MISTRESS TO THE MARQUIS

by Margaret McPhee

  She knew that Linwood’s sister was visiting Venetia this afternoon, so she did not return to the rooms, but instead headed for nearby St James’s Park. There was a nip in the air, but other than that the day was fine and bright. She stayed clear of the more fashionable routes, walking along a quieter line of trees until she found a wooden park bench. Her feet and back ached from all the walking and she was tired. It seemed she was always tired these days. So she sat down in the sun and rested. She could hear the chime of St James’s clock and did not intend on returning to Venetia’s apartment until after six, to ensure that any visitors would have long departed.

  A few people passed. Two ladies walking. An old man. A boy who looked like he was running an errand. And a gentleman on horseback. She kept her face averted from the latter, although she knew he was not Razeby. Half an hour elapsed. She felt better for the rest, and for the fresh air. And then she heard the jangle of a horse harness.

  ‘I thought it was you, Miss Sweetly.’ She glanced up to find the Duke of Hawick standing there on the grass, leading a large chestnut horse by the reins. He removed his hat and held it in his hand beside his riding crop.

  ‘Your Grace,’ she said and, getting to her feet, gave a small curtsy.

  He bowed. ‘Have you been away? I have not seen you in a while.’

  ‘Visiting my family in Ireland.’

  ‘How pleasant for you.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘I trust you had a good trip.’

  ‘Very good, thank you, Your Grace.’

  He smiled and his teeth looked remarkably white against the pale golden tan of his skin. ‘What brings you out here to the park?’

  ‘It’s a pleasant day. I thought to take some air.’

  ‘The day is fine indeed. I have been taking something of the air myself. Brought Legion out for a bit of a canter.’ He gave the chestnut horse’s neck an affectionate half-rub, half-pat. ‘Do you ride, Miss Sweetly?’

  ‘Unfortunately not.’

  ‘You prefer to enjoy the view on your own two legs, or perhaps in the safety of a carriage.’

  ‘It’s a less dangerous pursuit.’

  He smiled again and his dark blonde hair fluttered in the breeze. ‘I suppose that depends on whose hands are upon the ribbons.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve the right of it.’ She smiled and wished he would go away.

  ‘We never did get to have that evening alone.’

  ‘We didn’t.’ She glanced away, feeling awkward and a little vulnerable. ‘I really should be getting on... If you’d excuse me, Your Grace.’ She got to her feet.

  ‘May I be as bold as to escort you home? I do not like to think of any woman walking home alone at this time in the day.’

  ‘I thank you for your kind offer, but it’s not late and I’ll be quite safe.’ She gave him a small curtsy and made to walk away, but Hawick came, still leading his horse, to walk by her side.

  ‘I would be remiss in my duty as a gentleman if I were to agree. Where are you staying these days, Miss Sweetly?’

  She realised her mistake. She could not tell him without drawing scandal upon Venetia. ‘With a friend,’ she said and did not elaborate. ‘But I wasn’t intending heading home immediately. I’ve a few chores to attend to first.’

  ‘Anything that I may be of assistance with?’

  ‘I appreciate the kindness of your offer, and I thank you for it, but there’s nothing with which you can assist me.’

  He gave a nod of his head, but he did not take his leave of her, just continued to walk slowly by her side.

  There was a small time in which they walked in silence.

  ‘Perhaps you will think me too bold and too hurried in my approach. But I am a man who has learned from past experience...’ he paused for the tiniest moment and she knew he was referring to events of last year when all of London had known how long and hard he angled to make Venetia his mistress without success ‘...that it is best not to dally in negotiations or protracted games when it comes to such matters. I see what I want and I will have it...or not.’

  She felt her stomach tighten and her heart beat harder with a sudden nervousness.

  ‘I have made no secret of my admiration for you, Miss Sweetly.’

  She kept on walking, very slowly, by his side and did not look round at him.

  ‘And indeed your absence seemed only to cement my feelings on the matter...’

  Her heart began to thump in earnest. She knew what he was going to ask her.

  ‘You are a lady without a protector. I am a gentleman who would be happy to offer that protection.’

  ‘Your Grace...’ She stopped then and turned to him.

  ‘I am not prepared to undergo prolonged negotiations by letter and note. I have found a more direct approach preferable, and therefore I hope you do not find my open discussion of terms to be offensive. To come to the point, Miss Sweetly, a hundred pounds a month, four new wardrobes of clothes a year, all outings to entertainments included, a furnished house in Sackville Street with a complete staff and all running costs met, and the use of a carriage and four. The agreement in full detail to be drawn up in writing between us, naturally.’ He smiled charmingly, but there was a slight hard edge to his clear blue eyes.

  A hundred pounds a month. Even if she were only with him for three months that would be three hundred pounds. It was enough to find somewhere safe to stay, enough to survive on for a good while if she was careful. And yet she knew too well what being any man’s mistress entailed and the thought of that reality with another man... What she really wanted to do was to tell him to go away and never come near her again, that she had no desire to sell herself to him or any other man. She wanted to shout at him that she was not some cheap whore to be sold to the highest bidder without any consideration for her heart or desire. But Alice knew she could not do that. She bit her lower lip and looked away. Because the reality was that she was a whore and the only thing she had left to sell was herself.

  That strange hungry sickness was gnawing in her belly and that same slight faint feeling was in her head. She thought of the baby that was growing inside her, her baby and Razeby’s, and the knowledge instilled a fierce protectiveness in her, a searing determination that she would do anything and everything to protect their child. She could see the green of the grass beside the pale-fawn material of her slipper and the polished gleam of the toes of Hawick’s black-leather riding boots standing not so very far away.

  ‘You surely can’t expect me to give you an answer right now, Your Grace.’ She raised her gaze to meet his.

  ‘That would be unreasonable. And I am not an unreasonable man. I would have your answer by the end of the week. I can be found here exercising Legion most days at this time. Or you may send a note to me at my town house.’ He slipped a card from his pocket and offered it to her.

  She said nothing, but she took the card from him.

  ‘Such a pleasure to have met you here this afternoon, Miss Sweetly.’ He took hold of her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to it. After a bow he placed his hat on his head, slipped one foot into his stirrup and mounted his horse. He looked down at her from where he sat for a moment, then he gave a small smile, and with a nod of his head, rode off in the direction from which he had come.

  She watched him ride away and the thought of what he was proposing made the queasiness rise in her stomach. She took a deep breath, stowed the card inside her reticule and kept on walking.

  * * *

  Alice sat on the edge of the bed in the tiny bedchamber in Venetia’s attic in her long plain-white nightdress. The house was in darkness and silence. From somewhere outside she heard the cry of the watch.

  ‘Two o’clock and all is well.’

  The soft patter of rain sounded against the window and the darkness of the night sky was complete, the moon and stars shrouded by thick charcoal-streaked clouds. The candle, which sat on the cabinet by the side of the single bed, burned lower and she pulled the wool shawl more tig
htly around her shoulders to ward off the night’s chill. In her hand she held the card that Hawick had given her that afternoon in the park. A smooth, thick white card, printed with expensive black ink, but the words that were there could have said anything. It did not matter how many months she had studied letters and words, they were always just a strange jumble of symbols and patterns that made no sense.

  Hawick had had famous mistresses in the past. Indeed, his negotiations to make Venetia his mistress when she was still an actress and before she had married Linwood were renowned. He was reputed to have offered her ten thousand pounds and still Venetia had turned him down. Twelve hundred pounds was a far cry from ten thousand, but it was still a fortune in money, even if she was not able to stay the course to collect all twelve hundred. Once he discovered she was pregnant, he would not want her in his bed.

  She wondered how many months it would take before it became obvious. It would be difficult to hide from him given what it was he wanted from her. She closed her eyes at that thought, unable to bear it. But she knew that beggars could not be choosers. She had made her bed and now she must lie in it, quite literally.

  She clutched a hand to her stomach and tried to stopper the tears. Tears and sensibilities and regrets would not provide for the baby, she told herself angrily. And it was not as if she had not slept with men in order to survive before. Men that she was not attracted to. Men that she had not loved. But the little voice at the back of her mind whispered that that had been before Razeby. And Razeby had changed everything.

  But she could not stay here. She would not ruin Venetia’s chance of happiness and acceptance. And she could not go to Ireland and put her own problems on to her mother, not when her mother had aged ten years in the last one and was already worried sick over their Molly. Alice was the one who solved her family’s problems, not added to them. And come a week Tuesday, Razeby would be married to Miss Darrington.

  When she thought it all through like that there was not really any decision to be made. All this weeping could not be good for the baby. She forced herself to breathe, to wipe away the tears from her cheeks. Then she climbed beneath the covers of the bed, blew out her candle and lay there in the darkness.

  * * *

  ‘Miss Sweetly.’ Hawick smiled and drew the horse to a halt some little distance from the bench on which she sat waiting for him the next day. ‘I am delighted to see you again, and so swiftly following our previous meeting.’

  There was no sunshine today. The sky was a light dove grey and the grass beneath her feet was still wet from the earlier shower.

  ‘Your Grace.’ She stood and drew him a small curtsy. And did not resume her seat.

  He removed his hat and came to stand before her.

  She could not smile, could not speak anything of the niceties and prevarications that she should. The rehearsed words came to her lips. ‘With regard to your offer of yesterday...’

  His blue eyes were trained on hers.

  ‘For two hundred pounds a month, I will accept.’

  ‘One hundred and fifty,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Two hundred,’ she repeated and loathed herself for what she was doing.

  He looked at her a moment, let his gaze move down over her body, blatantly appraising what he would be getting for his money. Her breasts felt larger than normal and more tender. Hawick’s eyes lingered upon them. There was no other visible evidence of the baby’s presence...yet.

  When his gaze came back to her eyes he smiled again. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Miss Sweetly. But two hundred it is.’

  The relief flowed through her.

  ‘I will have my lawyer draw up the contract. To take effect from...shall we say tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow? So soon?’ The words were out before she could prevent them.

  ‘Unless you have a reason to delay?’ The hard look was back in his eyes. He raised his eyebrows ever so slightly and waited for her reply.

  Delay would only make it worse. So she shook her head.

  ‘Where shall I send the carriage for your move to Sackville Street?’

  ‘There’s no need for a carriage. I’ll make my own way.’

  ‘If that is your preference.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘The house is Number 44.’

  ‘You have leased it already?’

  ‘I own the street,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I did not realise,’ she replied.

  They looked at one another.

  ‘Until tomorrow, Miss Sweetly.’ Hawick took hold of her hand and it was all she could do not to snatch it from his grasp. He took it to his lips and kissed her gloved fingers, holding her gaze with his own as he did so, so that she saw the lust there and the arrogance and sense of ownership. A ripple of panic shivered through her. She lowered her eyes that he would not see it and curtsied.

  ‘Your Grace,’ she murmured.

  ‘I would offer to walk you home, but I have a feeling that you will refuse me that pleasure.’

  ‘Your feeling is right, Your Grace.’

  ‘But you will not refuse me tomorrow, will you, Alice?’

  ‘No. I’ll not refuse you tomorrow,’ she said quietly.

  He smiled at that and, mounting his horse, rode away.

  Chapter Twenty

  Alice finished the last of her explanation and turned away from the expression in Venetia’s eyes.

  ‘You do not have to do this, Alice. You can stay here.’

  ‘I can’t stay here, Venetia. We both know that. You’re risking much in just having me here for a few days. If it gets out, it could undo all the good work that your ball accomplished.’

  ‘Alice...’ Venetia’s brow furrowed with concern as she came to take her hand, but she could not deny the truth; they both knew Alice’s presence here was a liability. ‘You can stay at the house in Whitechapel, it is a rough part of town, but there would always be food and shelter. They would not turn you away.’

  ‘I know.’ But it was too late for that. Besides, Alice needed to earn money for the baby and for her family back home in Ireland. She smiled to soften the refusal. ‘I didn’t unpack my travelling bag. I’ll leave for Sackville Street first thing in the morning.’

  ‘What are you going to do when Hawick discovers you are pregnant?’

  ‘I’ll deal with that when it happens.’

  ‘If you change your mind about Hawick, or if there is trouble with him or anything else, you must come to me. Promise me that, at least.’

  ‘There won’t be any trouble.’ Alice said it with a confidence she did not feel.

  She felt Venetia’s hand squeeze around her own. ‘Promise me, Alice.’

  She looked into her friend’s eyes and saw the compassion and concern in them. She remembered all that they had shared and how very much Venetia had done for her.

  ‘I promise,’ she vowed but she knew she would not risk ruining Venetia’s reputation unless it was a matter of utter desperation.

  Venetia hugged her and they both wiped the tears from their eyes.

  * * *

  The next afternoon Alice faced Hawick across the finely furnished drawing room of the town house he kept for his mistress in Sackville Street. Upstairs in the master bedchamber her travelling bag was already unpacked, her dresses hanging in the wardrobe, her underclothes folded neatly in the drawers.

  ‘So let me get this straight—you are telling me that you have your monthly courses and cannot sleep with me this night?’

  ‘It is most unfortunate in its timing.’ She looked him boldly in the eye to tell the lie.

  ‘Unfortunate indeed,’ he drawled and did not look pleased. ‘You made no mention of it yesterday...when you were abroad in the park. Does not such a malady usually keep women housebound?’

  ‘It only came on this morning,’ she said and saw his gaze drop to where her fingers were worrying at the crocheted strap of her reticule. A little spurt of fear rippled through her at the direction of his interest and she threw it dow
n on to the corner of the sofa behind her, casually, as if the reticule and its contents meant nothing to her. She wondered what he would do if he were to open it and discover the letter and the engraved silver pen from Razeby.

  ‘You are not having doubts over our arrangement, are you?’

  ‘Of course I’m not.’ Another lie to compound all the others. ‘I can’t defy nature, now can I? No matter that I would wish it otherwise.’ She smiled teasingly and forced herself to touch her lips to his cheek.

  ‘How long do your courses last, Alice?’ he asked, and for all the intimacy of the question the strange thing was that she was thinking that at no point had he asked her permission to call her by her given name.

  ‘Only a week.’ It was the longest she could ask for without arousing his suspicion. And until she had at least his first payment in her hand she could not afford to do that.

  ‘Next Saturday?’ He raised a brow to ask the question.

  She nodded.

  ‘Then I will wait a week,’ he said and traced along the edge of her bodice, his fingers skimming the skin of her breasts that were constrained within it. ‘And hope our union is all the sweeter for it.’

  She nodded again, but her flesh was crawling where he touched her and the sickness in her stomach was not from the baby.

  She had a week’s graciousness. One week. And then there could be no more deferring. She would have to give Hawick what he was paying for. She heard the retreat of Hawick’s footsteps. Heard the close of the front door. She sagged back against the wall and prayed that the days would pass slowly.

  * * *

  Razeby had prayed the same thing. But the week during which he spent too few of the days with Miss Darrington and too many of the nights carousing in White’s or some gaming hell, trying hard to prove to the world that he was having a great time in his life, passed in a blur of speed. That he was just making the most of his remaining bachelor days, rather than hiding a man whose life felt like it was falling apart. He did not want time to think, to brood, to ponder. He spent every night in company and then, when it was late and he was alone in his town house, he drank himself into oblivion.