Miss Foster’s Folly

by Alice Gaines

  Out on the street, she got one more glance of the blonde as she climbed into a carriage with a noble crest on the side. It rumbled off, the wheels raising little clouds of dust in their wake.

  Juliet stood and stared after it for a long moment. For some perverse reason, her mind made her picture the woman sitting alone in that large conveyance, like a jewel in its velvet box. Alone.

  Millie tugged at Juliet’s elbow. “Something wrong?”

  “You’ll think I’m being silly.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Juliet sighed. “I feel sorry for her.”

  “Whatever for?” Lady Mitford said. “She has wealth, beauty, and a title.”

  “She doesn’t have the man she loves.”

  “I suppose she might love him.” Lady Mitford pursed her lips in thought. “I always assumed Derrington was her way up the social ladder.”

  Millie gave Juliet a knowing look. “You’ve turned into a romantic.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Let’s discuss it over tea. I’m parched.” Lady Mitford guided her and Millie into a teashop two doors over.

  The proprietor greeted them. “Ah, my lady. So good to see you again.”

  “A table for three plus hatboxes,” Lady Mitford said.

  “Right this way.” The man showed them to their seats, and they deposited their purchases in a tower on the extra chair.

  Once they’d all sat, Lady Mitford pulled off her gloves.

  “Who was that woman?” Millie asked.

  “Madeline Stuart, the Dowager Countess of Hardaway.”

  “A widow,” Juliet said.

  “Like yourself, Mrs. Marlow. Derrington prefers them—and the occasional adventurous wife. He’s never taken a young woman’s virginity as far as anyone can tell.”

  “So he really is a rake, then,” Millie said.

  “Yes, and a rather talented one,” Lady Mitford said.

  “That requires talent?” Juliet asked.

  A waiter appeared with their tea. From a large tray, he removed the pot, cups, and other accessories. Next to that, he set a plate with cakes and tiny sandwiches. With a tiny bow, he departed again.

  “Thank heaven.” Lady Mitford reached for the pot. “Gossip always makes me thirsty.”

  After serving them all, Lady Mitford sipped her tea and smiled.

  “Lord Derrington’s talent…” Juliet prompted.

  “Ah, yes,” her host said. “He’s as discreet as he is discerning. Very little gets out about his affairs unless the lady decides to talk, as la Stuart did.”

  “Did he break her heart?” Millie asked.

  “That might be a bit strong, but he did disappoint her. It seemed she had ambitions to become a marchioness, and he squashed them.”

  “That seems calculating,” Juliet said.

  “To a romantic or, you’ll pardon my saying, to an American, it would,” Lady Mitford said. “But it’s the way things are done here. Her husband was older than her own father. It wasn’t so much a love match as a business deal. Unfortunately, she didn’t produce an heir before her husband died. The title will go to another male in the family, and she becomes a relative, no more.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, why should she keep thinking about that woman? She was an obvious social climber and more successful with men than Juliet could ever hope to become. That sort of woman always settled on her feet like a cat. Juliet wouldn’t do as well if she fell in love with a man. She couldn’t make men jump at the snap of her fingers. In fact, she hardly understood the beasts at all. No, she’d never give her heart, even to a handsome devil with wicked eyes and talented fingers.

  Millie glanced at Lady Mitford over the rim of her teacup. “And the other lovers?”

  “Derrington’s formed various attachments over the years. He’ll escort a lady to the opera or parties for a while, and then they part ways,” Lady Mitford said. “They all had one thing in common, though.”

  Juliet’s jaw clenched in the process of eating a tiny scone. She had to consciously relax it in order to finish chewing and swallow the morsel. “What was that?”

  “A sort of satisfied, well-loved look.” Lady Mitford leaned toward her. “You’ve been married. You know what I mean, I’m sure.”

  She didn’t actually, but she could pretend to. “Of course.”

  “Mitford’s perfectly wonderful in that regard, but I couldn’t help but wonder what put that expression on their faces.” Lady Mitford sighed.

  So far, Juliet had had to wonder, too, but he’d given her a few clues. Curse him. If he’d do that for those other women, why wouldn’t he do it for her?

  “Then, after a while, he’d acquire some other ‘friend,’” Lady Mitford said. “The odd thing was, not every one of them was a beauty.”

  “Really?” Millie said. “With his looks, he could probably have any woman he wanted.”

  “Certainly,” Lady Mitford said. “But he seems to favor women with a brain. More than anything, he enjoys wit and intelligence in his lovers.”

  As she didn’t love the man, Juliet could give him all the wit and intelligence he wanted. In exchange, he could give her the lessons in sexual intercourse she needed. How to get him to strike that bargain?

  “Some were good at chess and cards. Others could paint or play the piano. One was fluent in three languages,” Lady Mitford said.

  “What about the dowager countess?” Juliet asked.

  “Brilliant mind, although you wouldn’t know it by looking at her,” Lady Mitford said. “She would have gone to university if she’d been a man.”

  “I hate her,” slipped from Juliet’s mouth before she’d known it was coming. She hurriedly put her hand over her lips.

  Lady Mitford laughed. “Every woman in London does.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “I’m sure she hates you more.” Lady Mitford set her cup down and placed her hand over Juliet’s. “You have the man she wants.”

  “Why me?” Oh, dear. She probably shouldn’t have said that, either. “If he can have any woman he wants, why would he settle on me?”

  “My dear Mrs. Marlow, you’re every bit the woman Madeline Stuart is and more,” Lady Mitford said.

  “I hope you can convince her of that,” Millie said. “I’ve never been able to.”

  “You’re just as beautiful as the countess, and taller, too,” Lady Mitford said. “And as for wit…I’ve never seen anything quite like your lecture on orchids. Derrington was in fits.”

  “Not in a good way,” Juliet said.

  “The rest of us laughed until we could hardly breathe after he dragged you off,” Lady Mitford said.

  Juliet stared at Millie. “You, too?”

  “It was funny,” Millie confessed.

  Lady Mitford gestured with her teacup. “You have him off balance. Men like that, although they’ll never admit it. As long as you keep him guessing, he’ll never get you out of his mind.”

  To hell with that. She didn’t want his mind but his body. Still, if she could continue to torment him, he’d have to snap eventually and give her what she’d asked for. She’d promised him not to make a spectacle of herself in front of the others—or at least, not as big a spectacle. But he’d visit again for dinner tonight, and lots of things could be done under the table without anyone else seeing. He deserved torment after how he’d scolded her today. Take her over his knee, indeed.

  On the other hand, that had sounded interesting.

  “Oh, my dear,” Lady Mitford said. “What are you planning for him next?”

  “Nothing, really. I just had an idea for a little game.”

  The clock in the back of the tea shop chimed the hour.

  “We’d better run along. It’s time to dress,” Lady Mitford said. “For dinner and your little game.”

  ***

  The woman had behaved herself for the rest of their time at the orchid nursery. When Lady Mitford invited Derrington to dinn
er, he took the opportunity to see how long her good behavior would last.

  Juliet had modified her dress. Although the sapphire gown still showed her bosom to good effect, it didn’t plunge as her ball gowns had. It hardly showed any more flesh than Lady Mitford’s did, and he’d never considered her particularly disreputable. The way she’d enjoyed Miss Foster’s frankly sexual discussion of orchids might force him to revise that opinion.

  Lady Mitford started the conversation over the soup course. “How kind of you to round out our table, Lord Blandings.”

  “Good of you to have me,” Blandings answered. “Miss Fletcher’s a delight, and if I weren’t already married, I’d surely be a suitor.”

  “That’s very flattering, Lord Blandings,” Miss Rhodes said.

  “Not at all, dear lady,” Blandings said. “You’re quite a vision, if you’ll allow me the liberty of saying so.”

  “I tell her that all the time,” Miss Foster said. The two women exchanged a glance. Obvious affection went both ways. If only he could insert himself between the two. He might discover what went on inside the woman who drove him mad during the day and haunted his dreams at night.

  “You must tell Lady Blandings how much we appreciate her loaning you to us,” Lady Mitford said.

  “I will, but she’d thank you for taking me away from home,” Blandings said. “She hates looking at me when she’s enceinte. She says I remind her of why she’s so uncomfortable.”

  While titters went around the table in response to that pronouncement, a hand crept onto Derrington’s knee. Miss Foster’s, of course. To watch her other hand, one would have to conclude that the soup bowl before her were the most interesting thing in the world. Still, she managed to appear to follow the conversation well enough. A woman of many talents, it seemed, and able to engage more than one at a time.

  Without even moving the dangling edge of the tablecloth, he lifted her hand from his leg and placed it onto hers. She lowered her gaze, and the corner of her mouth curled up in a smile, the little minx. Once again, he found himself contemplating her lips. Lord, was this the first time he’d have to watch her eat? Sipping whiskey was one thing, but watching those lips curl around food would most likely make his blood pound in his veins. They’d have a cheese course at some point, accompanied by fruit. Ripe, sweet fruit, but no more delicious than a kiss from the woman beside him.

  “…Lord Derrington?”

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. Everyone was staring at him, and Lady Mitford wore a self-congratulatory smile.

  “I was wondering when we’ll see the appearance of little Derringtons,” she said.

  He looked very pointedly at Miss Foster. “That depends on a number of factors.”

  “If you mean a willing mate. You should be able to find plenty of them with the snap of your fingers,” she said.

  “I’d want the right sort of woman if I’m to spend the rest of my life with her, I would think,” he said. “But I’ll defer to the married gentlemen’s opinion on that subject.”

  “Oh, quite so,” Mitford said. “Lady Mitford’s enriched my life beyond measure.”

  “Also true of my Margaret…Lady Blandings…although, I’m not sure she’d say the same about me,” Blandings threw in.

  Derrington turned to Miss Foster. “I’m sure your husband treasured you, Mrs. Marlow.”

  She leaned toward him, and her hand came down on his knee again. “As I’m sure your wife will treasure you, Lord Derrington. Whoever she is.”

  He placed his hand on hers and raised it to his lips for a kiss. A declaration of his intentions. Too brazen for some company, but among more liberal-minded people like Lord and Lady Mitford, it fit perfectly. As a close friend of Miss Foster’s, Miss Rhodes must have an open mind, as well. As to Blandings’ mind, who could categorize that one way or another?

  Indeed, when he glanced around they all seemed quite approving—happy, even—at his expression of tenderness. Only Miss Foster herself frowned, as she removed her hand from his.

  Hmm, that gave him an idea. If the goose’s hand could play, so could the gander’s. The next time she touched him, she might get a surprise.

  “Surely, no woman would turn down the pleasure of serving as the lady of the house at Derrington Manor,” Lady Mitford said.

  “The Manor needs a lady in residence,” he said. “After my parents’ death, my grandmother prefers to live in her family’s villa in Italy.”

  “Italy.” Miss Foster’s eyes flew open. “Your grandmother is Italian?”

  “In part. It’s the family secret, not that anyone couldn’t discover it if they tried,” he said.

  “Why on Earth would you feel to keep that secret?”

  “The culture’s too rich for some people’s blood,” he said.

  “But, that’s ridiculous.” Her hand settled on his knee, and this time, he left it there.

  “I absolutely agree,” their hostess said. “Don’t you, Mitford?”

  “Positively,” her husband agreed.

  “I’m glad to hear you say so,” he said. “My grandmother added some Mediterranean flare to the manor. Statues, that sort of thing. Nudes. Not everyone approves.”

  The hand on his leg inched just above his knee to his thigh. He glanced at Miss Foster out of the corner of his eye and caught her glancing back.

  “The garden is particularly florid,” he said. “Just your taste in flowers, Mrs. Marlow.”

  “Oh, I’d love to see it,” Lady Mitford said.

  “And you shall. I’ll throw a house party this summer. We can explore the gardens, and Mrs. Marlow can expound on turgid blossoms to her heart’s content.” He set his hand on Miss Foster’s knee and squeezed it. She stiffened in surprise. What had she expected?

  “Lord Derrington, I didn’t mean to beg an invitation,” the hostess said.

  “Not at all. I should have extended it myself. I should have had house parties there long ago, but I’ve never had a hostess.” He gazed lovingly at Miss Foster and gave her knee a firmer squeeze for good measure. “So, you’re all invited to Derrington Manor this summer.”

  Miss Foster gaped at him. “Summer? I’m afraid we’ll be gone by then.”

  “Oh, but my dear, you could stay for a house party at Derrington Manor.” Lady Mitford clapped her hands in delight. “We’d love to attend, wouldn’t we, Mitford?”

  “Absolutely.” Mitford looked every bit as delighted as his wife.

  “I don’t think—” Miss Foster said.

  He moved his hand up her leg to mid thigh and stroked her through her clothing. Slowly, up and down. She swallowed hard and clutched her spoon in a death grip.

  “Blandings, you come too, and Lady Blandings, of course,” he said.

  “After the baby’s arrived, she should be in better spirits,” Blandings said. “She may even be able to tolerate my company.”

  “We should be able to find a single man to round out the party. The local vicar’s a handsome fellow.”

  Miss Rhodes blushed. “Not on my account, I hope.”

  “Oh, but we can’t,” Miss Foster declared. “We’ll be in Geneva by then. Miss Fletcher’s ill. She needs treatment.”

  “Nonsense,” Derrington replied. “There’s no better cure for anything than fresh air and the English countryside.”

  “Fishing and shooting,” Blandings said. “That’ll fix whatever ails you.”

  Miss Foster stiffened and removed her hand from his leg. That only gave him better access to her thigh, and he inched his fingers closer to her sex. With all the layers of fabric covering her flesh, he had no way of knowing the exact effect of his touch, but it obviously had her flustered.

  “Mil—that is, my cousin needs specialists,” she said.

  Aha, she’d almost said her friend’s real name. Obviously, his caresses were having the desired effect. She pressed her legs together. Perhaps she meant to stop the progress of his fingers, but in reality, that inched them closer to their goal. He shouldn’t toy
with her this way, but she’d begun the game. He’d only touch her once, and lightly. No more than to make the point that she shouldn’t start something she didn’t know how to finish.

  “Specialists,” he said. “Nothing more than witch doctors with their potions and so-called ‘treatments.’ You’d prefer the countryside, wouldn’t you, Miss Fletcher?”

  Miss Rhodes looked every bit as confused as her friend. She stared at Miss Foster, clearly seeing that something was going on she didn’t understand.

  “A little rustication,” he went on. “We’ll make a side trip to Bath. You’ll take the waters.”

  Lady Mitford reached over and placed her hand on Miss Rhodes’. “You’ll love Bath, Miss Fletcher. Do say you’ll try that rather than leave England.”

  She gave them all a shaky smile. “Of course. If it makes you happy, Lady Mitford.”

  “It’s all settled then,” Lady Mitford decreed.

  The footman cleared away their plates, taking Miss Foster’s nearly untouched soup. He hadn’t eaten much either, as his hand had been firmly planted between her legs during most of the conversation. In a moment, the servants would bring another course, and he’d have to give off stroking her thigh or someone would comment on his lack of appetite. The time for bold action had come.

  Using a firmer stroke, he worked his fingers closer and closer to her sex. She sat, rigid, the entire time, staring straight ahead of her as if in a trance. When he finally touched her, rubbing at his best guess of the location of her pearl, she jerked in her seat and let out a little cry. He immediately ceased his assault and raised his hand to the tabletop.

  Lady Mitford gave her a quizzical look. “Are you well, Mrs. Marlow?”

  Miss Foster stood so quickly she almost knocked over her chair. “I…I think I need some air.”

  Miss Rhodes also got to her feet, and Blandings and Mitford did the same.

  “I’ll come with you,” Miss Rhodes said.

  “No!” Miss Foster motioned at her with both hands and took a few breaths. “That is, everyone, please stay where you are. I only need to catch my breath.”

  She left the room at nearly a run.