The Mistress Diaries (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 2)

by Julianne MacLean

  “But where is the sapphire necklace?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

  “Adelaide had it sent to Lord Vincent’s rooms shortly after we arrived,” the duchess told him. “We have been sitting here waiting for him for the past half hour.”

  The duke’s bushy gray eyebrows lifted as he rose to his feet. “I do apologize. My son can be tardy, and he obviously does not recognize the magnitude of this event. You must have that sapphire around your neck, Lady Letitia. You know that, do you not?”

  “Yes, of course, Your Grace,” she replied.

  “Good. Then I shall go and find out what is keeping him.”

  He left Letitia and her mother standing in the drawing room staring after him in silence, blinking their eyes, bewildered by what had just occurred.

  Letitia sat down and picked up her teacup. “Crazy old man.”

  “At least he is bringing the sapphire.”

  “Oh, do shut up, Mother.”

  Chapter 4

  I will always wonder what my life might have been like if I had married a man who loved me with undying passion. Perhaps I might not have been so vulnerable to the attentions of a rake.

  —from the journal of

  Cassandra Montrose,

  Lady Colchester,

  February 9,1874

  After spending a full hour in the nursery with June, Vincent returned to the green guest chamber, where Cassandra was awaiting his decision about whether he would accept her child to be raised at the palace.

  He knocked and opened the door but was startled to find his mother already in the room, seated at the bedside. Cassandra was sitting up. She took hold of his mother’s hand, bowed over it and kissed it several times.

  Vincent stood quietly, watching them. His mother glanced up at him, then kissed Cassandra on the forehead. She approached him at the door.

  “You wish to see Lady Colchester now?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “If you will excuse us.”

  “Of course.”

  She left the room, but he followed her out into the corridor. “Before I speak with her, Mother, I must inquire, does Father know about this yet?”

  “No. He has always been very...” She paused and cleared her throat. “He has always been very strict about this sort of thing.”

  Vincent was more than aware of that fact. The duke had never in his lifetime accepted responsibility for any of his own illegitimate children, and there had certainly been a few of them brought around over the years.

  The fact that the twins—Charlotte and Garrett—had grown up here at the palace, passed off as the duke’s own offspring, was a wonder of epic proportions. The only reason the duke had permitted it was because, in the first four years of their young lives, he had believed they were his. Later, when he learned the truth, it would have put a black mark of scandal upon the dukedom if he had rejected them, and he was always taking great pains to protect his dynasty.

  Consequently, no one outside the palace walls knew the secret of his mother’s one adulterous transgression. She was still the famously moral duchess, loved and adored by all. Charlotte and Garrett had not been turned out. They continued to live at Pembroke. Not that it made much difference about their treatment once the duke knew the truth. The only child who ever mattered to him was Devon—his eldest son, his perfect heir, the son who could get away with anything and everything and never meet with punishment.

  As for Vincent, when he was a boy, he had always considered himself quite grand and auspicious on the rare occasions when his father actually remembered his name.

  “Let us continue to keep it quiet for now,” Vincent said, sweeping those old memories aside.

  “Yes, I agree that is best,” his mother replied. “Your father, I regret to say, would not be very understanding about Lady Colchester’s predicament.”

  Vincent nodded and returned to the green guest chamber, where Cassandra was watching him from the bed, waiting in silence for his decision.

  He paused a moment, wondering how Letitia was going to react to all of this. Truthfully, he had not given his fiancée a single moment’s thought since he learned Cassandra was in the house, and it was not difficult to sweep her from his mind yet again as he approached the bed where the mother of his child lay waiting for him.

  It had been a full year since the incredible night of passion that changed Cassandra’s life forever. Since then she had been turned out of her home, become a disgrace to her family, struggled against poverty and the unforgiving judgments of others. Now she was about to face the unthinkable—the ordeal of giving up the daughter she loved more than anything in the world to a man who possessed no heart.

  She was uncomfortably aware of Vincent’s physical presence as he entered the room—his dark, striking coloring, the manner in which he carried himself, so proud and tall and confident. He was devastatingly handsome. There was no denying it. It was the reason she had lost sight of her good sense a year ago and fallen into disgrace. But all of that was pointless to think of now. This was what it had come to. She had no choice but to accept it.

  Vincent settled into the soft upholstered chair by the bed and lounged very low in it. He raised a booted foot, rested it on the edge of the bed, and tapped a finger on his knee.

  “Well?” she said, curiosity drumming inside her heart. “Did you see her?”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you believe me now?”

  “That she is mine?” He kept her in suspense for a few seconds. He truly was an unfeeling scoundrel. “Yes, I do.”

  Cassandra relaxed slightly on the pillows. She took a moment to digest his reply before speaking. “What made you believe it?”

  “I just knew. Call it instinct if you like.”

  Feeling the intense heat of her hostility begin to cool somewhat—for at least she would not have to argue with him about it—she turned her gaze to the window. Her voice remained aloof. “She has your eyes.”

  “To your great disappointment, obviously.”

  “No. I am glad. It is a blessing.”

  “Why?”

  She looked at him. “Because when your mother held her in her arms this morning, she saw you, which was all that I prayed for. You see, I believe your mother is a great woman, and in case she hasn’t told you yet, she has just agreed to take June and raise her as a Sinclair, with or without your acknowledgment that she is yours. The duchess has promised to come up with a family connection somewhere to explain her. She will likely be raised as a cousin.”

  It was more than Cassandra ever could have hoped for. June’s future well-being had been secured.

  Vincent inclined his head. “True to form, my mother has beaten me to the punch. I suppose I should know by now never to underestimate her. She has the heart of both a saint and a lion. She is deeply devoted to her children, and we all adore her for it.”

  “She has beaten you to the punch? So, you were going to tell me that you, too, agree to accept June?”

  He nodded only once and held his head high. “She will want for nothing. I will see to it personally.”

  Cassandra chuckled to herself. “You’ll see to it ‘personally’? I believe I am witnessing a miracle today. You are agreeing to make a commitment—though it will no doubt be a temporary one as soon as the novelty of fatherhood wears off. But at least I have your mother’s word for the long term. That is all I need.”

  Vincent dropped his booted foot to the floor with a heavy thump and sat forward. “Why do you find it so surprising that I would wish to have some involvement? You didn’t think you could just drop the child off at the palace and that I would stay out of it, did you?”

  “You seemed very determined to stay out of it when you first walked through this door an hour ago. You did not even want to accept that she was yours.”

  Cassandra could not even comprehend how any
parent would not care to know his or her own child. It was going to break her own heart into a thousand pieces when the time came to say goodbye—even though she knew it was for the best.

  “That was before I saw her.”

  Cassandra tipped her head mockingly. “And let me guess, you fell instantly in love and found your integrity and honor as a gentleman. You have discovered your soul at last. Is that it?”

  “Hardly. You know I have no soul. But that is not the point. The child is mine, she has my eyes, so I will accept my responsibilities.”

  “Ah. What a delightful, loving father you will make—accepting your responsibilities.”

  He looked at her with challenge. “What if I mean to make a go of it? What if I intend to dote upon my daughter and give her the moon and the stars on a silver platter? You didn’t see me in the nursery just now. I was cooing and tickling.”

  Cassandra was surprised by something darkly flirtatious, which she could feel emanating from his eyes as well as her own and was reminded of the woman she had been that night in the ballroom. She remembered how her mood had exploded like fireworks in the sky when he looked at her with that captivating smile. She remembered how desperately she had wanted to be wicked and run off with him into the night.

  But then she remembered what had brought her here, and her heart sank in defeat. She had been to hell and back over the past year, struggling to make a home for her baby on her meager earnings from the hat shop. She’d had no one to confide in about her fears and frustrations, and now she was ill and was going to lose the battle she had been fighting so valiantly until now. Very soon she would not be able to care for June. She had no choice but to give her up, even though it was going to break her heart.

  “I am afraid it would take more than a few minutes of cooing and tickling,” she said, “for me to believe that you have discovered your integrity.”

  Vincent lifted his boot and set it on the edge of the bed again. She grabbed hold of the leather toe and shoved it off with impressive strength, considering how ill she was.

  The corner of his mouth curled up slightly. “I had no idea your feelings toward me were still so passionate.”

  She felt her cheeks flush with fury as she sat back against the pillows. “I pity your fiancée.”

  “Ah. I wasn’t sure if you knew about my charming future wife, but I suppose news does travel fast here at Pembroke. It is those damned inconvenient subterranean passages. I’ve been saying for years we should fill them in or block them off or something.”

  She ignored his digression. All she could think about was how foolish women could become—herself included—when he turned on that wicked charm. Even now, the devilish look in his eyes was making her heart race like a bandit.

  “The poor woman is no doubt hopelessly infatuated with you,” Cassandra said, “and dreaming of her fairy tale wedding. Unfortunate, naive creature. She will be in for a rude awakening the morning after your wedding night.”

  “I assure you,” he said, “Letitia is not naive.”

  They were quiet for a few minutes, separate in their own thoughts. Vincent was tapping his finger on the armrest.

  Cassandra spoke first, and managed to do so in a softer voice, for she knew there was no point in fighting with Vincent now. It was over. All of it. He had agreed to accept June as a Sinclair. Her daughter’s fate had been decided. That was all Cassandra had wanted.

  “You are very appealing when you choose to be, Vincent,” she told him, “and you are a handsome man. That can be blinding for even the most sensible of women. I hope you will consider that when you become a husband.”

  He seemed surprised by her sudden desire to steer him in the direction of his conscience, when clearly neither he, nor she, believed he possessed one.

  “I shall try,” he replied nevertheless, “though I don’t recommend getting your hopes up. We both know I will be a dismal failure at matrimony. I’m simply not cut out to be faithful.”

  She sighed over the fact that he had not changed, and likely never would. “Just as long as you are not too dismal a failure as a father.”

  His brow furrowed with displeasure. Or was it annoyance? She wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  “At least my mother will be close at hand to repair the damage when I live up to your meager expectations.” With that, he stood up and walked out.

  Immediately after leaving Cassandra’s bedside, Vincent entered his own bedchamber and saw his great-grandmother’s necklace—the famous Pembroke Sapphire—sitting in an open velvet box on the bed. He stared at the dark blue stone for a moment, saw in his mind a headstone with Cassandra’s name on it, then slammed the door so hard, the vase on the dressing table toppled to the floor and smashed to pieces.

  Child or no child, he wished she had not come back.

  Chapter 5

  I can only presume that his fiancée is completely blinded by a hopeless infatuation. I suppose one can hardly blame her. I was blinded by it myself once.

  —from the journal of

  Cassandra Montrose,

  Lady Colchester,

  May 13,1874

  Vincent stepped over the broken vase on the floor in his room and walked to the rain-drenched window. He stood for a moment, looking out over the Italian Gardens, which had been torn apart by his father a month ago when he took it upon himself to move his beloved rosebushes to higher ground. He had dug everything up with his own bare hands, ripping roots out of the ground and leaving nothing behind but a sea of mud surrounding the statue of Venus in the center of the square.

  Aggravated by the sight of all that destruction, Vincent watched the raindrops pelting the puddles below, as merciless and relentless as the passing of time. It was a disastrous, depressing sight. Perhaps the Pembrokes were cursed after all.

  Just then a commotion arose behind him. He turned, startled by the racket of someone bursting into his room without knocking—entering through the secret passageway behind the bookcases, which hadn’t been used in years—and tripping over the corner of the rug.

  It was his father, naturally.

  “Good afternoon,” Vincent said.

  The duke righted himself.

  Vincent took note of a rare phenomenon—that the duke’s wild white hair had been combed that day. His valet was having a devil of a time with that particular task. But when Vincent looked down at his father’s feet, his relief vanished. Clearly, Jennings was facing a new challenge now. Footwear.

  “May I inquire as to the whereabouts of your shoes?” Vincent asked.

  His father ignored the question and crossed the room. He dropped to his knees before Vincent, clasped his hands together as if in prayer and squeezed his eyes shut. “How can I ever thank you?”

  Vincent regarded his father with growing unease. “It would help if I knew what you wished to thank me for.”

  “For Letitia. She is the answer.”

  Vincent swallowed. “The answer to what question, exactly?”

  “Not a question. She is the answer to the curse.”

  Vincent realized he had never in his life witnessed his father down on his knees, except in church, of course, and from a distance in the gardens occasionally, for he loved tending his own flowers.

  More importantly, the duke had never looked up at him. It was always the other way around. For Vincent, there were many memories of being down on his own knees and pleading for mercy as a child, following some grand misbehavior. The pleadings had never worked. He’d learned at a very young age to hold his tongue and brace himself for the punishments. To never show weakness.

  Vincent took hold of his father’s arm and lifted him to his feet. “I don’t understand,” he said. “What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t that why you chose her?”

  Vincent merely shook his head, confounded. “You were the one who chose her, Father, if you wil
l recall. You brought her to Mother’s birthday celebrations a month ago. You have given her your official approval according to the terms of your will.”

  The duke was not listening. “I dare say, if the first Duchess of Pembroke were alive today, they would be identical twins. The resemblance is astonishing. Surely this is evidence of a new beginning. And not to forget the birthmark on her hand,” he said. “It is as clear as the nose on your face.”

  “What birthmark?”

  Vincent had never noticed anything about Letitia’s hands. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever seen them in the flesh, for she usually wore gloves.

  Or maybe he had seen her hands. He had slipped a ring on her finger, hadn’t he?

  “She has the sun on the back of her left hand,” his father said. His bushy eyebrows pulled together in disbelief, as if he could not understand how Vincent had missed such a thing.

  “You mean a birthmark that looks like the sun?” Vincent asked.

  “It is a sign. She is the one.” The duke poked a finger three times on Vincent’s chest and smirked knowingly, as if he had just uncovered the fountain of youth. “Marry Letitia and you will not only secure your inheritance, you will hinder the curse, my dear boy. The rain will stop, and the sun will come out.”

  Good God. They were all truly living in a carnival of madness.

  “You are the finest son a man could hope for,” his father said, patting Vincent’s cheek.

  Now, there were words he had not heard before. Those particular ones had always been reserved for Devon.

  “Would you like to have my hunting boots?” the duke asked. “You know the ones. You’ve borrowed them before without asking, when you’ve gone out to bag some grouse with your friends early in the morning after a night at billiards. They’re cozy and they keep the wet out.” He nudged Vincent hard with his elbow. “But you know that, you rascal. You’ve worn them. Sneaky devil.”