No Mistress of Mine

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  Once their tickets had been properly punched by one of Lord Bute’s footmen, Lola and Kitty were able to join the throng strolling amid the white tents that had been erected on the marquess’s lawn.

  Though the show was open to anyone who had been able to afford a ticket, there was nothing crude about the arrangements. A string quartet played the music of Mozart and Vivaldi, liveried footmen carried trays of champagne, lemonade, and canapés. Lola felt as if she’d stepped into a duchess’s garden party. It was lovely.

  In honor of the fine day, the walls of the tents had been rolled up, and beneath their shade, long tables covered with pristine white cloths displayed the finest flower specimens from London’s finest gardens in glittering crystal vases. A card written in an elegant hand identified each bloom, the garden in which it had been grown, and the name of the person responsible.

  “The Countess of Redwyn,” Kitty read, as they paused before a stunning pink peony. “Heavens, you’d think she grew the bloom herself. Why doesn’t her poor gardener receive any credit, that’s what I’d like to know.”

  “He should,” Lola acknowledged. “It’s a lovely thing.” Glancing over her shoulder, she spied a tent displaying vases of her own favorite flower. “C’mon,” she said, pulling Kitty’s arm. “Let’s go look at the roses.”

  They walked across to the rose display, admiring the blooms for some time before the heat impelled them to a search for a footman with refreshments.

  They spied one handing out flutes of champagne to an elegantly dressed group of ladies and gentlemen near the first tent, and they started in that direction, but they were still a couple of dozen feet away when Lola spied one man in particular amid their circle, a man whose back was to her but whose tall, wide-shouldered frame made him easy to recognize.

  She froze, suddenly paralyzed. Her heart leapt in her chest, a sensation borne of dread, excitement, and something else—something a lot like longing. She knew she should turn around before he saw her, but her feet could not seem to obey her mind’s command.

  He turned his head toward a slim brunette in pale blue silk who stood beside him, and when the girl leaned closer, putting her hand on his arm as she murmured something close to his ear, the gesture of familiarity told Lola the woman must be Lady Georgiana Prescott.

  Seeing them hurt like fire, for they looked so splendid together, so right. They were surrounded by others whose elegance and wealth completed the picture. On Denys’s other side stood a black-haired man whose profile was distinctly familiar to her.

  Jack, she realized, but the ghastly situation enabled her to take no pleasure in seeing someone who she’d once, long ago, considered a friend. On his arm was a slim, elegant blonde—his wife, no doubt.

  Talking to the couple was a vivacious, dark-haired girl who bore such a striking resemblance to Denys, Lola knew she must be his sister, Lady Susan. The lady who stood beside her, a stout woman whose dark hair was streaked with gray, had to be his mother, Lady Conyers. And behind the group, facing her, stood a silver-haired, handsome man whose smiling, friendly countenance made him seem so different from the haughty earl who’d contemptuously shoved a bank draft in her face so long ago.

  The sight of Earl Conyers was the last straw. It snapped her out of her momentary paralysis, and she hastily whirled around before any of them could see her. “Oh, God, Kitty, we have to leave.”

  “But we’ve only just arrived.” Kitty reached out, plucking a flute of champagne from the footman as he walked by. “Why should we leave?”

  “Because,” she hissed, “Denys is here.”

  “Somerton? Where?”

  “That way.” Lola jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Don’t look,” she added in desperation as Kitty leaned sideways, trying to look past her. “He’s scarcely twenty feet away from us.”

  “Is he?” Kitty didn’t seem the least bit surprised. In fact, there was a little smile playing around her lips, and an awful idea flashed through Lola’s brain.

  “You knew he’d be here,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she watched her friend shift her weight in decidedly guilty fashion. “It’s an unbelievable coincidence that he would be at the same event we are when there are hundreds of things going on in London now, and yet, you are not the least bit surprised. You knew he’d be here, didn’t you?”

  Her friend wilted a bit beneath her gaze, confirming her guess. “I thought it was a possibility,” she mumbled.

  “What would ever lead you to believe he’d be at a flower show?”

  Kitty tugged self-consciously at her ear. “Lucky guess?” she ventured, but when Lola’s gaze narrowed still further, she gave a cough and proceeded to explain. “I heard tell that Somerton’s mother is the . . . ahem . . . patroness of this . . . umm . . . show.”

  “What? Oh, my God.” All the implications of the situation struck her, and she felt suddenly sick, and furious, and humiliated. If Denys saw her, he’d think . . . oh, God, it didn’t bear imagining what he would think.

  “How could you do this to me?” she demanded. “How?”

  “Well, it isn’t as if you don’t have the right to attend. It’s a public event, open to all. Even those of us in the lower classes are allowed to come,” she added, unmistakable bitterness in her voice. “They just don’t think we can afford to buy their outrageously expensive tickets.”

  “It doesn’t matter that we’re allowed to be here. You’ve put both me and Denys in an impossible position, don’t you see that?”

  “No, I don’t.” Kitty gave a toss of her head. “Somerton’s your business partner, isn’t he? Why shouldn’t you attend his precious mother’s flower show? Why shouldn’t you speak to him? Why shouldn’t he come over here and speak to you? Maybe he’ll escort us around.”

  Lola groaned, realizing just how clueless Kitty was about the social nuances of high society.

  “Besides,” Kitty added as she didn’t reply, “I told you before that I want one of our lot to beat the odds. Serve his snooty family right if you married Somerton,” she added, her voice bitter from her own heartbreak. “Knock ’em all into a cocked hat, it would.”

  “For the love of heaven, I told you there’s nothing romantic between—” She stopped, that kiss in Denys’s office and her own erotic imaginings from last night flashing through her mind. She took a deep breath and changed tactics. “You had no right to play matchmaker when we both know you only did it out of a desire for revenge and some cockeyed sense of social justice. How do you think this makes me appear, showing up at his mother’s charity event?”

  She could hear her voice rising with panic as she asked that question, and she paused to take a deep breath before she could speak again. “We have to leave.”

  “So you intend to go scurrying off as if you have something to be ashamed of? Are you supposed to avoid all the other events of the season just because he might happen to be at those, too?”

  “That is not the point, and you have no idea what you’ve done, and we are leaving right now.” She grabbed Kitty’s arm, but when she glanced around she realized escape was impossible. She was hemmed in by the elegant Georgian house and three walls of wrought-iron fencing, and the only way out was through the gate, which meant she’d have to walk right past his family.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, her quick survey of her surroundings revealed the awful fact that she’d been noticed. One by one, people were turning to look at her. She watched in dismay as, one by one, the people strolling casually about the grounds stopped walking and stared, their attention fixed not on the fine day or the flowers displayed, but on her.

  Oh, God, they all know who I am, she thought in horror. Probably none of these people have ever met me, and yet, they know.

  She felt as if she were watching a terrible street accident unfold before her eyes as she saw heads lean together, mouths begin to move. Every single pair of eyes in the crowd now seemed fixed on her, or on Denys and his family and friends, and as their gazes darted back and forth with
avid interest, it was easy to read their thoughts and hear their whispered speculations. They were all wondering how Lord Somerton’s former—or was it current?—mistress had the gall to appear at his mother’s charity event, and what was the earl going to do about it?

  Wondering if she could just bolt for the exit, she cast a desperate glance over her shoulder and froze, horrified to find the earl staring straight at her. His face, so pleasant and good-natured a moment ago, was now flushed purple with anger. His lips were pressed tight, and beneath his hat, his dark gaze seemed to blaze with repressed outrage. Their gazes locked, and he stiffened, raising his chin to the haughty angle so fitting to his rank. Then, with nearly every eye in the place watching the scene, he circled the group he was with, and with slow, deliberate intent, so that anyone watching her would see his action, he took several steps toward her, then stopped, and turned his back.

  Lola sucked in her breath, the blatant snub like a punch in the stomach. She knew she should look away, walk, go . . . somewhere, and yet, she could not seem to move. She felt pinned in place by a hundred gazes, like a butterfly tacked up in a display case.

  Denys and the girl suddenly seemed to realize something was amiss. They lifted their heads from their intimate tête-à-tête, and that was when Denys saw her. His eyes widened in astonishment, he glanced around, then he returned his gaze to hers. In his face, she could see shock, and when he pressed his lips together, he looked every bit as angry as his father.

  Was he going to cut her, too? She couldn’t bear to see it happen, and yet, she could not seem to make herself turn away. And besides, where was there to go?

  She stared at him helplessly, tears of mortification blurring him before her eyes. She wanted to die. An earthquake would be ideal, one that would split the perfectly manicured grass and allow the earth swallow her up. Unfortunately, despite what Denys’s family thought of her, she was no witch and could not conjure up earthquakes with a magic spell.

  God help me, she thought. What am I going to do?

  Chapter 17

  She looked like a stricken doe surrounded by hunters. And the hunters, he noted as he glanced around, were out for blood. A glance at his father’s face told him some of those hunters were in his own family. Denys moved, taking a protective step toward her, but a hand curled around his arm, stopping him.

  He turned his head and found Georgiana staring at him, her gray eyes wide and appalled. “Denys, what are you doing?” she whispered. “You can’t be thinking to actually walk over and speak to that woman?”

  He returned his gaze to Lola. He’d never seen her look this way—mortified and frightened. It was so unlike her, and he knew she was waiting to see what he would do. “Of course I shall speak to her,” he said, keeping his voice low and as matter-of-fact as possible. “She is my business partner. We discussed that fact only yesterday, Georgiana.”

  “Being her business partner does not mean you can acknowledge her publicly!”

  That sort of hair-splitting was so absurd he nearly laughed. “I see no way to be one without doing the other.” He glanced over to where Lola was still standing on the lawn surrounded by a sea of faces, avid and eager for scandal, and he knew all of them were wondering what he intended to do. “We can discuss this later. Everyone is waiting on my action, and I cannot allow her to be humiliated this way a moment longer.”

  “Humiliated?” Georgiana tightened her grip on his arm before he could turn away. “If you speak to her, if you even acknowledge her, it is I who am humiliated,” she choked. “Do you not see that?”

  He shook his head, knowing what she was expecting, knowing he could not do it. “I will not give her the cut, Georgiana. Even for you, I will not do that.”

  She made a sound—surprise, outrage, pain—he didn’t know which because he hadn’t seen her display any of these emotions before, not since they were children. Without warning, tears welled up in her eyes. “I knew it,” she whispered. “I’ve always known.”

  And then, Georgiana, admired by all for her self-control and restraint, began to cry. Her hand slid away from his arm, she ducked around him, and ran for the house.

  Christ Almighty.

  He couldn’t go after her, for he had an even more pressing problem than Georgiana’s tears. He took another step toward Lola, but he was stopped again, this time by an unmistakably masculine grip. He turned, ready to tell his father not to interfere in his affairs, only to find it was Jack behind him.

  “Georgiana’s right, old boy.”

  “I won’t give Lola the cut, Jack,” he muttered. “I won’t.”

  “Acknowledge her, if you must. But you can’t go over there and speak to her. If you do, everyone will see it as a slap in Georgiana’s face. She doesn’t deserve that.”

  “I know, but hell, Jack, I can’t leave Lola standing there in limbo.”

  “I’ll take care of Lola. You go after Georgiana. You must,” he added, as Denys opened his mouth to argue. “Georgiana’s the girl you’re thinking to marry.” He paused, his dark eyes looking into Denys’s. “Isn’t she?”

  Denys knew the answer to that question, knew it with abrupt and absolute certainty, but he also knew his sudden realization didn’t change the fact that Jack was right. He nodded. “Get Lola out of here.”

  “I’ll run the gauntlet with her, never fear.” He winked. “Right past Conyers and all the rest.”

  “Linnet won’t like it,” Denys felt compelled to point out.

  “No,” his friend agreed, and grinned. “But my wife has been angry with me many times before. I’m sure she’ll be angry with me quite a few times more before I’m finally laid in the ground.”

  With that, Jack turned and started toward Lola, who was standing with her friend, pretending a vast interest in the roses and trying her best to ignore the fact that everyone within fifty feet was observing her.

  He waited as Jack walked to her side, bowed to her, and offered his arm, and it hurt to know that he’d had to allow a friend the honor of rescuing her.

  Jack and Lola started in his direction, her friend trailing a couple of feet behind them, and as they approached, Denys’s gaze slid to his family. They stood huddled together about a dozen feet from him—Susan, with her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide, his mother, displaying all the stoic calm a lady could manage in these circumstances, and lastly, his father, stone-faced and grim. He met the reproach in the earl’s eyes with an unwavering gaze of his own before returning his attention to the couple coming across the grass. As she passed, he bowed to her, a polite but brief acknowledgment that, though it might offend Georgiana, wouldn’t be a public insult to her.

  Lola gave him a nod in return and strolled on by, but though his duty to her was done, he waited until Jack had seen her through the gates and into the park before he turned his attention to the house and another duty, one that he suspected was going to be every bit as painful.

  He knew Georgiana well enough to know where he’d find her, and it didn’t take long to confirm his guess had been right. For he’d barely started down the corridor to Bute’s music room before the melancholy notes of a Chopin concerto floated to his ears. In the doorway, he paused, and seeing her over the piano reminded him of when they were children and they’d played duets together.

  He felt now all the same warm affection he’d felt for her then, but that was all he felt, and he knew now it was all he would ever feel. He also knew it was not enough, not for him. It could never be enough.

  The music stopped, and she looked up, and though it was a hard, hard thing to look into her eyes, he did it. They were dry now, no sign of tears, but he could still see pain in their gray depths. He took a deep breath, removed his hat, and said the only thing that a gentleman could say in such circumstances.

  “I’m sorry, Georgiana.”

  She lifted her chin a little higher, a proud gesture that reminded him of Lola though he doubted Georgiana would have seen that particular comparison as a compliment. She swallowed hard
. “Just what,” she said in a choked voice, “are you sorry for, Denys?”

  He suspected they both knew the answer to that question, but of course, it had to be said aloud.

  “I’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry for it,” he said simply. “That has never been my intent. I have a great deal of fondness and affection for you, and have always regarded you as a dear friend. But—”

  He stopped as she closed her eyes, and he waited for her to open them again before saying the rest. “But I have come to realize it is not enough for marriage.”

  She did not reply. Instead, she lifted her hands from the piano, and they trembled a little as she clasped them together. She steepled her index fingers, pressing the tips to her lips, considering her next words with care. “But surely,” she said at last, “fondness and affection—along with suitability, of course—are the perfect foundation for marriage.”

  He had been trying to accept that particular premise all his life. When she had returned last year from an extended trip to the Continent, he’d already decided he was done with crazy, ungovernable passions, and he’d worked to accept everyone else’s notion that mutual affection and fondness were a better basis for a happy marriage than romantic love could ever be. He thought he had succeeded, but he knew he had not. “Some people say that’s how it is.”

  Her hands opened in a gesture of bewilderment. “I don’t know anyone who would say otherwise.”

  That premise might be true for most people, but he knew now, as surely as he knew his name, that for him, marriage without romantic love would be as cold and colorless as the North Sea in January.

  Georgiana deserved better from matrimony than that. So did he.

  “I would,” he said. “I would say otherwise.”

  She shook her head, a sudden, violent movement of denial, and jerked to her feet, but when she spoke, her voice was low, controlled. “All my life, I’ve waited for you, Denys, because I’ve always known we would be perfect together. Our families know it, too. We are so well suited. We have many interests in common, we think alike about most things. Why, in the whole of our lives, we’ve never had so much as one disagreement.”