Mistress of Scandal

by Sara Bennett

  Francesca lay in her comfortable nest of pillows and grieved for her aunt. “Poor Helen. So when we were shopping, and she was saying that she wished she had a daughter of her own…?”

  “She does have one, but one she’s never met. When it was all over, William and Toby swore her to silence, and she’s been too frightened to break her promise until now. The girl would be twenty-one, and I think Helen would love to find her, but she’s afraid to make the attempt.”

  “Afraid of William? Mama, that man has much to answer for.”

  “There is that, but I think she is more afraid that if she did find her, her daughter would hate her for abandoning her. She has seen enough of abandoned daughters to know it is not all plain sailing when they are reunited with their mother,” she said with a smile at Francesca.

  “And perhaps her daughter won’t have been as lucky in her adopted home as we were,” Francesca added, smiling back. “Yes, I see.”

  They were quiet, contemplating the mystery of Helen and her child, separated at birth, and whether they would ever find each other again. At last Francesca heaved a sigh and climbed off the bed. She found her slippers and, carrying them in her hand, made her way to the door. She paused and looked back.

  “Thank you, Mama,” she said softly.

  Amy, brushing her hair with long, slow strokes, met her eyes in the mirror. “What for, my dear?”

  “Just thank you.”

  Aphrodite lay in Jemmy’s arms, completely happy and content. He stroked her back, fingers light and pleasing, and smiled into her eyes. “Do you remember when we met after all those years apart?” he asked.

  She laughed softly. “Of course I remember. I will remember it always. You gave me myself back again.”

  “I wish sometimes I’d done something sooner. It feels as if I wasted years…”

  “No, my love, do not have regrets. They are useless. We found each other, that is all that matters. We are together now.”

  He kissed the end of her nose.

  “There’s still one person needs sending to hell.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “But I believe that now Mrs. Slater and her spies are in jail, he will think twice before he hurts anyone ever again.”

  “What if he’s driven to it?”

  “How so? I have not spoken out, and Francesca cannot. He is safe. Perhaps he will be content with that.”

  “I thought you wanted him named?” Jemmy said.

  “Maybe it is better to let sleeping monsters sleep on undisturbed.”

  “Do you really believe that?” he demanded, sitting up.

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I nearly died. It has made me cautious for what I wish for.”

  Later, when he was sleeping, Aphrodite rose, wrapped a silk robe about herself, and took her diary from a drawer. Earlier on, she had been writing in it, and now she wanted to read over her thoughts. Sitting down in a comfortable chair, her legs tucked up under her, she opened the red leather-bound book and found her place.

  I have not been to Dudley Street for many years. My father died and my mother does not want to see me, but one day I decide I will go again.

  I wear my oldest clothing and I walk the streets I used to know so well, but still I feel their stares of resentment and distrust. I do not belong here anymore, and the people know it.

  I think of Jemmy. I cannot help it. I wonder if he is happy with his wife and whether he has children. He has made the life for himself that he wanted for us, at a time when I was too foolish to realize what a treasure he was offering.

  My mother sits in her chair, her flesh loose upon her bones. She has dark hair and eyes like me, and she used to say we were of Gypsy stock. She does not say much, while I am making awkward conversation with my brother’s wife, who takes care of her now.

  It is strange. To sit in the parlor, to look upon people who were once so familiar but now are strangers. My mother is so small.

  “Do you remember Jemmy?” my brother’s wife says. “He was here asking after you not more than a month past.”

  I don’t know what to say. I cannot imagine what he wants.

  “Someone told him you were dead,” she laughs. “He only just heard you were alive.”

  I look at my mother then, and see her eyes. And I remember she and my da telling me that Jemmy was wed. Was that a lie, too?

  “Why?” I ask her, my voice breaking with the pain. “I loved him.”

  But she smiles. “You didn’t deserve him after what you did. You stepped outside the place you were born into. You turned up your nose at the life you were given.”

  Such bitterness, and for what? Because I dared to be different and follow my heart. I tell myself I would do it again no differently. But would I?

  Jemmy is looking for me!

  That gives me the sort of hope I have not felt for years and years, and as I leave my past—I swear I will never visit there again—I begin to think that perhaps I will find happiness in my future. But I do not want to get my hopes up, in case it is not so. I have had my hopes raised before, and it has ended once more in misery.

  The club is still closed, and I am thinking of the night to come and all the tasks I have before me. I do not see the man sitting on the steps beneath the front portico, waiting. I do not see him until he calls out my name.

  Not Aphrodite. My real name. My old name.

  He is standing now, watching me, his hands hanging at his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. His face is lined, and his nose has been broken, and his hair is graying. But it is Jemmy, my Jemmy.

  We look at each other for a long time, and then I say, “Will you come inside for a while?”

  “Aye, I will,” he says, “for a while.” And he follows me through the door.

  He does not go home that night, or the next. From that moment until this, we live together. And we are happy, at last.

  Aphrodite smiled, and closed the book. It was a good ending, a happy ending. There was still the other matter, of course. The other man. But despite what she had told Jemmy, she was hopeful that it too would be resolved. She had engaged Lord Worthorne, and she had great trust in him.

  It was simply a matter of waiting, and she knew she was good at that.

  Someone else was waiting. He was good at it, too, but he knew he couldn’t afford to wait much longer. Francesca Greentree would have to be gagged before the truth came out. If the letter came to light…

  Mrs. Slater and her cohorts had led him to believe that there was only one way to do that, but now they were gone, he had time to consider the matter more rationally. Murder was all very well, but there was always the fear of being caught. Look what had happened to Maeve! He knew he would have to help them all, Mrs. Slater and Maeve and Jed, bribe the authorities to soften their sentences. They would expect it. It was part of the bargain for their silence—apart from the fact that they were frightened of him.

  He could cast them off entirely, knowing that his word would always be believed over theirs, but why take the chance that some of their mud might stick? He had a reputation to maintain.

  No, he decided, there would be no more murders. He knew there was a different way, a better way. After all, Francesca was no longer a child. She was a well-brought-up and well-mannered young woman, with all the skills that would be required of a London society wife.

  She was also beautiful and desirable.

  And he was a man.

  Chapter 29

  Lil, her hand tucked around Martin’s arm, all but skipped as they made their way through Covent Garden. He had taken her to see a play about a Scottish king whose wife was mad, and there were witches and a great deal of bloodshed. She’d loved it, even if sometimes it was a little hard to follow.

  “Never mind,” he’d said, “you can choose next time.”

  So, she thought, there was to be a next time.

  Some of the tarts who were always standing about the place called out, pursing their rouged lips and wriggling their hips
. Lil stuck her nose up in the air and pretended not to notice. Martin only laughed, calling out that he was taken and to mind their manners in front of a lady.

  That had caused even more hilarity.

  Except that his words made Lil want to cry.

  They walked a bit farther, but the joy had gone out of the evening for her and she wanted nothing more than to go home and lock herself in her room and hide. She couldn’t bear for him to hate her, and yet Lil knew she had been in this exact same place once before, when she’d been too scared to tell Mr. Keith the truth. She’d run away and married Jacob, and, yes, she’d regretted it bitterly.

  I don’t want to run away this time.

  But what if she told him and he looked at her in disgust? Or simply walked away from her? She’d curl up and die, she would!

  “Lil, what is it?” He was watching her with his eyes sparkling and a hint of a smile on his mouth. “You look like you’ve lost a sovereign and found a shilling.”

  “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Was it those silly girls back there? You shouldn’t take any notice of them. They’re only doing what they can to make a livin’. We mustn’t think any worse of them for it.”

  He sounded sincere. She almost trusted him. Perhaps tomorrow she’d tell him, or the day after…

  And then she heard it, her own voice saying, “I used to be one of those silly girls. What do you think of that, Mr. Martin O’Donnelly?”

  He looked shocked, and the sight of his face was too much for her.

  Lil took to her heels and ran.

  She could hear him calling her, but she didn’t stop, she was too frightened. Now he’d be sorry for her! Oh why, why had she opened her big mouth? It would have been better to pretend she wasn’t interested in him than to be pitied, or worse, despised.

  “I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it,” she whispered frantically.

  “Lil, what are you trying to do to me, kill me?” It was Martin, gasping for air, doubling over and coughing. His eyes were streaming. “God, I hate the London air! No wonder you moved up north.” He gulped, recovering himself somewhat. “Why did you run away from me?”

  “I…thought you might rather I ran away.”

  He looked puzzled. “Why would I want that? You were telling me something interesting about you being one of those girls. I have a ton of questions to ask you, Lil.” He smiled. “You’re an amazing person, do you know that? I can’t tell you how much I love you.”

  Lil blinked. His face seemed to go muzzy, and then popped back into clear, sharp lines again. It was still the same. Warm, smiling mouth, with love in his eyes. He meant it! Of course he did. This was Martin.

  Lil laughed.

  “I love you, too, Martin,” she said, shyly.

  He tilted his head. “What was that you said, Lil? I can hardly hear you. Can you say it again?”

  He was watching her with that smile, waiting to see what she’d do.

  Lil threw her head back and yelled it out as loud as she possibly could. “I love you, Martin!”

  “That’s better,” he said, reaching for her, folding her in his arms. “Lil, my love, that’s much better.”

  “I can’t expect her to upset her family over me,” Sebastian was saying. “He was furious, and she was frightened. I wanted to kill him…” He shook his head, qualified his words. “I wanted to bloody his nose.”

  “Many of us feel like that about William Tremaine,” Aphrodite assured him.

  “If I call on her, I know I will only make things worse for her.”

  “Francesca knows this. She may call on you.”

  “Unless he’s watching her. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “Love will discover a way through the obstacles,” Aphrodite said blithely. “With a little help.”

  “Speaking of help, I did as you said.” He gave her a glance that was almost shy. “I dared her. And you were right. She reacted just as you said she would.”

  “Francesca is not a female who likes her men to be tame. She seeks out the dark and the dangerous—in her imagination, anyway. That is why she likes you, Sebastian. You can be the dangerous man of her dreams, and yet she knows she is always safe with you. A woman needs to be safe while she is naked in her man’s arms.”

  He smiled, thinking that he very much enjoyed Francesca’s imagination, but in another moment he was serious again. “I worry about her, Madame. She’s in a precarious position.”

  “Ignorance keeps her safe, and as yet she is ignorant as to the truth.”

  “All the same…”

  Aphrodite reached out and touched his hand. “Enough. You cannot always be serious. Francesca will be here in a moment, and I wanted to ask you whether you wished to accompany my daughter on another adventure, my lord? You should take every opportunity to bind her to you with addictions of the flesh. She will be returning to her dreary moors soon, and then you will need to prise her away from them. If she is in love with you, or at least in lust with you, the battle is already half won.”

  “Madame…”

  “I have been giving it some thought, and I believe the Bacchus Room will do the trick.”

  “The Bacchus Room?” Sebastian wondered whether he’d ever get used to Francesca’s mother instructing him on what was most pleasing to her daughter when it came to the art of love. Probably not.

  “One can let one’s imagination go wild,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. “And my daughter has a very vivid imagination, my lord.”

  “Yes, she has.”

  “I will send her to you, oui?”

  “Please do.”

  “Good! Now, let us set the scene. A forest glade. A maiden all unaware, and hiding in the bushes, watching her, lusting after her…the satyr.” She tapped her finger on her cheek, deep in thought. “I believe you would make a very good satyr, Sebastian.”

  He tried not to choke. “A satyr it is then.”

  “And remember, you must bind her to you. I do not want Francesca to return to those dreadful moors. She belongs here in London, where she can shine like the diamond she is.”

  “She belongs in Worthorne Manor.”

  Aphrodite smiled broadly. “I see we are thinking along the same lines, Sebastian. That is good, that is very good…”

  Francesca was glad to see Aphrodite looking more like her old self again. She even had ink stains on her fingers. Her mother was “resting” in her boudoir, but had smuggled some of her ledgers up and was now busy tallying figures. Or at least she had been until Francesca arrived.

  “I’m surprised you were allowed out to visit me,” Aphrodite said with a watchful glance.

  “You mean ‘allowed’ by Uncle William?” Her voice was dry.

  “Lord Worthorne tells me your uncle was not very happy with you at Lady Annear’s ball, petit chaton.”

  “No, he wasn’t. But he seems to be trying to mend bridges. I’m surprised, I admit, by the change in him, but it’s very welcome.”

  “Perhaps he wishes for a reconciliation with Amy, after all.”

  “Yes, perhaps.”

  But Francesca didn’t want to talk about Uncle William. Strangely, she felt almost disloyal remembering the night of the ball. He’d been so different ever since, so affable and friendly. If he was really trying so hard to make amends, then she owed him some loyalty. But the question remained, why the sudden change?

  “Perhaps it was the letter,” she said, speaking to herself as well as her mother.

  “The letter?” Aphrodite went still. “What letter is this, Francesca?”

  “The letter from my father. Tommy. You told me about it when you were unwell, Mother. When we returned from Lady Annear’s ball, Uncle William was very angry. He said my—my father didn’t want me, that I was searching for love because I was an unwanted child. I had to show him that wasn’t true, and so I told him about the letter.”

  Aphrodite sighed. “My poor darling. I see it all now. What did he say, when you told him about Tommy’s letter?�
��

  “He changed. Perhaps he realized then that he was wrong. He’s been making a real effort ever since. For example, when I came down to breakfast this morning, he held out my chair for me to sit down, and complimented me on my complexion. Even Mama remarked upon how much things have improved. I think she is hoping she will be able to write to Mr. Jardine very soon and ask him to travel to London to be with us.”

  “Yes, I can see she would be relieved at the change in her brother.” But Aphrodite didn’t sound impressed. Perhaps, Francesca thought, she was tired. It wasn’t long since she had been in bed, close to death. She still had nightmares about Maeve’s confession and the journey she had made with Sebastian to see…But suddenly Francesca registered what Aphrodite had said earlier, and she forgot all about Uncle William.

  “You mentioned Lord Worthorne, Mother. Has he been here?”

  “He’s here now, petit chaton.”

  “Oh.” She felt herself light up with all the brilliance of a gas lamp. She couldn’t help it.

  Seeing her reaction, Aphrodite smiled. “He’s waiting for you in the Bacchus Room.”

  “The Bacchus Room?” Francesca repeated curiously.

  The courtesan pushed her ledgers to one side and swung her legs down from the sofa. “The Bacchus Room can be shocking for some people. Take care.”

  Now her curiosity really was piqued. “What should I take care of?”

  Aphrodite leaned closer and looked deep into her eyes. “Satyrs,” she murmured.