Midnight Mistress

by Ruth Owen

  A week before the wedding, the Jollys hosted a dinner party of some twenty-odd friends. The perpetually wrinkled Mr. McGregor was seated beside Grenville’s groomsman, Lord Renquist, who appeared afraid to even glance in the solicitor’s direction for fear he would somehow damage his dandy image. The commodore sat at the head of the table, his naval rig gleaming like a spit-polished vessel, though it could be argued that his smile outshone even his brass buttons. Even Jamie had secured a place at the table beside Meg, his bright grin closely resembling the expression of a cat who had eaten a canary.

  The other end of the table was commandeered by Mrs. Jolly, whose unprecedented appearance would no doubt be the talk of every Mayfair salon for weeks to come. Lord and Lady Marchmont were there discussing, as always, the weather, and also in attendance was the ever glum Mr. Feathergill, who had recently been passed over for yet another promotion. Rice and Caldwell were there from the Admiralty, along with Mr. Hamilton and his newly affianced Miss Peak. The two were certainly a match for each order, Juliana thought as she watched the pair discuss in detail the importance of the latest dance step. But then, that was what her future held as well. Dance steps, the latest fashion magazine, the newest society scandal … and the war and the fate of the brave soldiers, sailors and merchant captains were of no consequence whatsoever.

  By and large, it was a warm and companionable gathering, but Juliana could not seem to keep her mind on the conversation. The group of friends reminded her so completely of the day in January when Connor had come to the Jollys’ house, when she had treated him so rudely, then followed him to the docks to apologize. So much had changed in her life, and yet nothing had changed at all. She was still the pinnacle of London society, still one of the wealthiest women in the country. And she was still hopelessly in love with Connor.…

  “A toast,” Grenville said as he rose from his seat, smiling his impeccably handsome grin. “To my bride-to-be, the loveliest woman in London.”

  Glasses were raised and cheers were made. Juliana schooled her features into a look of sincere pleasure, the same one she’d counterfeited at countless interminable card parties and soirees.

  Lord Renquist pushed back his chair and stood up. “To Lady Juliana, successful in society, in business, and now in love.”

  Juliana’s smile wavered, but she pasted it back in place and gave Renquist an appreciative nod.

  Mr. McGregor rose as well. “I’m not one for speeches, but the lass were as good an employer as ever there was. The lads miss you to a man. You’re a yar schooner in a fair wind, and that’s a fact. And I wish the same bonny success with yer marriage that you had with your business.”

  The cheers were a little less strong, but Juliana’s smile grew wider, and for the first time that evening she felt genuine tears in her eyes.

  Jolly bounded up, and hoisted his glass so rigorously that it nearly spilled. “Capital toast, McGregor. Here’s to Juliana. Here’s to the king. And while we’re at it, here’s to whoever catches that villain who’s been smuggling guns to Bonaparte.”

  A groan suffused the table at the sight of Jolly making yet another social blunder. The gathering might have shared his sentiment, but a party was hardly the place for a political statement. At least, that’s what everyone thought—except Juliana. Until that moment, she had not realized that the notorious spy was still at large. “Guns? But I thought that when Conn—I mean, I thought the spy was put out of commission months ago.”

  “Not likely,” McGregor quipped. “The cad’s as slippery as a sea snake and has men everywhere. It is rumored that he is using ships to smuggle English guns to France.”

  “But that is heinous!”

  “Most certainly,” Grenville intoned as he casually buttered a roll. “But hardly unique. With the volume of ships passing through the ports a few plans are bound to slip through.”

  “This cannot be allowed to continue,” she fired back, horrified at his indifference. “Perhaps I can help. I could review the shipping manifests, and help make certain that nothing irregular occurs—”

  Her fiancé raised his hand, silencing her. “This would be entirely inappropriate. Such behavior would be unseemly in a woman of your station.”

  “Unseemly? Our country is being compromised, and it is up to all of us to do our part. I know the business, and the people on the docks are my friends. And I know everyone at the Marquis Line. We worked together for months—”

  “Now they work for me,” Grenville interjected smoothly. “And I fear it would be … confusing for them if you came by the offices. Now, Mr. Feathergill, I believe you had a toast.”

  Mr. Feathergill might have, but Juliana did not stay to hear it. Claiming fatigue, she rose from the table, waving Meg to remain seated as she left the dining room and went to the sitting room, where she sank to the couch. Frustration that had been building in her for weeks came to a head.

  She’d made a bargain to protect her child, but now she saw what that bargain would truly cost. Pride. Self-respect. And, most of all, her birthright. Her father had left his business to her. But she had given up that responsibility to buy a name for her child. And given up her future to a man she could never love.

  The creak of a wheelchair alerted her to Mrs. Jolly’s approach. “I thought I might find you … yes, Henry, just leave me here, and please shut the door behind you. I would like to speak with Lady Juliana. Alone.”

  Juliana wiped the sheen of tears from her eyes. As far as Mrs. Jolly was concerned, she was a happy bride-to-be, who knew nothing of her dire circumstances. “Forgive me for leaving so abruptly. I was feeling somewhat tired, and I—”

  “Is it the babe?”

  Juliana paled. “But how—?”

  “Honestly, my dear, did you really think you could hide such a thing from me?”

  “I am not … I cannot … oh, Mrs. Jolly.” Juliana threw herself into her arms and sobbed out the tears she’d been battling for months. “I’m sorry … wanted to tell you, but I was afraid you would hate me.”

  “Nonsense,” the woman soothed, stroking the girls hair. “You are as dear to me as any daughter. That is why I made a point of writing to your cousin, and why I was so pleased when you said that he had offered for you. I have always hoped for you to make a marriage with a gentleman as fine and upstanding as he is.”

  Juliana shook her head. “He is fine and upstanding. But I cannot love him. I thought I could, but … no, it is not possible. He cares more for social convention than he does for the safety of our country … or for me. He will have me boxed and banded like some fancy hat, and keep me in his cupboard on display. How could I endure such a life …” She closed her eyes and bit back another rising sob. “I know Connor is a villain and a traitor—perhaps even a murderer. But I love him still. I cannot possibly marry another.”

  “I am afraid it is the only thing that is possible. My dear, I shall tell you a story—something I have told to no one, not even my son.” She glanced at the door to the sitting room, as if to make certain it was securely shut. “Years ago I fell in love. The man was far beneath my station, but that hardly mattered. I believed everything he told me, and allowed him to carry me off to Gretna Green.”

  Surprise dried Juliana’s tears. “You, Mrs. Jolly? But you are so proper.”

  “I was seventeen, my dear, and twice as willful as you. But I paid for my indiscretion tenfold. On the way to the anvil there was a terrible carriage accident. When I woke days later I found that I’d lost the use of my legs, and the man who’d sworn to love me all his life had taken the first mail coach back to London.”

  Juliana’s own distress paled beside what Mrs. Jolly had endured. “The monster. He should have been drawn and quartered.”

  The woman’s mouth ticked up. “He married a shrewish heiress from Surrey, which I believe was a worse fate. But my own reputation was in great jeopardy. I would have been ruined, except for a few valiant friends who stood by my side. The most noble of these was my dear Robert, Horatio
’s father. I’d always thought him a buffoon, but by giving me his name and protection he silenced the rumors. He might have been a bit buffle-headed, but he had a heart as big as the world. And, in time, I came to have a true and abiding affection for him.”

  Juliana folded her hands in her lap, sitting very still. “You think that my situation is the same—that I will eventually develop feelings for Grenville, and that … Connor never loved me.”

  Hortensia Jolly covered the girl’s tightly clasped hands. “I’ve no crystal ball, my girl. I cannot tell what the future holds for your feelings or your heart. But, for what it is worth, I believe that the captain did care for you. I spoke to him one night about you … yes, I know you weren’t aware of it, but it happened all the same. In fact, I must admit to be quite surprised when I found that he was a traitor. I am rarely so wrong in my judgments … but it’s of no consequence. If he is alive at all, he is nowhere near England. And even if he were, he could never offer you an honorable marriage. Grenville’s offer is the only thing that can redeem your reputation. You must think of what would be best for your child.”

  Slowly, Juliana nodded. “Of course you are right. That is the only thing that truly matters.”

  “In years to come you will see that you’ve made a wise decision. You will come to care for your husband as deeply as I cared for Robert, I am sure of it,” Mrs. Jolly proclaimed. “Now, go and dry those pretty eyes and come back to the party.”

  The two left the sitting room. For a moment the room remained empty. Then a side door that had been ajar was pushed open, and an elegant, dark-haired gentleman stepped through. “You see, I told you there was nothing to worry about. She will stay clear of the docks. And she will go through with the marriage.”

  The man beside him stroked his chin, saying nothing.

  “She will,” the first man insisted as he nervously raked back his hair. “She has no choice. The line will be ours, as we intended from the first.”

  “See that it is. Time is running short, and we need absolute control of the line. Either the chit marries, or I will deal with her as I dealt with her father. And you, my lord, will not be far behind.”

  And with that the man known as the Admiral made his way out of the room and rejoined the Jollys’ dinner party.

  “Are you sure we should be doing this again?” Meg asked as she pulled her cloak closer and hurried after Juliana along the banks of the Thames. “We had bad luck when we came to the docks alone before. And Grenville made it clear that he considered it unseemly for you to visit the Marquis Line offices.”

  “Yes, well, that is why we hired a coach instead of taking one of our own, so that there would be no servants to report back to him. Besides, Grenville does not own me or the line. At least, not for three more days. In any case, he is at Mrs. Pemberton’s recital this evening, listening to the lady massacre Mozart. He will never even know that we went to the offices.”

  “And why exactly are we going to the offices?”

  Why indeed? It seemed that she had fewer and fewer answers these days. Since her talk with Mrs. Jolly she’d tried to resign herself to her fate. Yet it was important that she make the right choice for her future—for herself, for the Marquis Line, and, most important, for her child. “Perhaps if I see my old office, I shall be able to give it up more easily. Perhaps all I require is a chance to say good-bye.”

  The offices were locked up tight for the night, but Juliana knew the clerk’s secret of jiggling the side door handle in such a way that the latch dropped. Inside, she walked through the deserted offices, savoring the memories of the days she had spent at the helm of this company, helping to continue her father’s legacy. She’d been respected. She’d had her dreams. And she had not yet discovered that the man she loved with all her heart was nothing but a vile traitor.

  While Meg searched for a light, Juliana stood next to the wide window in the owner’s office. She could see the clouds building in the distance, foretelling that a storm was on its way. Her gaze wandered to the ships anchored in the Thames, a forest of masts rising and falling in the gentle tide. She felt as if a part of her was coming back to life. She recognized the silhouettes of the Marquis Line ships even in the deepening twilight. The Silver, the Lysander, the Jennie Fagin, and more … she knew them the way she knew the fingers on her hand, and loved each and every one of them.

  And already she could see that Grenville was making decisions for them that neither she nor her father would have approved of.

  Many of the ships were in port—too many for this time of the season. Her cousin was missing the best trade winds of the year. Perhaps Grenville was waiting on cargo shipments from the north, but it was still pure folly to keep what amounted to half the Marquis fleet in the port at once. Grenville should have had more care with the business, but she was unsurprised that he had not. Ever since his speech at dinner, she’d known he was far more interested in making political connections at the War Office than he was in the shipping business.

  The line had been her father’s legacy to her, but she had given it up to an indifferent owner in a time of great danger and strife. For too long she had been avoiding taking responsibility for her own mistakes and triumphs. She had been letting others steer her course. If decisions were to be made about her life, she was the one who had to make them. Good or bad, right or wrong, socially approved or beyond the pale.

  She placed her hand on her stomach, thinking about the baby inside her. She wanted to give her baby an honorable name and a decent life, but what kind of decency was based on a lie? Her father had given her a legacy of courage and honor, of facing life head-on whatever the consequences. Did her child deserve any less?

  The first huge drops of rain began to splatter against the window, but she barely noticed. Turning her back on the society she’d always known was a frightening prospect, yet she believed in her heart that it was the right thing. Somehow, she knew it was what her father would have wanted her to do. And for the first time in weeks she was charting her own course.

  “Meg, you will likely think me the greatest fool in the world. But I cannot turn my back on my Father’s dream for the price of social acceptance, anymore than I can turn my back on my ch—Meg?”

  There was no answer.

  Honestly, that girl must get her spectacles checked if she has gotten lost in these offices. Using the remains of the twilight, Juliana felt along the bookshelves. “It is all right, Meg,” she called out. “I remember keeping a phosphorous box on the shelves … yes, here it is.”

  She struck the spark and lit a nearby candle, placing it on the comer of Grenville’s desk. My desk, soon. And likely to be the only place I’m welcome in a long, long time. Still, she could feel her spirits rising by the second. The prospect of never attending another of Mrs. Pemberton’s boring soirees, or drinking another glass of warm lemonade at Almack’s, or making polite, vapid conversation with Lord Renquist vastly appealed to her. She’d made the right choice, she was sure of it. She was—

  Her thoughts veered in another direction as she spied a piece of paper on the top of the desk. Curious, she lifted it up to the flickering candlelight. It was a cargo invoice for the Silver, one of her father’s largest ships. According to the manifest, Grenville intended to send it out only half full of cargo. Monstrous waste of cargo space, and a foolish move even for the most foolish of businessmen. She was taking back the line none too soon. Curious at what other blunders her cousin was making, she sifted through the rest of the correspondence on his desk. After all, it was still hers by right, and she would be back in this chair as soon as she told him the wedding was off—

  Her hand still as she picked up a letter that had been secreted at the bottom of the pile. It bore the signature of Viscount Melville, the First Lord of the Admiralty. It was hard to make out in the dim light, but it appeared to be some sort of naval plan. “Meg, come here at once. I’ve found something very curious on Grenville’s desk, and I—”

  Lightning split
the sky outside, throwing a man’s shadow on the wall in front of her. Before she could even think to scream, she was grabbed from behind and a cloth was clamped over her mouth and nose. She struggled valiantly, but a gagging scent sucked her down like numbing quicksand. She tumbled into unconsciousness, but just before as the blackness closed around her, she heard a voice speaking as if from a great distance away.

  “Hell, Princess, can’t you just once keep your pretty neck out of trouble?”

  She felt Connor wrap her in a thick cloak to protect her from the rain and cradle her against him as if she were the most precious thing in the world. She snuggled into the warmth of his embrace, the black despair of the last few months clearing like smoke in the wind. Everything would be all right now. Connor would make it all right. She wanted to tell him that she was only half-alive without him, that she knew in her heart that none of the things they said about him were true, that they were going to have a child, that she had never stopped believing in him, or wanting him, or loving him … She tried and tried to say the words, fighting against the strange lethargy when she finally broke free—minutes, hours or days later, she couldn’t tell which—her eyes fluttered open and she blinked, expecting to gaze into Connor’s brilliant, loving eyes …

  But Connor was not there.

  Warm lantern light illuminated the cozy bedchamber, while the relentless night storm still raged outside a window. Juliana groaned, feeling woozy and achy, as if she had just consumed a great quantity of wine. But even more painful was the disappointment. It had been a dream. Nothing but another foolish dream. Swallowing her despair, she started to push herself up from the pillows, but froze as she sensed that something was amiss. The curtains on the nearby window were sunny yellow instead of her bedchamber’s royal blue. Unless someone had dramatically redecorated her room while she was sleeping—and shrunk it to half its size—she was no longer at the Jollys’.