by Mary Brendan
They had arrived in Mayfair late that afternoon and had been shown to a magnificent chamber on the first floor of the west wing of their host’s mansion. Joan had wanted the guests to have maids, but Maude had politely refused. Fiona knew that her mother was concerned that the duke’s servants would see the state of their oft-darned nightgowns and petticoats.
Earlier, on rising from the dinner table following a lengthy and delicious meal, Fiona and Joan had played a few hands of rummy while their parents continued depleting the decanters. Fiona had then retired for the night, wanting some private time to mull things over in her mind and think of Luke. Surprisingly, he’d barely entered her mind when she fell asleep shortly after her head snuggled into the downy pillows.
But she concentrated on Luke now while perching on the edge of the bed. She knew he would not yet have returned to London. They had all parted company at the Halfway House; the duke’s party had set on the road towards London and Luke had set off in the opposite direction to relieve Drew Rockleigh of his duty guarding Ratcliff. The man she’d believed to be her stepfather would by now be in prison.
Fiona wondered if Becky Peake and Drew Rockleigh might also have arrived in town. But those two were swiftly pushed to the back of her mind. It was Luke who dominated her thoughts. Would he soon come to visit? If he did, and again propositioned her to be his mistress, what then?
With a sigh, Fiona sank down on to the bed and curled up, resting her cheek on her clasped hands. She had promised to go shopping with Joan tomorrow, and she was determined to enjoy the outing, so she must empty her mind again and fall asleep or she would make a very dreary companion.
* * *
‘Are you getting up, Mama? Fiona pulled back the curtains, allowing sunlight to stream into the bedchamber.
Maude burrowed further into the covers, avoiding the golden beams. ‘My head is aching,’ she whimpered.
Fiona redrew the heavy curtains till just a chink of light remained. ‘It is almost two o’clock. I am going out with Joan soon. Will you come?’
‘I want to...but I cannot...’ Maude mumbled. ‘I shall not take another glass of sherry in my life, I swear.’
Fiona went to sit by her mother, shaking her shoulder to gain her attention. ‘Do you recall what you told me last night?’
Maude peeped over the edge of the blankets. ‘Yes, I do.’ She struggled to a seated position. ‘Was His Grace at breakfast earlier?’
‘He was. He looked bright as a lark and as though he can hold his drink far better than you.’
Maude sank into the pillows. ‘Well...I expect that he is a more regular tippler and I suppose a serious talk with him must be in the offing.’
‘Indeed...’ Fiona said on standing up. She knew it was best to leave her mother to ponder alone on something as personal as another marriage proposal. She didn’t want to influence Maude on her future because she realised her time at home had come to an end. Her life had changed the moment she set off for Devon and would never be as it once had, whatever transpired between her and Luke. Fiona had tasted freedom and found it suited her despite the pitfalls that were the price to pay for independence.
‘I know you very much like that fellow Wolfson and so I suppose the other news I told you came as a blow.’
Fiona turned back to frown at her mother. ‘What news are you talking about, Mama?’
Maude again struggled up, looking concerned. ‘I should not have said anything... I would not have, had I been thinking straight when I came up to bed.’
‘I fear you were thinking straight, Mama, because you told me nothing about Mr Wolfson. You only repeated the duke’s proposal.’
‘Oh...’ Maude bit her lip. ‘I didn’t tell you what His Grace overheard while at his club yesterday afternoon?’
Fiona shook her head and perched again on the edge of the mattress, feeling curious. The Duke of Thornley had taken himself off to St James’s within an hour of the travelling coaches rolling to a stop in front of his magnificent Mayfair town house. Joan and a host of servants had been left to attend to his guests while he sought the company of his gentlemen friends. But His Grace had returned in good time, and good spirits, to dine with them all.
‘You said it concerned Mr Wolfson,’ Fiona prompted. Her mother’s reticence in finishing what she’d started was making her uneasy. Had Maude been told something very detrimental to Luke’s character?
‘Are you in love with him?’ Maude asked bluntly. On seeing her daughter’s immediate blush she gave a sigh. ‘I’m sorry, my love, but His Grace heard some gentlemen talking about Luke Wolfson’s betrothal.’
‘Betrothal?’ Fiona breathed.
Maude nodded. ‘It might just be baseless gossip, but I’d sooner you heard it from me, my dear, than from others.’ Maude patted at Fiona’s fingers, tilting her head to read her daughter’s expression.
‘Well...if it is true that he is taking a wife, I suppose it is his own affair,’ Fiona said with a levity she was far from feeling. She stood up with a ready smile and bid her mother farewell, aware of Maude watching her quick retreat from the room.
A few minutes later Fiona was descending the stairs, with her temples thudding, lost in troubled thought. Luke had informed her that he had never asked anybody to marry him and she’d believed him speaking the truth. Since that conversation had taken place he had been in Devon. If he were to be married, he must have recently proposed to somebody in the West Country...so had Becky persuaded him to make an honest woman of her?
The pounding in Fiona’s head increased. She also believed Luke had told the truth about finishing with Becky. But the scorned mistress might be back in town by now and playing games. Perhaps Becky had been starting rumours in the hope they might become true for her. Fiona sighed, pulling on her gloves, in readiness to depart for the shops. She would not cast Luke into the role of liar and cheat. She would put her trust in him and not torment herself with overheard gossip. Impatient as she was to know more about it she must wait till he came to see her then ask him calmly about the rumours.
Fiona spied Joan waiting by the great door and speeded up towards her. She had said nothing to the duke’s daughter at breakfast about their parents’ blossoming friendship. Fiona guessed that if His Grace had meant his proposal to be taken seriously he’d want a sober talk with his intended bride before he mentioned a word about it to his daughter.
* * *
A gentle nudge in the ribs from Joan made Fiona drop the mother-of-pearl buttons she was examining.
‘Look! Mr Rockleigh is just over there and he has seen us. I’m sure his companion is the brunette he was with at the Halfway House. Now I’ve had a better look at her I can tell what sorts he consorts with!’
The rattling information certainly gained Fiona’s attention. Startled, she followed the direction Joan was indicating with a pair of lively eyes.
‘I believe you’re right...it is Mr Wolfson’s friend,’ Fiona murmured with surprising calm considering that Becky Peake was glowering at her from beneath a feather-embellished bonnet.
‘He’s coming over!’ Joan squeaked while apparently absorbed in selecting a reel of French lace.
Indeed, Drew Rockleigh was approaching them and Fiona’s heart began hammering beneath her ribs. She took a calming breath and drew herself up in her shoes. Her immediate instinct had been to march over to Becky and demand to know if Luke had asked her to marry him. But she knew she must not. With perfect attention to etiquette Drew Rockleigh had abandoned his demi-rep companion to examine fripperies at the counter while he joined them.
‘How nice to see you, Lady Joan,’ Drew said suavely.
‘Is it?’ Joan returned tartly. ‘I am surprised, sir, that you feel that way, all things considered.’
Drew gave a gruff chuckle and turned his attention to Fiona, growing serious. ‘And you must be Miss
Chapman. Luke has spoken about you. I’m pleased to be able to introduce myself to you at last.’
‘I’m glad to meet you, too, sir.’ Fiona returned a pleasant greeting although anxious to know what had been said about her. She didn’t wait long to find out.
‘Luke has often praised your courage,’ Drew informed her. ‘And from what he has told me, I must add my admiration to his. But enough has been said on the unfortunate matter and I’m sure you’d sooner leave it be.’
‘And I, too, would sooner no more was said on the unfortunate matter,’ Joan chipped in sourly, drawing another wry glance from Drew.
As Rockleigh turned his attention to Joan and they continued to have a prickly exchange Fiona felt her eyes drifting in Becky Peake’s direction. The woman appeared to have been waiting to gain her attention. Fiona was beckoned, then, when she hesitated in obeying the audacious summons Becky again crooked her finger.
As though to reassure Fiona that their meeting would be discreet Becky screened herself behind rolls of fabrics standing on end. Women like Becky knew their station in life; a genteel female would be sullied by talking to a notorious courtesan.
The temptation to find out more about Luke’s betrothal was irresistible; Fiona’s womanly intuition was telling her that Becky wanted to speak to her about that very subject. Stepping away from her companions, still engaged in a bout of lively bickering, Fiona joined Luke’s mistress in a colourful forest of silks and satins.
‘You’re Miss Chapman,’ Becky stated bluntly.
‘I am, and I believe you’re Miss Peake,’ Fiona returned, meeting the woman’s challenge in similar vein.
‘Luke has told you about me, then.’ Becky sounded triumphant.
Fiona wasn’t prepared to reveal anything about her private conversations with Luke, so merely replied coolly, ‘Did you want to discuss something in particular?’
‘Of course...’ Becky smirked. ‘And you know very well what it is, don’t you? Now don’t go all coy or pretend that it’s a surprise to you that Luke and I are lovers.’
‘I never act coy, nor do I employ pretence,’ Fiona retorted clearly.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Becky felt grudging admiration for her rival’s forthright manner. She might be genteel and past her prime, but it was plain Fiona Chapman was no shrinking violet. ‘I shan’t pretend, either, then,’ Becky said. ‘I know Luke wants a dalliance with you. But we’ve no need to be jealous of one another. You’re not his first fancy and you won’t be the last, but he always comes back to me.’ Becky was a robust liar; most of what she’d said she knew to be false. Luke had made it clear their relationship was over. Then when she’d quizzed him over Miss Chapman, the strange look in his eyes had told her everything she needed to know but he wouldn’t say. He was in love—not with the simpering miss who’d come to town to try and hook him for the second time, but with the quiet mouse he’d rescued from Jeremiah Collins. At close quarters Becky could grudgingly see that the refined lady who’d stolen Luke’s heart had qualities a man might find attractive. Her eyes were a fascinating shade of hazel and her fawn hair was thick and glossy. She was not as buxom as Becky, but her figure was nicely curvaceous.
Becky might profess not to be jealous, but Fiona guessed the opposite were true. She wasn’t going to get dragged into a catfight over Luke Wolfson in the middle of a drapery. She’d been wrong in thinking that Becky was about to crow about being Luke’s future wife. And it would be the height of bad taste for her to bring up the subject of his rumoured betrothal, much as she craved finding out more about it.
‘Don’t sulk.’ Becky gripped Fiona’s arm, tugging her back as she would have moved away. ‘Luke will give you a pension when he grows bored with you. He’s very generous, if you please him.’ Becky deliberately fingered the pretty gem pinned to her collar. ‘You’re not his usual type, but he’ll take fair-haired women, for a change.’ She twirled a long brunette ringlet about a finger. ‘Even if he does wed Miss Ponting, he’ll keep me close by.’
Becky smiled on seeing a flicker of raw emotion clouding Miss Chapman’s cat-like eyes. ‘Ah...he has not let on about her, has he? He chased after a debutante a few years ago.’ Becky sighed theatrically. ‘But back then, you see, he was a lowly lieutenant with nothing but his looks to recommend him.’ Becky gained a mean comfort from the hurt intensifying in Fiona’s eyes. ‘The foolish chit took her mother’s advice and rebuffed him. But now he is one of the most eligible bachelors around she is trailing after him like a puppy dog.’
An insolent look raked Fiona from head to toe. ‘She is rather like you in a way—older now than she wants to be and hoping she’ll not get left on the shelf.’ Becky crossed her arms over her middle in a contented way.
‘If you have nothing of importance to say, then please do not waste any more of my time.’ Fiona managed to dismiss the woman’s spite although she was feeling light-headed with tension and close to tears.
‘His marriage does not bother you?’
‘Not in the slightest,’ Fiona returned with barely a betraying tremor in her voice.
‘I think you do employ pretence...’ Becky chortled. ‘You’re a poor liar, Miss Chapman. Quality such as you want husbands, not lovers. You thought he’d do the decent thing because of your connections.’ Becky glanced past Fiona at the Duke of Thornley’s daughter. ‘Luke’s still a bachelor because he favours keeping company with me rather than getting leg-shackled to any snooty madam.’
‘And you’re welcome to him,’ Fiona uttered in a suffocated tone. With that parting shot, she slipped out from behind the rainbow screen of fabrics, passing Drew Rockleigh, with a strained smile, as he made his way to rejoin his companion.
Fiona’s heart was beating a slow tattoo beneath her bodice as she pored over her hostile exchange with Becky. The woman had seen through her defensive pride to the core of her being. Of course she wanted to be married to the man she loved, but Becky’s few coarsely spoken remarks had finally helped her bury her hopes and dreams beneath reality.
Luke had finished with his mistress and he did want her as Becky’s replacement—Fiona trusted that to be true. Becky had lied on that score, but there was a ring of truth to the younger woman’s talk of Luke’s past. Some years ago he’d chased after a debutante and been turned down. Since then his prospects had improved and the lady who’d spurned him was in town to let him know she’d changed her mind. Now Fiona knew exactly what the Duke of Thornley had overheard and recounted to her mother when they were both tipsy.
Fiona had wondered whether she’d cope with being Luke’s mistress, shut away in a corner of his life when he married and raised a family. She’d wondered if she might endure that twilight existence that would grow darker as they aged until his time and affection for her finally extinguished. A brusque exchange with a woman who knew Luke better than she did had lifted the blinkers from her eyes. It would be intolerable and she ridiculed herself for having thought she might equal Becky’s role and attitude where Luke Wolfson was concerned. Over the past frantic weeks many people had praised her courage. But once intimately bound to him, would she ever be brave enough to quietly withdraw from his life when he wanted her to rather than have him despise her?
Fiona focused on Joan, noticing the young woman was waiting impatiently for her.
‘What did she want?’ Joan nodded at the door through which Becky Peake and Drew Rockleigh had departed. ‘I saw you having a quiet word with her. I won’t tell, I promise.’
‘It was nothing important,’ Fiona answered, bringing her quavering tone under control with a cough. ‘Did you win?’ She swiftly changed the subject to avoid any further mention of Becky.
‘Win?’
‘You sounded as though you were sparring with Mr Rockleigh.’
‘Oh, that... I always win. I imagine he lets me,’ Joan admitted ruefully. She looked thoughtfully at Fiona. ‘
Were you sparring with her a moment ago?’
Fiona’s answer was a neutral smile. ‘I was on the point of buying some nice buttons a moment ago.’ She opened her reticule to find some coins. ‘My blue pelisse could do with brightening up.’
‘As you won’t admit to fighting over Mr Wolfson I imagine you lost the battle—’
‘I did not!’ Fiona blurted before realising she’d been tricked into saying too much.
With an arch look Joan led the way back to the button display.
Chapter Twenty-One
Two more days had passed before the moment arrived that Fiona was both longing for and dreading. As she placed down her novel on the dressing table and peered wide-eyed at her reflection in the mirror, she again pondered on what might have delayed him.
Over the past long days and nights she had tormented herself with the idea that he had by now proposed to Miss Ponting. Becky’s boast that Luke would sooner keep his freedom and her company than get leg-shackled seemed less likely the more Fiona had thought about it. Besides, her mother had now confirmed what Becky had told her about Luke’s connection to the Pontings. He had courted Harriet a few years ago and been rebuffed.
The duke had taken Maude to the theatre one evening and the Pontings had been there, too, her mother had reported. High-instep people, Maude had described them, although nowhere close to being in His Grace’s league, the woman had added with a smirk. The daughter was rather an obvious beauty, she had carried on with a sniff, being too blonde and too pale of complexion. Maude’s attempt to encourage Fiona had had the reverse effect, especially when she’d let slip that gossip was now rife about Luke Wolfson renewing his pursuit of Harriet.
Fiona knew she should not feel so hurt or surprised by the news. A well-bred, eligible bachelor would naturally want to pass his name and wealth on to future generations of Wolfsons. In the past he’d seemed quite bitter when mentioning family life, but surely if he intended to quit working as a mercenary, a wife and children would figure in his plans...