beside Catherine. “I didn’t know what to think but I wanted you back, Justin.” She stared at her feet. “And then when I saw you with…that other woman…I realised I knew nothing.”

  “Cressy, I want to explain everything to you. Like who she is and what she is to me. But—” he glanced at Catherine, “I want to explain when we are alone.”

  Catherine patted Cressida’s shoulder. “All fixed,” she said brightly. “You were entirely mistaken, my dear, and I’m so pleased this drama is on such shaky foundations. However, if it really is nothing more than a snowflake in a snowstorm, surely I can be privy to Justin’s simple explanation as to what he was doing at Mrs Plumb’s with his apparently former mistress?”

  “I’m sorry, Catherine, but I’m taking Cressida home to continue this conversation…in private.”

  His hand on Cressida’s wrist was enough to send the blood rushing to her head, demonstrating yet again that she had no resistance against him.

  “If you have no secrets, I wonder why you won’t reveal why you were at Mrs Plumb’s at all?” Catherine asked sweetly.

  Justin stared down at them, his face an inscrutable mask. No hesitation as to what he was about to do, or regret as to what he had done, crossed his handsome, normally mobile features.

  With a curt nod at Catherine, he muttered, “You are a dangerous woman, Catherine, but sadly you have not a care for the hurt you cause your cousin.”

  Cressida was half on her feet but her obvious wavering was too much for him. Before she had a chance to make her decision Justin bowed, then turned on his heel and left.

  Chapter Nine

  For two hours, Catherine had ranted on about a husband’s inability to remain faithful to his wife and about a wife’s duty for the sake of womanhood to punish him for his failings.

  For more than twenty years she’d bullied Cressida, making her cousin feel small and insignificant. Cressida was too small of stature to command the respect the tall—now gaunt-looking—Catherine received as her due. Cressida’s nose was too small for her little face, though the long shadows cast by the dim firelight tonight turned Catherine’s into a hawk-like proboscis wedged between the hard angles of her cheeks.

  Catherine had implied that by extraordinary good fortune Cressida had snared a jaded noble on the rebound, although in the happy years that had followed their marriage Cressida had been able to dismiss Catherine’s jibes.

  Yet here Cressida now was, cowering on the Egyptian sofa beside her bullying cousin having just dismissed her ever-patient, ever-loving husband when any decent wife would have heard him out and any loving wife would have perhaps gone further than that. Instead, Cressida had allowed Catherine to hold her hostage in her drawing room in an attempt to poison her mind against Justin.

  How had she allowed Catherine to assume her former pre-marriage position of such power over her? Cressida wondered as the clock in the passage struck three. What kind of wife did it make her if she couldn’t even give her husband an honest hearing?

  As the final chime faded into silence Catherine exhaled on a gusty sigh and turned back from the fire. The lines of her face were pulled taut with the disdain now ingrained in her character. Why had Cressida not noticed it before? Catherine’s dissatisfaction with life was poisoning her from within and her remedy was to make everyone else as miserable as she was. She looked twenty years older than she had last week, twenty years older than Cressida, who had been born in the same year. Bitterness had sucked her dry and Cressida realised in that moment what happened to women who could not, or would not, forgive. Women who wouldn’t even give their husbands a hearing, much less a little of the kindness they were forced to seek elsewhere. Like a dog with a bone, she kept chewing. “Really, Cressida, I don’t know how you can even contemplate forgiving your husband’s disgraceful behaviour. He was at Madame Plumb’s for goodness’ sake. His conduct is deplorable. When will you learn to trust your instincts?”

  When will you learn to trust your instincts? Had Catherine really asked her that? Like a virtuous virago desperate to sink her teeth into another juicy victim, mauling Cressida and Justin at each other’s expense? Rage burned slowly through her veins, filling her with the fire and fortitude she needed to make her own decisions against a formidable opponent.

  Before Catherine could take a breath to launch further into her theme Cressida decided she’d heard enough. With quiet majesty, she smoothed her skirts and rose. “Actually, Catherine, I am going to finally trust my instincts,” she said in clipped tones, enough at odds with her character to make Catherine raise her eyebrows. “I’ve had enough of your hectoring for one night. Actually, for a lifetime.” She straightened her décolletage in the looking glass above the mantelpiece, pinching her cheeks to heighten the colour. Businesslike, she said, “My poor coachman will have to be roused so I can return to find Justin and let him tell me what he was doing at Mrs Plumb’s, before I tell him my side of our little domestic drama of the past ten months.”

  “Justin? How can you believe a word of what he says?” Catherine looked mightily put out at her uncharacteristic determination, Cressida noted, as she glanced at her cousin’s reflection in the mirror. Catherine gripped the fire screen behind her. “You heard the way he lied to you, telling you your eyes deceived you when you know very well what you saw.”

  “What I saw does not confirm Justin was unfaithful.” Cressida continued to make those subtle but important improvements to her appearance in front of the looking glass, enjoying the novelty of Catherine’s helplessness to stop her. “What’s more,” she added crisply as she tucked a curl behind one ear, “if he was unfaithful, I now know what I intend to do about it.”

  “That’s the spirit.” But Catherine sounded uncertain as she watched Cressida continue to preen. And when Cressida turned back to her after plumping up her breasts and tugging at her black lace-edged décolletage, Catherine was frowning.

  Cressida smiled. “First I intend telling him how sorry I am not to have known how to tell him of my fears of conceiving another child.”

  “Cressida—!”

  “Then I intend informing him that I’ve now resolved those fears and am ready to be the good wife he once loved—no, enjoyed—so much.” Cressida slanted a wickedly suggestive glance at her cousin. “He will soon be in no doubt as to where my affection and loyalty lie.”

  She stroked her hands over her belly and contoured her breasts with her hands in a gesture Catherine had probably not seen before and the shock of her cousin’s face made Cressida laugh.

  “When did you last please your husband, Catherine?” she asked. She began to count on her fingers. “Let me think, your first child was a daughter followed by two sons, born less than a year apart. Baby William, your second son and final child, was born four years ago. Once you’d provided James with two sons you felt you’d done your duty, didn’t you? You’ve denied James access to your bed ever since, yet you blame him for seeking his pleasures elsewhere?”

  “How…dare…you.�
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  For once, Cressida felt no fear in the face of Catherine’s anger. She shrugged. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s speculated that. Of course, it is only speculation but I’m not the innocent I was, Catherine.” She felt the excitement bubbling inside her at the thought of what lay ahead. Taking another quick look at herself in the looking glass she dragged down the lace-edged black silk at her décolletage, enjoying the fact that her behaviour was, for once, scandalising her cousin. She swung back to face her, not hiding her pleasure at the prospect of seeing Justin again. “You see, Catherine, I realise how lucky I am. I’ve enjoyed a love most women never experience and I’m not about to squander the opportunity to take it in a new and exciting direction.” She raised her eyes heavenward and said in an adrenaline-fuelled rush, “I went to Mrs Plumb’s last week and again this week, Catherine, and I’ve seen things you’d not believe.” She realised she sounded like a schoolroom miss and didn’t care, especially as she saw the effect her admission had on Catherine.

  Yet all her cousin could manage was, “Oh, Cressida!” as she took a step forward, no doubt prepared to physically stop Cressida from leaving.

  “So now that I am weary to the bone of listening to you tell me how to make my marriage as miserable as yours,” Cressida said brightly, “I am leaving this very minute to go back to Justin.” She gave Catherine a challenging look. “And to show him what a loving wife he has, now that I have power like no mother, aunt, sister or cousin ever told me was possible.”

  Catherine took a very slow, deep breath and a measured step towards Cressida who was now halfway to the door. Her lips were a thin line in her gaunt, bitter face, like a smear of plum juice over a piece of grey leather.

  “You’d do better collaring Madame Zirelli and forcing her to admit everything,” she hissed.

  Cressida cocked her head as she contemplated the idea, one hand on the bell rope. “The trouble with you, Catherine, is that you always believe the worst. Someone is always to blame. Except you, of course. I used to pity you, married to philandering James.” She sighed. “Now I pity James. But, yes, I will take your advice and pay a call on Madame Zirelli, despite the late hour. I’m dressed for the occasion, after all, and Wednesday nights at Mrs Plumb’s are always most intriguing.”

  * * * *

  Madame Zirelli had long since retired to her bed but in her dimly lit little sitting room she graciously—and with little surprise—received her visitor. She’d thrown a thick paisley shawl over her nightgown, and now in her muslin nightcap with her dark hair braided over one shoulder she looked very kind and motherly and very different from Catherine.

  “I thought—no, hoped—I’d see you before the night was through,” she said as she knelt by the grate to build up the fire. “I gather you’ve been held hostage by your ghastly cousin. At least, that’s how Justin described her.”

  Cressida took the seat Madame Zirelli waved her into, and considered the woman whom Catherine would have her believe was the great threat that stood between her and her husband. Madame Zirelli might once have been Justin’s mistress but regardless of whether she now was or not, the real barrier in Cressida’s marriage, Cressida realised, was her own ignorance and lack of courage.

  With a modest fire sending out a weak heat, her hostess eased herself into a chair opposite Cressida, clasped her hands in her lap and said, “I gather you’ve come to me for help and information, just as three weeks ago I sought help and information from Justin. Information which he supplied and which tonight has brought me both joy and sorrow.” Her enigmatic smile brought mystery and youthful beauty to her face. She sighed and leant back in her chair, regarding Cressida with interest. “So, you see, it has been a momentous night for both of us. Do not apologise for disturbing my slumber, for I’ve been unable to sleep, on both your account and mine. I did so hope you’d come—” she repeated, leaning forward and adding with renewed energy, “for Justin’s sake.”

  “Justin’s sake?” Cressida dropped her eyes, accepting now that she was about to be severely shamed. “Please tell me,” she said softly, “why Justin was here?”

  When she found the courage to meet the woman’s eye she saw only concern.

  “You do know I was his mistress before he met you?”

  Cressida nodded and said in a whisper, “I thought he’d returned to you when he found so little love from his wife at home.” She felt the colour tickle her cheeks as she amended, “I mean, of the married variety.”

  “Of course you’d have assumed the worst. I should have told Justin to acquaint you with the nature of the business with which I charged him,” she raised her hands, palms outwards, in that peculiarly expressive Gallic gesture, adding, “but I was afraid you’d inadvertently reveal it to your cousin Catherine, or to Mrs Luscombe, who are both on the board of the Sedleywich Home for Orphans. You see, until three weeks ago,” Madame Zirelli clarified, in response to Cressida’s frown, “I’d not seen Justin for eight years. Nor did I intend to rekindle our friendship, until a shock sighting of a young woman I believed to be my lost daughter gave me no choice but to approach him. I knew Justin was patron of the Sedleywich Home for Orphans, to which my baby had been sent a few days after her birth. I wanted him to look at the records and discover for me what had indeed happened to my baby. To that end, Justin has been assiduous in his task and a kind and understanding friend when I could reveal my secret and suspicions to no one else.” She closed her eyes briefly. “What you saw, Lady Lovett, was my gesture of gratitude towards your husband who had just confirmed that my daughter still lives—” there was a catch in her voice as she continued, “but that, as a loving mother with her best interests at heart, I was barred from making contact with her.”

  Cressida’s own breath hitched in her throat, her fears escalating rather than dissipating at the story so far. Madame Zirelli had had a child years ago? Madame Zirelli had been Justin’s mistress years ago.

  “You told me you didn’t have any children.” Cressida studied her trembling hands. What had started as vague uneasiness had taken root and was fast growing until Madame Zirelli’s next words banished that fear. “My daughter is eighteen years old now and her father, Robert, was the love of my life.”

  With a sigh of relief, Cressida understood that this must be just the start of a painful tale. Justin had been helping Madame Zirelli as an old friend, not with a vested interest. This business of discovering the identity of Madame Zirelli’s daughter was what had preoccupied Justin the past three weeks—coupled, of course, with Cressida’s erratic behaviour.

  “I’m listening,” Cressida prompted in a murmur, feeling the first surge of pity for the woman as Madame Zirelli closed her eyes and smiled, as if remembering happier times.

  Cressida’s fears had been laid to rest but Madame Zirelli needed to tell her story now and the least Cressida could do was listen.

  “Robert was the youngest son of a well-connected family in the local village, where my father had brought us to live from Spain when I was ten, after Robert’s father had employed him as singing master to Robert’s sisters. Though I knew Robert by sight, it wasn’t until I was sixteen that we spoke for the first time, after he offered me a lift in his carriage in the midst of a snowstorm.” The older woman opened her eyes, the joy of that memory transforming her face. “After that, we found many opportunities to meet. We were in love, but Robert was only nineteen and we were both too young and powerless to direct our own lives. Robert wanted to marry me but of course his father refused, while mine was furious at what he considered my trying to rise above my station.” As Madame Zirelli glanced at Cressida, her gaze falling to the smooth silk of Cressida’s gown where it contoured her belly, her expression became bleak. “I tell you this to bolster the case that I was more than qualified to speak to you of the miseries we women face when we cannot control our ability to have children.” Her voice wavered. “For the sake of my father and, I believed at the time, Robert, I was coerced into not revealing to Robert that I
was carrying his child, and I was sent away. Under directions from his mother, I told Robert I was taking up a position as a governess.” She clenched her fists and her voice thickened with emotion. “Robert swore that in two years’ time, when he was twenty-one and of age, he would gallop into the grounds of my employer on a great white charger and whisk me off to the nearest church to get married. He said, if I loved him enough to be patient for just two years, all would be well.”

  Cressida bit her lip. “But all was not well. You were carrying his child.”

  Madame Zirelli’s voice became bitter. “Robert’s mother arranged everything. I had no mother who could even tell me what to expect, much less to forewarn me of the consequences of intimacy with Robert, and my father was the great family’s minion.” She took a painful breath. “For five months I was all but imprisoned with a cottager and his wife, who gave me food and who had clearly been directed to monitor all correspondence. I wrote to Robert, begging him to help me, but I knew my letters never reached him and that his would never reach me. We were both minors and powerless against the will of his parents.”

  Weary resignation replaced the bitterness as she went on, “My daughter was removed from me when she was a few days old. Once again, Robert’s mother arranged everything. When I returned home to nurse my father, who was now very ill, from the trauma of my disgrace, no doubt, Robert had joined his regiment on the peninsula. I never saw him again.”

  Cressida shook her head. She’d heard tales of heartbreak like this before and she knew the impossibility of a single woman keeping her infant under such circumstances, yet she had to ask the question. “You did not seek your child’s return before this?”

  “Why torment myself when I had no means to support myself, much less an illegitimate child?” She threw up her hands. “My father was very ill but his employer graciously agreed to let him remain in the cottage they’d rented for him, on condition I found my own way in the world on account of my fall from grace. Father died three months later.”