by Jude Knight
He would enjoy matching wits with her. But he would need to be gentle. He had not missed Mrs Darling’s flinch. He hoped her previous protectors, starting with the probably-late, unlamented Perringworth, roasted in hell for hurting a defenceless woman.
Mrs Darling, too, remained quiet until near the end of the dinner.
Aldridge was describing a request, received in the mail that morning. One of the ducal estates in Sussex, short of firewood for the new brick kilns they were building, was negotiating to cut a neighbour’s woods, but the neighbour wanted a written contract.
“I’ve never heard the like,” Aldridge said. “We’re both gentlemen. Is our word not good enough?”
His cousin shrugged. “This is your reward for taking the duchy into trade, Aldridge. We merchants know the value of putting things in writing. With the best will in the world, people can remember different things from the same conversation, and not all gentlemen are as honourable as you and I.”
Mrs Darling’s murmured comment was clearly not intended for the table at large: “A written contract would be a very good idea,” she said to herself.
Mrs Darling and Anne had disappeared up to the nursery immediately after dinner last night, and all day today Aldridge had been unable to snatch more than brief moments with her, though he made full use of every encounter to try to regain the ground he lost the previous evening.
He’d complimented her gown, carried the basket for the flowers she was cutting, suggested several scandalous ways to further enjoy the garden, squeezed her hand, and even managed to divert her into a curtained alcove for another searing kiss that melted her, and had precisely the opposite effect on him. From the sparkle in her eyes and the sway of her hips as she walked off, she appreciated his efforts. But walk off she did.
At first, he had been confident he would win this battle of wills with Mrs Darling. Then his cousin’s wife had called him aside and told him she intended to offer Mrs Darling a job in the village. What a waste! Surely, Mrs Darling would prefer to be his mistress rather than a serving woman?
He hoped so. He was so hard he could hammer nails, and his bollocks ached.
By dinner time, he had made progress, if not as much as he’d hoped.
He’d seduced virtuous wives more quickly than this courtesan. He briefly considered accepting the clear invitation one of the maids had been transmitting, but Rede would frown on it, especially since—from the look of her—she was some sort of relative from the wrong side of the blanket. One could never tell when in the stomping ground of the three previous Earls of Chirbury.
In any case, he didn’t want another woman. He wanted The Rose of Frampton. He sighed. It had been a long time since he’d required an intimate acquaintance with Mrs Palmer and her five agile daughters.
She was worth waiting for. She was clever; the conversation last night showed that. And there was the music. Clearly, she was both educated and cultured. A fallen daughter of the gentry, undoubtedly. He could certainly do better for her, be better for her, than the provincials who had kept her until now.
So, she wanted a contract, did she? Wise woman. He doubted if the local solicitors had much experience in drafting such things. The current earl was boringly uxorious, and previous earls had been more in favour of droit de seigneur than contracts with the demi-monde. Still, he’d signed several in the past few years and could, no doubt, draft something that would stand up in court.
Yes. A contract. He’d never offered more than a six-month contract, with mutual right to renew. In bed, he found women largely interchangeable, and outside of bed, he was quickly bored. But Rose, he thought, might amuse him for longer than six months. Perhaps even a year.
That evening, after dinner, Mrs Darling partnered Anne against Aldridge and Rede for cards, and the ladies won. Then Rede and Anne faced him and Mrs Darling, and Mrs Darling led her team to victory again. “What other talents have you, I wonder?” he murmured in her ear in a private moment, while Anne was supervising the tea trolley, and Rede had been called out of the room. She smiled at him, her eyes still full of the triumph of the game, but her gaze faltered when he added, “I look forward to demonstrating my own talents, which are not—I fancy—entirely unheralded.”
And he skated one finger in a feather-light touch across her bare arm, from elbow to shoulder.
She had her revenge a few moments later, leaning her breast on his shoulder as she passed him a cup of tea. A small incline of the head, and he would be resting his cheek on that smooth flesh. Rede was watching them, though, so he contented himself with saying, quietly, “A dish very much to my taste, Mrs Darling.”
He had to shift though, to ease the strain in his breeches. She cheekily dropped a judicious napkin over his tented fall, and said, her eyes laughing, “In case of spills, my lord.”
Witch. She let her thigh brush his as she walked away. He hadn’t spilled without intention since he was a boy, and he wasn’t about to start now. Mind you, he hadn’t been without a woman for more than a week, either, apart from his eighteen-month exile some years back at one of his father’s remote properties.
All these fleeting touches, suggestive comments, stolen kisses—he could only hope this seduction was working on her as well as it was working on him.
Mrs Darling and Anne began discussing books. The object of his interest was, it seemed, a member of a circulating library in Bristol, and disliked The Family Shakespeare, which Anne had just purchased for the nursery library.
“But surely, Mrs Darling, you cannot object to removing words and expressions that should not be read aloud to gentle ears?” Anne argued.
“I make no complaint about the reader using some discretion, my lady.” Mrs Darling said. “But if we can allow such vandalism of our literary treasures, what is next? Shall we let him loose on the Bible? You cannot deny there is much within that is indecorous.”
Anne laughed in agreement. “But still, a noble intent, do you not think?”
“I prefer the retellings in Tales from Shakespeare, my lady. Mr and Miss Lamb make no attempt to keep to the original words, but just retell the stories. It is very good fare for the schoolroom, I think. Then, when our girls are old enough, let them hear the true poetry in Shakespeare’s own words. And all of his own words, for the Bowdler volumes not only cut passages, but whole plays!”
Perhaps a two-year contract? He couldn’t imagine being bored with her in less than two years.
Chapter Four
The entire next day, Rede and Anne must have been conspiring to keep them apart. Anne took Mrs Darling to the village in the morning. Since she wasn’t about, Aldridge accepted Rede’s invitation to go riding after he’d dealt with the day’s mail, and regretted it when the two men on horseback passed the carriage returning through the gate.
He and Mrs Darling met over lunch in the company of the Chirburys, and he found her alone four times during the afternoon, only to have Rede, Anne, or both enter before they could exchange more than one or two moves in their game.
Had he ever desired a woman this much? Perhaps it was the chase; mostly, they fell into his bed with little effort. Or they didn’t, and he looked elsewhere. And she wanted him, too. She might manufacture the shiver of desire when he breathed on her ear, the way she moulded herself to him when they managed a stolen kiss. But the flush of colour on that perfect skin? That was genuine. And he saw no artifice, no calculation, in the lovely eyes.
When Aldridge joined Rede for a drink after dinner, he asked, “Rede, are you and Anne deliberately trying to stop me from talking to Mrs Darling?”
Rede laughed. “Whatever makes you think that, cousin?”
“Please desist? I promised I wouldn’t bed her under your roof, but I am trying to negotiate a contract. And it is damned difficult when I can’t even talk to the lady.”
“Why not leave it till you get to London?”
“First,” Aldridge explained, “Mrs Darling has no place to live in London, nor the money to rent anything, until I have the rig
ht to provide for her. Second, I am not letting those wolves in London get a glimpse of her until she is under my protection.”
“Anne thinks I should protect her from you. She wants to find her a job here in Longford. Or, at the very least, she wants me to ensure you give the woman a fair contract.”
“I don’t mind a contract. A contract is a good idea. But a job? A jewel like that? She’s a courtesan, Rede. It’s not as if I’m seducing a virgin.”
Rede grinned and slid the port along the table. “Pour yourself another, Aldridge. Mrs Darling has the right to make her own choices. I’ve told Anne that Mrs Darling can stay in Longford if that is what the lady wants, but I won’t stand in your way, either.”
“Then please stop trying to keep us apart.”
“Very well, cousin,” Rede agreed, and conceded, “I’ll take Anne out visiting tomorrow with the girls and leave you with Mrs Darling. Good enough? But I will tell her if she wants advice on the contract, I am happy to be at her service.”
Aldridge went to find Mrs Darling, but she had already retired for the night.
Rose bundled Sarah well against the cold, blustery day before sending the girl off to the market in Chipping Niddwick with the earl and his family, hopping up and down and chattering like a starling. When Rose turned back to the house, after waving farewell, Aldridge was waiting.
“Mrs Darling, I’ve asked the housekeeper to set out tea in the library. Will you join me?”
She brushed against him as she moved through the doorway, which clearly set him off-balance, but she gained no advantage because it affected her as much. They had to end this negotiation soon. It was killing her.
Last night, Lady Chirbury had followed her to her room and offered to help her find ‘honest work.’ She could be a seamstress or serve in a shop, and Lord Chirbury would lease her and Sarah a cottage at favourable terms. “I would suggest teaching, Mrs Darling, since you are obviously well educated, but if your past were to come out... The Longford villagers are good people, but they can be very hard on those they don’t understand.”
Rose’s sewing was mediocre, and neither occupation would earn her more than a pittance. “Forgive me,” she told Anne. “I need to make more than that, if I am to give Sarah a chance at a better life than mine...” She could not meet Lady Chirbury’s eyes, fearing the scorn and rejection. But the countess surprised her. “I understand better than you might think, Mrs Darling. Make sure he gives you a favourable contract, then. My husband will read it for you, if you wish.”
In the library, several closely-written pages were lying on a table under the window. “You suggested a contract, Mrs Darling,” he said. “Here is a start. Everything is negotiable. I want you to be happy.” He looked nervous. Did he really think she had a choice?
She took the chair in front of the table and began reading.
Two years? He wanted two years? An upfront payment, hers to keep plus an allowance. Was two hundred and fifty guineas a quarter low? But wait; he would pay all her costs: the wages for servants, unlimited accounts at the grocer, the butcher, and the candlemaker, as well as her choice of milliner, modiste, bootmaker, and any other makers of clothing and adornments.
Dear Heavens. Her eyes must be out on stalks!
He would pay for, and keep, a carriage and horses for her use, including grooms and stabling. He would pay for a nurse for Sarah, and teachers for Rose in dance and pianoforte.
She read on. She couldn’t help the grin, though she managed not to dance in her seat.
Aldridge would purchase and staff a town-house within easy distance of Haverford House. At the end of two years, the house would be hers, free and clear.
Two years. She could do anything for two years.
Surely between the value of the town-house and what she could save, she would be able to start again in the country? Be free? Give Sarah a decent life?
He wanted a key to the house. He wanted her to be available whenever he wished, and travel if he wanted her company. He wanted the right of renewal after two years, should he wish to continue to keep her.
He would expect her to host and accompany him to entertainments and activities. She frowned a little.
He was watching closely. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“Would you... would you expect me to ‘entertain’ other men?” She hated that. Her third protector had used a night with her to reward his friends or bribe his allies.
“I’m not good at sharing what is mine,” Aldridge said. “Mrs Darling, I won’t insist on you doing anything that makes you feel diminished. Though I hope you’ll try new things, even if they seem a bit odd or uncomfortable at first.”
She considered him carefully. Even in Bristol, even in her circles, Aldridge’s parties were discussed in scandalised whispers. But rumours were seldom accurate.
His usual twinkle deserted him, and his eyes were level and serious as he said, “Mrs Darling, I ask one thing of my lovers, and I ask it of you. Tell me what pleases you. Tell what does not please you. Never pretend pleasure you do not feel.”
“My lord,” she protested, “this arrangement is about your pleasure, not mine.”
He rejected that with a swift shake of the head. “My pleasure is enhanced by your pleasure. Women know this; that is why they pretend. But I will know if you pretend, Mrs Darling, and that will destroy my pleasure. If you wish to please me in intimate matters, then you must first allow me to please you.”
Rose’s mouth was hanging open. She closed it, gathering her scattered thoughts.
“I want Sarah to have her own apartments, and not to...” she blushed again, not sure quite how to say she was ashamed to let her daughter to see her being the harlot she was. And afraid those attending Aldridge’s entertainments might be a danger to Sarah.
Aldridge nodded. “A town-house with a top floor that has its own entrance.”
She studied the papers some more. She was sure she must be missing something. At her age, this might be her last chance. And Sarah was growing older, too, and better able to understand what she observed. Rose had to be careful. “My lord, Lady Chirbury said... I wish to discuss the contract with the earl.”
Aldridge nodded again, smiling. “Good idea. He’s not a solicitor, but he is a good businessman and has read many hundreds of contracts. Not this sort, precisely, or not that I’ve heard. But he will give you good advice.”
“You have no objection?” The man was a miracle.
No. A miracle would save her without expecting the use of her body as a reward. But he was kind and generous, and that was miracle enough.
“I want you to be happy,” Aldridge said again.
To give her hands something to do, besides trembling and shaking pages of parchment, Rose prepared a cup of tea for Aldridge the way he liked it—black and strong with lemon. Then she sliced into the cake.
Aldridge put out a hand to stop her. “That’s not what I’m hungry for, Rose.” She glanced at his fall. The fashion for tight knit pantaloons left a man with nowhere to hide his lust. Her mouth suddenly dry at the size of what she saw, she met his eyes. For once, he was not smiling.
“I promised Rede I’d not bed you under his roof,” he told her. “So perhaps we could think of something quenching to discuss?”
Rose reached out and ran a fingernail along the object of her fascination. “Did he specify bed?” she asked.
Aldridge had to make two attempts to speak, which she counted a success. “Bed or otherwise tup,” he told her. “Have you another suggestion?”
Her voice dropped into another register. “I wouldn’t encourage you to break your word to your cousin. Nor will I—complete the act with you until I decide whether or not to accept your contract. But can we not find a way to enjoy one another short of...?” She slipped her sleeve down her arm as she spoke, revealing more and more of her breast.
He swallowed again, and croaked, “Several ways. Give me one moment to lock the door.”
But before he could, i
t opened. Rose just had time to pull her dress to decency before an imperious little woman sailed into the room, talking over her shoulder as she entered the room.
“No, indeed, my dear Cole, no need to announce me. I know my own nephew’s home. Not that it ever was my sister’s, of course, but we often visited. Do you not remember, Aldridge, my dear? Hello, darling, do you not have a kiss for your Mama?”
Her Grace of Haverford, for it must be she, presented one perfumed cheek to her son, then glanced around the room.
Rose attempted to gather up the pages on the table before the duchess saw them.
The duchess frowned, clearly taking in Rose’s dishevelled state and perhaps the rampant erection Aldridge was valiantly trying to hide behind an occasional table, too low to do a good job. “Oh, but I have interrupted. Cole tried to tell me... Oh dear. Shall I go out and come in again, my love?”
Aldridge, in a tone equidistant between exasperation, amusement, and despair, said, “No need, Mama. May I beg your permission to present Mrs Rose Darling, a guest of the earl and countess? Mrs Darling, this, as you may have guessed, is Her Grace, the Duchess of Haverford. My mother.”
Rose performed her best curtsey, grateful for the training that allowed her to perform the manoeuvre while shrinking inside, and then made her escape while the Marquis was interrogating his mother on her unexpected appearance.
She had no idea how she felt. Elated, undoubtedly. She had never imagined such a contract. Shamed, embarrassed... Aldridge’s mother clearly thought... And she was right. And she was a duchess! If she had arrived two minutes later... no, Aldridge was going to lock the door.
Rose giggled nervously at the thought of the Duchess of Haverford knocking on the door, demanding her son’s attention while he attempted to put himself back into his pants. Not that the actual scene was much better. A bucket of cold water could have separated them no more quickly.
The duchess’s arrival would not change Aldridge’s mind, would it?