Wanted: Mail-Order Mistress

by Deborah Hale

He tucked Bethan’s locket into the breast pocket of his coat for safekeeping. Throughout that day it rested against his heart, a constant reminder of her many sterling qualities and how great a temptation she might pose to some other man. He could not run the risk of having such a precious treasure stolen from him.

  This visit of Rosalia’s could not have come at a better time, Bethan reflected as she and Simon drove back up Beach Road after delivering his daughter to visit her little friends. Besides allowing them more time alone, it would give her a chance to seek out the doctor who might have information about her brother.

  “You’re quiet.” Simon’s voice called her back from her thoughts and plans. “That isn’t like you. Nothing wrong is there.”

  “Not at all.” Realising she needed an excuse to explain her silence, Bethan offered one that was more than half-true. “Though I am a bit worried about Rosalia. I know she’ll be safe enough, but I hope she’ll have a good time and not be lonely.”

  Simon’s features relaxed. “I don’t suppose there’s much chance of that with four other children for company. Did you see how taken she was with the baby?”

  Bethan chuckled. “I think she’ll be pestering you for one the minute she gets home.” Realising how that might sound, she blushed furiously. “I didn’t mean…that is…she’ll likely want a doll or some such.”

  The sight of the Bertram’s youngest, with its thatch of dark downy hair, plump wee cheeks and sweet milky scent had called forth a tender, brooding yearning in her as well. But it had also raised questions she’d been foolishly trying to ignore about the possibility of Simon getting her with child.

  Her mother had told her little enough about how babies were bred, except for a few furtive words when she first got her monthly flux. The mysterious jests and whispers of her fellow servants had done little to cure her ignorance. She was certain Simon would explain it all to her if she asked, but it was such an thorny subject to raise. She didn’t want him to think she would use a child of theirs to get things from him, the way his late wife had. Neither did she want to sort out all her confused feelings about motherhood and what it would mean for her. A joy, quite likely, given how much she loved children, but a burden and worry too. A child would tie her to Simon as tightly as wedding vows, even if he could not love her.

  “Don’t worry.” He gave her knee a reassuring pat. “I know what you meant.”

  Did he really? Somehow Bethan doubted it.

  “Rosalia isn’t that far away if she wants to come home,” he continued. “See, we’re back already. Now, I want you to change into your prettiest gown—that green one, perhaps. I’ve only seen you wear it once and you looked lovely in it.”

  “You mean my wedding dress?” The words popped out before Bethan could stop them. “I mean, the dress I bought to wear for…when I thought we were…Good heavens, I’m all tongue-tied today!”

  A glance into the garden as they drove to the stable provided the perfect change of subject. “What’s that table doing out in the middle of the grass? And what are those coloured balls hanging from the trees?”

  “Chinese lanterns.” Simon’s voice had a jaunty ring to it. “Part of a little surprise I planned for this evening. I hope you’ll enjoy dining out in the garden. I asked Cook to prepare us a banquet of his most interesting and toothsome dishes.”

  “What’s the occasion for all this fuss?” Bethan asked as he helped her out of the gharry.

  “You’ll see,” he replied with a mysterious half-smile.

  Curious to find out, she changed quickly into her green gown. But on her way to join Simon for dinner, she happened to glance out the window that looked down Beach Road. Only four plots up the street, in a house she’d passed several times since coming to Singapore, was the man who could tell her what she’d come so far to find out.

  Eager as she was to speak to him, she also felt a qualm of dread. What Dr Ellison had to tell her might threaten the life she hoped to make with Simon and Rosalia. It was no use getting ahead of herself, though. This evening promised delights she did not want to spoil by borrowing trouble.

  “You’ve never looked more beautiful.” Simon swept an admiring glance over her when she appeared in the sitting room a few moments later. “May I escort you to dinner? Al fresco as the Italians would call it, if we had any of them in Singapore. They are one of the few nationalities not represented here.”

  He led her out to the garden, where darkness was beginning to fall. The brightly coloured paper lanterns cast a warm glow over the whole area. The lush fragrance of jasmine perfumed the air. Beneath the spreading canopy of a tall saga tree, a compact table was set for two with a white cloth, gleaming china, crystal and silverware. The middle of the table held an array of flowers in the most vivid and varied hues Bethan had ever seen—coral pink, golden yellow, rich purple.

  “What are these?” she asked as Simon held out her chair. “They’re so perfect, they don’t look quite real.”

  “Orchids. They grow wild around here, clinging to the trees like weeds.”

  “Prettiest weeds I’ve ever seen.” Bethan smiled up at him. “I can’t believe you’ve gone to all this trouble for me. I feel like a princess in a story.”

  Simon might not be the perfect hero-protector she’d once dreamed of. His armour was dented in places and he’d needed her help to slay a few of his dragons. Yet somehow that made him all the more appealing.

  A few moments later, Ah-Ming appeared bearing bowls of bird’s-nest soup. The broth wasn’t full of little twigs like Bethan expected from the name. Instead it was thick like unset jelly and rather sweet.

  “It’s not to everyone’s taste,” murmured Simon when Ah-Ming was out of earshot. “But the Chinese regard it as a great delicacy. They say it keeps a person healthy and young.”

  “I like it well enough.” Bethan made sure to clean every drop from her bowl so Cook would not be insulted.

  She liked the dish of prawns that followed much more, and the Chinese capon was so moist and tender she savoured it to the last morsel. While they ate, Simon entertained her with stories of Singapore’s earlier days and the time he’d spent in India and Penang with his partners. Now that he was not so anxious to suppress unpleasant memories, he seemed free to recall happier times.

  As they lingered over a final course of tropical fruit and sweet little cakes called kueh, Simon removed something from his pocket. “Now for the surprise I promised you.”

  “I thought all this was the surprise.”

  “Part of it.” His lips remained solemn, but his blue eyes shimmered with an expectant smile. “The introduction.”

  He hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words to continue. “I have something to give you. I hope you’ll pardon my delay in doing so. I wanted to present it under the proper circumstances.”

  Reaching across the table, over the vibrant mass of orchids, he opened his hand to reveal her silver locket.

  “You found it!” Bethan seized the locket and pressed it to her lips. “Where? How? Oh, thank you, Simon!”

  He explained about seeking help from one of the Chinese merchants.

  Bethan’s eyes misted with tears when she opened the locket to find the tiny image of her father undamaged. He smiled up at her as if happy to be reunited after so many weeks.

  She scarcely noticed what Simon was saying as he continued. “I realise a ring is the customary medium for such requests. And the locket already belongs to you, so of course you must keep it no matter what your answer.”

  “Answer?” She wrenched her gaze away from her father’s face to stare at Simon. “I don’t understand. What’s the question?”

  “I should think that was obvious.” He cleared his throat. “Will you marry me?”

  Those words took her breath away. A surge of love for him swept through her so powerfully that it made her want to laugh and weep and dance all at once. She knew what it must have cost Simon to set aside his stubborn vow never to wed again. And for him
to trust that she would not betray him.

  She wanted so desperately to accept and she would as soon as she recovered her voice.

  Struggling to rally her composure, she glanced down at the locket. She was touched that Simon had gone to such lengths to recover it and that he’d chosen to use this most precious of objects to honour her with his proposal.

  But as she stared at her father’s likeness, his expression appeared changed from what it had been only a moment before. It seemed to warn her that marriage was no guarantee of love. His resemblance to Hugh reminded her of her family duty—an obligation so vastly at odds with her desire to be Simon’s wife.

  It was a duty she could not abandon when she was so close to finding out what had become of her beloved brother.

  Why didn’t Bethan answer?

  As Simon awaited her reply, his belly twisted in tight knots as if he’d just taken the most reckless risk of his life.

  She had been about to accept—he’d seen the answer sparkling in her eyes. Or was that only the reflection of the paper lanterns?

  When she looked up from the locket, her fresh, vibrant beauty was shadowed with distress. “You swore you’d never marry again.”

  “I know I did.” Pride and caution warned him not to beg. Her hesitation hurt him enough. He did not need a bitter dose of humiliation on top of that.

  Still he could not keep from trying to persuade her. “But I’ve changed my mind. You helped me make that change, along with a great many others. Rosalia has become very attached to you and I see now that she needs a mother. I know you are nothing like Carlotta or my stepmother. I can trust you.”

  Words that should have caused her to smile or look tender made her flinch instead. Why was that? In spite of what he’d just said about trust, dark suspicion reared its ugly heads. It was like a hydra—whenever he lopped one off, two more grew in its place. Did Bethan sense that? Did it explain her reluctance to marry him?

  “You don’t know how much it means to hear you say that.” Her gaze met his for an instant, then fell. “But why can’t we just go on the way we are?”

  “Why are you balking now?” Simon’s anger rose, as it always did to protect his wounds. “You came to Singapore to wed me. You only went to bed with me the first time because you thought we were going to be married. What has changed since then? I was a stranger, but now you know me better than anyone. Did you not like what you discovered? Would you rather have a perfect stranger than a familiar man with flaws?”

  “No!” she cried with a ring of sincerity Simon yearned to believe. “You’re a fine man and everything I’ve found out about you has only made me care for you more.”

  “Why don’t you say ‘yes’ then? I know my first proposal was a great deal less than civil, but I thought…all this…” Simon caught her stealing a glance at the locket. He was beginning to wish he’d never recovered the cursed thing. “Is it your father? Are you afraid being married will lead me to stray and abandon you like he did?”

  Again she flinched.

  Simon dropped his voice to a whisper in case any of his servants or neighbours might be listening. “If that is the problem, you need to realise I am no more like him than you are like Carlotta. I honour my obligations. I always have. I took her back even after she’d betrayed me. I raised Rosalia even when I thought she might not be my child.”

  He had meant to reassure her, but his words seemed to have the opposite effect.

  “I don’t want to be an obligation to you, Simon!” Bethan stumbled up from her chair. “Kept around on sufferance no matter what your feelings for me, because your child needs a mother or you’re worried what people will think of you keeping a mistress. Is that why you proposed to me? You thought you wanted a mistress, but once you got one, it made you feel like those vile mutineers who took the women away on that ship. Well, you can put that notion to rest. You didn’t force me to become your mistress. It was my choice.”

  How could he answer that? Simon could not deny guilt had played a part in his decision—guilt and possessiveness and fear of losing her to another man if she were free. But there was more to it than those mean motives, wasn’t there?

  Bethan seemed to take his silence for a confession.

  “I thought so.” She backed away from the table. “Thank you for returning my locket. It puts me even more in your debt. But I can’t go into bondage for it, just to ease a load of guilt you needn’t feel.”

  “That isn’t…” Simon sputtered. “I didn’t…”

  “I know what an honour it is for a man like you to offer the respectability of your name to a girl like me. But I wouldn’t have any respect for myself if I became your wife on those terms.”

  As she spun around and marched away, fear gripped Simon. He wanted to go after her and make her listen, the way he had that night in the experimental garden. But he could not risk driving her out into the night again. This time he might not find her.

  Besides, he could not escape the poisonous suspicion that there was something more behind her rejection of his proposal. Something she was hiding from him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bethan spent a miserable night in the little room off the nursery. Again and again she reached for Simon in her dreams, only to find her arms full of orchids—beautiful to look at, but cool and waxy to the touch, with none of the sweet fragrance of humbler blossoms.

  Last night had been so close to what she’d hoped for when she agreed to become Simon’s mistress. She’d imagined him slowly letting down his guard enough to fall in love with her, then asking her to marry him. By that time she might have discovered what had happened to her brother and found a way to tell Simon about Hugh. Then nothing would have stood in the way of their happiness.

  She’d never expected Simon to propose so soon, and now she wished with all her heart he’d waited. She didn’t want him to marry her out of obligation or to provide Rosalia with a mother. Those might be worthier reasons that the ones that had prompted his first proposal, but they were still not enough. Had her father wed her mother for reasons like those, only to find that marriage without love was a trap from which he’d had to escape, no matter who else got hurt?

  But perhaps she’d been too hasty in refusing Simon. This time he would have no reason to feel she’d forced his hand nor any cause to suspect she’d tricked him into marriage. If he did not feel pressured or deceived, perhaps he could still learn to love her as wife rather than a mistress. At least he might, as long as that whole business with her brother did not scuttle her plans.

  The moment that thought passed through her mind, Bethan regretted her selfish disloyalty. She was still committed to finding her brother, wasn’t she, even if it meant leaving Singapore to continue her search?

  But what if Hugh was not alive to be found? What if he had died in the fire aboard the Dauntless, or drowned trying to escape it? What if he’d survived only to be captured and hanged for his part in the mutiny? If she knew for certain he was beyond her help, she could find comfort with Simon and Rosalia.

  “There’s no use thinking of all that, now,” Bethan muttered under her breath as she crawled out of bed and prepared to face the day. “First you have to find out what’s become of poor Hugh.”

  She must call on Dr Ellison and hope he could provide her with answers that would light her way forwards.

  Once she was dressed and groomed, with her locket fastened around her neck where it belonged, she tiptoed out into the hallway, her senses alert for any sign of Simon. After their quarrel last night, she could not bear to face him until she was certain what her future held.

  She managed to steal out of the house unseen by anyone, only to find the jagga man guarding the door. Since the outlaw attacks, Simon had taken the precaution of having the place guarded night and day.

  “Good morning, Jodh.” She opened her parasol to protect her from the sun and the chance of sudden showers that often fell before noon. “I’m off for a little walk. I should be back soon.”
>
  The big man looked troubled. “Mamhud took master to work. I go with you, missy?”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’m not going far.” Bethan tried not to let it bother her that Simon had gone to his office as usual after what had happened between them last night. After all, the business had always his refuge from the turbulent events in his personal life.

  As Bethan headed up North Bridge Road, she found the street busier than she’d ever seen it. A party of Malay men carried a palanquin toward the square while several servants scurried past in the opposite direction, carrying baskets of produce from the market. Bethan shrank to the edge of the street when she saw a line of convict labourers marching toward her, their chains making an ominous clatter.

  “Senhorita Conway?”

  She gave a violent start when someone called her name, but relaxed at once when she recognised Mr Quintéra in his gharry.

  “Can I offer you a drive?” He cast a pointed glance at the convicts as they trudged past. “I’m surprised Mr Grimshaw would permit you to go out alone these days. Did you hear the outlaws made away with the East India Company cannon last night? Impudent devils!”

  The news sent a shiver through Bethan that defied the tropical heat of the morning. She’d seen the gun Mr Quintéra spoke of, near the shore only a stone’s throw from where she now stood, guarded by sepoys night and day. The outlaws were growing bold indeed.

  “Thank you for your kind offer…” she bobbed the merchant a curtsy “…but I don’t want to delay you. I’m not going far and I plan to head straight home after. I doubt the outlaws are foolish enough to strike in broad daylight.”

  “I hope not.” Mr Quintéra consulted his pocket watch. “If you’re certain you do not want a drive, I should be on my way.”

  “Quite sure, thank you.”

  Once he pulled away, Bethan hurried the last few steps to Dr Moncrieff’s house.

  “Doctor sahib is out,” announced the Indian manservant who answered her knock. “Come back tomorrow, please.”