Wanted: Mail-Order Mistress

by Deborah Hale

  “Of course not.” Simon willed her to him. “Perhaps you thought me too severe in condemning those convicts, but that does not mean I am without sympathy for the innocent. On the contrary, it is because of my concern for them that I wish to see those who would harm or exploit them brought to justice.”

  “But it isn’t always easy to know who’s at fault.” Bethan took a sip of wine, perhaps to fortify herself. “Who is the villain and who is the victim.”

  “For some people, perhaps,” Simon agreed. “But I try not to jump to the conclusions others might. Is it too much to hope that you could put the unfortunate events of the past behind you and make a fresh start in Singapore…with me?”

  The tip of Bethan’s tongue peeped out to run over her lips. The memory of their satin smoothness and delicate flavour sent a surge of heat through Simon.

  “It’s not easy to forget the past altogether,” she murmured in what sounded like a plea for understanding. “It’s our past that has made us the people we are today.”

  Simon mulled over her words. “Few men have better reason to know that than I, my dear. I am only asking that you not let the present always be tainted by the events of your past. For my part, I will make every effort to conduct myself in a way that will not evoke unpleasant memories for you.”

  Bethan still looked somewhat bewildered. Or perhaps her expression was one of disbelief. He could not blame her for being wary. Yet it galled him to be viewed in the same way as the rogue who’d stolen her innocence, when he would rather die than commit such an outrage!

  Before Bethan could hazard a reply, Rosalia’s amah entered the dining room and bowed. “Master, but there is an important matter I wish to speak of, if I may?”

  “Of course.” The servant’s sudden arrival troubled Simon. He could not recall the last time Ah-Sam had sought him out like this. “There’s nothing wrong with Rosalia, I hope?”

  “No, master. She is very well. Rosalia is a good child—clever and respectful. She will never bring dishonour upon her family.”

  “You’ve done an excellent job raising her.” Simon humoured Ah-Sam’s preoccupation with Rosalia’s behaviour. Having also raised the child’s mother, perhaps she blamed herself for Carlotta’s transgressions. “Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

  Ah-Sam bowed again. “I have received word that my sister is very ill and wishes to see me. There is a ship sailing for Macau in two days. I ask that you find someone to care for Rosalia until I return.”

  “Of…course…” After all Ah-Sam’s years of faithful service, how could he deny her request? Perhaps she also wanted to visit the graves of her ancestors, something her people set great store by when they reached a certain age. “But…two days? How will I ever find anyone suitable by then?”

  Women were scarce enough in Singapore that most had no difficulty finding husbands. That left very few available to work as servants.

  “I’d be happy to look after Rosalia,” Bethan offered. “At least until you can find someone else.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Simon replied.

  “Why not? I have plenty of experience minding children. Rosalia and I get on well together and I don’t have enough to do while you’re at work. By the time you get home, she’ll be ready for bed.”

  “Wah! It is a fine idea,” declared Ah-Sam. “Rosalia will be very happy.”

  Simon was not convinced, but his years in business had taught him when to cut his losses. “It appears I am outnumbered. Very well, then. Bethan may take charge of Rosalia. But only until I can hire a proper replacement.”

  The broad smile with which Ah-Sam greeted his decision made Simon uneasy.

  Chapter Six

  What had Simon been trying to tell her before Ah-sam interrupted them? Bethan had an uneasy feeling about their conversation.

  In bed that night, she tried to sort it all out, with little success. Simon had used so many hard words, she wasn’t always certain what he meant. Even when she thought she understood him, the things he’d said did not quite make sense.

  Her heart had leapt into her throat when he claimed to know what was troubling her and said he had guessed all along. Strangely, he didn’t sound angry about what he called the difficulties in her past nor did he blame her. Though he seemed to understand why she’d come to Singapore looking for her brother, now he wanted her to forget about Hugh and make a new life with him.

  It was a tempting prospect, she could not deny that. Simon had the means to give her a better life than anything she could have hoped for back in Britain. As his wife, she’d be mistress of a fine house with servants at her beck and call. She would get to live in a colourful, exotic land where luxuries like tea, coffee, silk, sugar and spices of the finest quality were plentiful. Besides all those material comforts, she would have a precious little stepdaughter and a husband whose kisses made her heart flutter and her bones melt. But even for all that, how could she abandon her brother—especially if he might be in trouble and need her help?

  Gradually Bethan fell into a restless sleep. Unable to escape her struggle, she spent the whole night dreaming about Hugh and Simon. In one dream her brother was drowning, calling out for her to throw him a rope. In another he was caught in a maze of high walls, crying for her to show him the way out. Each time, when she tried to help her brother, Simon appeared to distract her with the touch of his hand or the brush of his lips. Hugh’s cries grew weaker and weaker until at last they fell silent.

  She woke the next morning with her heart throbbing against her ribs and her stomach churning. Desperate for some distraction from the tug of war within her, she ate a hurried breakfast, then went to the nursery. There she found Rosalia watching with a woebegone expression as Ah-Sam packed her trunk. The child looked badly in need of a distraction, too.

  “Good morning, Rosalia.” Bethan held out her hand to the little girl. “Would you like to come for a walk with me?”

  The child jumped up from her seat beside the window. With quick but dainty steps, she flew towards Bethan. “A walk—where?”

  “I thought we might go down to the shore. I like being so near the sea.”

  Rosalia glanced back at her amah. “May I please, Ah-Sam?”

  “She can go.” Ah-Sam raised her forefinger. “One hour, then come home.”

  As they strolled away hand in hand, she called out in her language and Rosalia answered.

  “What did she say?” Bethan whispered.

  Rosalia broke into a grin. “Ah-Sam says I mustn’t forget to wear my hat or my nose will get freckles like yours.”

  Bethan chuckled. The other maids in Newcastle had twitted her about the dusting of freckles on her nose, but she didn’t see anything wrong with them. “When I was a wee girl, my daddy told me freckles came from fairies kissing me while I was asleep.”

  Rosalia’s forehead creased in a puzzled look. “What’s a daddy?”

  “It comes from the Welsh word tad,” Bethan explained. “It means father or papa.”

  Rosalia said nothing more while she and Bethan fetched their wide-brimmed hats and let themselves out the back door into the garden.

  “Is your daddy in England like Uncle Hadrian?” she asked at last. “Do you miss him being so far away?”

  The child’s innocent question hit Bethan like an unexpected blow. It took a moment to gather her composure. “I do miss him sometimes. He’s not back in England, though. He’s gone away to Heaven. But when I remember things he used to say, like the bit about fairy kisses, I feel as if part of him is still with me.”

  “Is your mama in Heaven too?” Rosalia’s small hand clung tighter to Bethan’s as she opened a wrought-iron gate at the bottom of the garden.

  They slipped out on to the road that ran along the shore. The only traffic on it was a cart pulled by a black bullock.

  Bethan nodded in response to Rosalia’s question. “She’s been gone two years now. Sometimes that doesn’t seem like so long ago. But other times…”
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  “My mama went to Heaven a long time ago. I can’t remember anything about her.” Though the child spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, her words brought a lump into Bethan’s throat.

  She was about to suggest Rosalia ask her father to share some of his memories about her mother, then she recalled his abrupt refusal to speak of his late wife.

  Lifting Rosalia down the embankment on to the sandy beach, she inhaled a bracing draught of sea air. “I love the sound of the waves, don’t you? Look at all the ships anchored out there. I wonder where they’ve all come from and what sort of goods they’ve brought to trade.”

  “They’re too far away to see very well,” said Rosalia. “Our old house was on the river beside Papa’s godown. I used to watch all the tongkangs loading and unloading. Sometimes the lightermen would wave and call out to me. I wish we still lived there. It wasn’t big and quiet like the new house, but there was always something exciting to watch. Uncle Hadrian lived with us at the old house. Ah-Sam and Ah-Ming are very happy to hear he found a wife. I wonder where he found her. Do you think he had to look very hard?”

  “I don’t think he found his wife quite that way.” Bethan pulled off her shoes and stockings and wriggled her toes in the warm sand. “You make it sound like they were playing a game of hidey.”

  “Uncle Hadrian used to play that game with me sometimes. He brought me treats, too—custard apples and mangosteens.” The tip of Rosalia’s tongue flicked over her lips.

  The way she spoke of Mr Northmore reminded Bethan of the happiest years of her childhood. “Does your father play with you often?”

  Rosalia shook her head, making the loops of her braids slap against her cheeks. “Papa can’t play. His sore leg makes it hard for him to run.”

  Bethan understood how Simon’s old injury might make it difficult for him to romp about with his small daughter. But surely he could find some other ways to provide Rosalia with the attention she clearly craved.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my legs.” She lifted the hem of her skirts to give the child a peek. “And I can think of all sorts of games to play on the beach. We could race each other along the shore, jump the waves as they come in, build a sandcastle…”

  Rosalia’s face lit up more brightly at each suggestion. Then she looked down at her shoes and skirts with a dispirited grimace. “We might get dirty and I don’t think I’m allowed to go barefoot like the Malay children.”

  “You most certainly are.” Bethan planted her hands on her hips. “I’m allowing it and if we get dirty I’ll take all the blame. Come on, now, we’ve only got an hour, remember?”

  “All right.” Rosalia balanced against a large, weathered rock to remove her shoes and stockings. “Uncle Hadrian used to let me do things I wasn’t allowed. Ah-Sam grumbled sometimes, but she couldn’t scold him.”

  “Let’s go.” Bethan hoisted up her skirts with one hand while holding her hat with the other. “See if you can catch me.”

  As they played together on the beach, Bethan mulled over what Rosalia had said about her father. Thinking back over the days since she had come to Singapore, she realised Simon had spent hardly any time with his daughter.

  He was a very busy man, she reminded herself. She hoped he did not feel obliged to spend time courting her that he might otherwise have devoted to his daughter. She would have to speak to him about it.

  Perhaps his answer would help her reach a decision about whether to marry him.

  The night after Ah-Sam left for Macau, Simon entered his house and immediately headed for the nursery. As he approached, peals of merry laughter floated through the villa like a cool sea breeze on a stifling day. Stopping by the open door, he peered in to find Bethan sitting opposite Rosalia at a small table.

  “My tiger eats your leopard,” cried Rosalia with a ring of gleeful triumph that surprised Simon.

  He’d always found her a rather subdued child.

  “My poor leopard!” Bethan gave an exaggerated sob that ended in a giggle. “I was very fond of him. In that case, I’m afraid my wolf will have to eat your dog.”

  “He can’t!” Rosalia shook her head so hard, her dark braids swung in wide arcs. “Dog can eat wolf, not the other way around. You’d better move your wolf or my dog will eat him next.”

  “That doesn’t sound right to me,” Bethan protested. “Perhaps he isn’t really a wolf at all, just a little fox.”

  She glanced up suddenly and spied Simon watching them. He gave a guilty start as their eyes met.

  “Come in,” she called. “Your daughter is teaching me how to play Do Show…”

  “Dou Shou Qi. Yes, I heard.” As he stepped into the room, Simon felt his presence cast a shadow over their merriment.

  “Would you like to play the winner of our match?” asked Bethan, with a subtle ring of challenge in her tone. “Your daughter’s animals have been making a fine meal out of mine.”

  “Well done, Rosalia.” Simon nodded to the child. “Another time, perhaps. I came to ask if you would care to take another drive with me before dinner. We could go down Beach Road to see the Sultan’s istana.”

  “That sounds lovely!” Bethan scrambled up from the floor. “Can Rosalia come too? I’m sure she’d enjoy an outing.”

  This was what he’d been afraid of when Bethan offered to care for the child. Did she intend to use Rosalia as a little chaperon to keep him at arm’s length? He must take a firm stand or who knew when he might get another moment alone with her.

  “Then you must take her on one, by all means. I will put Mahmud and the gharry at your disposal. I would rather limit this excursion to the two of us. I spoke to Ah-Ming and she will be happy to give the child her supper and put her to bed. Is that all right with you, Rosalia?”

  “Yes, Papa.” She nodded obediently. “I hope you have a nice drive.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” Simon had known he could count on her not to make a fuss. He would tell Ah-Ming to provide a special treat for her.

  He turned his attention back to Bethan. “That’s settled, then. After you finish your game, we can go.”

  “Very well.” Her nose wrinkled as if she’d caught a whiff of putrid-smelling durian fruit. “Perhaps it is best if we go by ourselves. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Simon didn’t like the sound of that. With a curt bow, he withdrew to wait for her in the gharry.

  When half an hour passed and she still had not come, his patience began to wear thin. He was on the verge of abandoning the whole idea when Bethan appeared, looking every bit as vexed with him as he was with her.

  “What took you so long?” he muttered. “I’m not accustomed to being kept waiting.”

  “I’m not one of your workers!” Her lips pursed until they looked like hard little nuggets of coral. “I didn’t want to leave Rosalia until I was certain she was all right.”

  “Is she ill? She looked perfectly well when I saw her.” Concern for the child overcame Simon’s irritation. Tropical fevers could strike as suddenly as tropical storms, and wreak even greater devastation.

  “It’s nothing like that.” Bethan shook her head. “But she misses Ah-Sam and now she thinks you’re angry with her.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Simon slapped the reins against the horse’s rump more sharply than he’d intended. “I can’t imagine where she got such an idea.”

  “Just because you don’t understand how your daughter feels doesn’t make those feelings any less real to her.” Bethan spoke in a pleading tone with an edge of exasperation. “Rosalia is so quiet, you don’t realise how deeply she feels things.”

  “And you do, I suppose?” It troubled him to think that after less than a fortnight’s acquaintance she might already know things about Rosalia that he’d never suspected.

  “I do.” Bethan crossed her arms in from of her chest. “And so would you if you cared enough to spend any time with her.”

  “That’s not fair!” Simon protested. “I have a great many claim
s on my time. I’ve always made certain Rosalia was well cared for and wants for nothing.”

  “Nothing except a father’s fondness and attention,” said Bethan as Simon swung the gharry on to Beach Road. “That’s not something you can buy with your fortune, but it’s priceless all the same.”

  He did not want to hear such things, especially not from her. If they’d been back at the house, he would have walked away. Out here, he had no choice but to sit and listen.

  His features must have betrayed more of his true feelings than he usually allowed, for Bethan’s tone softened. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing you’ve provided so well for Rosalia. It’s just that she needs more from you than a fine house and lots of servants.”

  She sounded as if she were trying to explain the simplest fact to some poor halfwit. “Who are you to tell me what Rosalia needs? You’re not her mother and you never will be!”

  Simon regretted the words even as they left his lips. He’d thrown in her face the real reason she was here—a reason she was still innocent enough to find shameful.

  She sucked in a sharp breath as if he’d struck her with his fist.

  “Forgive me.” It was a struggle for him to get those words out. “That was uncalled for.”

  “I know I won’t be Rosalia’s mother.” Her quiet reply only made him feel worse. “But that doesn’t stop me from caring about her. I may not have been here long, but I understand her better than you think. Tell me, why do you suppose she’s so well behaved all the time?”

  Her question made Simon squirm. “There’s nothing wrong with that, surely? It is Ah-Sam’s influence, and I commend her for it. Her people set great store by raising children to be obedient and respectful.”

  “That may be part of it,” Bethan conceded, “but the chief reason is that your daughter hopes she can be good enough to win your love.”

  “Nonsense!” If she’d thrashed his wounded leg with a bamboo cane, Simon would not have been more desperate to make her stop. “I’ve had quite enough of this subject for one evening. Can we talk about something else?”