by Jenny Brown
Lord Lightning
JENNY BROWN
For Alicia and Lisa.
With thanks also to Val-Rae,
Alison, Edith, and Linda.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
A Few Last Words from the Author
“There’s no reason you can’t become my mistress.”
Romances by Jenny Brown
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
London 1818
The ability to predict the future for others was a blessing for which Eliza Farrell hoped she was sufficiently grateful. But her gratitude would have been far greater had her own future not depended so heavily on the accurate employment of that skill. As the Theatre Royal’s doorway attendant guided her down the dim passageway that led from the street to a small room located to one side of the stage, Eliza struggled to recover the confidence which had, until now, enabled her to withstand so much adversity. She had left nothing undone when preparing for this meeting with the actress who would be her first paying client. She had studied the horoscopes diligently and consulted the works of the authorities when she found herself in doubt. But still, if she were to fail!
A clamor in the passageway outside the dressing room announced her client’s arrival. Eliza clutched the handle of the bulging flowered satchel that held her almanacs and prayed for strength. Then Violet LeDuc swept into the room. The actress paused at the doorway only long enough for Eliza to take in her stately height, the perfection of her rounded figure, and the peevish way her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Eliza. An older woman fluttered a few steps behind her: the neighbor who, upon learning of Eliza’s predicament, had so kindly offered to put in a few words for her with her mistress—the very words that had resulted in the present interview.
But who would have imagined the quiet, faded older woman would have led Eliza to such an Aladdin’s cave as this? The late afternoon sun filtering through the sooty skylight high above sent reflections glittering off the jeweled buttons and golden braid of the costumes piled on every available surface. The air was thick with an indefinable odor—the actress’s scent, perhaps? Eliza had no experience with such things, but whatever it was, it mingled with a hint of sweat and a whiff of the pork pie some actor had left uneaten on a table in the corner.
Eliza suppressed the pang of hunger that rose as she caught sight of the food. It had been a long time since she had eaten. Still, if all went well and she satisfied her new client, she and her father would again have money for food.
But only if all went well.
After a measured pause, Violet acknowledged Eliza’s presence with a nod so faint it ran no risk of disarranging her artfully arranged golden curls. She seated herself on the bench facing the dressing table set against one wall and gave a quick glance at the mirror above it, favoring it with a smile much warmer than the one with which she’d greeted Eliza. Only then did she swivel around and demand of Eliza, “What do the stars command? Should I travel with His Lordship to Brighton?”
As the actress’s voice, so well adapted to the stage, reverberated through the cramped dressing room, it threatened what little confidence Eliza had left. Still, she schooled herself to show nothing but calm as she opened her satchel and extracted from its depths the two horoscopes she had so carefully prepared the night before. The feel of the rich, velvety paper against her fingertips was reassuring. She had spent her last carefully hoarded shillings on that paper, hoping its quality would convince her client of her professionalism. Cautiously she pushed aside the pots of paint and powder that covered the tiring table and laid out her charts. Only then did she trust herself to reply. “The stars command nothing,” she said. “They merely describe your character. It’s the choices you make that determine your fate.”
The actress snorted. “Spare me your sermons! You sound like a governess, not an astrologer, and you look like one, too. Where is your turban? Where are your veils?”
Eliza fought down her dismay as she glanced at her second-best gray merino gown. Surely this woman didn’t expect her to dress like a Gypsy.
“Well—” The actress’s voice softened. “Perhaps I am being too harsh. With Madame Esmerelda gadding off to take the waters I have no choice but to rely on you. His Lordship will be here any moment. So tell me quickly, what must I do? Madame Esmerelda would have already given me my answer, not these mealymouthed excuses.”
“And have charged you three times the fee,” her dresser muttered behind her. “Give Miss Eliza a chance. She may not look the part, but she told my Henry such things about his past as no one could have known. And she predicted to the very day when he would be hired on at the counting house.”
Violet sighed. “You do have such a way with hair, Harriet. I suppose it’s worth humoring you.” She turned back to Eliza. “Perhaps I spoke too quickly. But the matter is pressing. So answer me this: Should I go to Brighton with His Lordship or stay in London to play the leading role in A Rake and His Conquests?”
As Eliza took one last look at the nativities of the actress and her lord, she was glad she had taken such pains with them. No blots disfigured the circular maps of the heavens she had drawn so carefully the night before. The costly black ink she had used made the spindly planetary symbols stand out clearly against the creamy tint of the paper. And despite the actress’s harsh glare, the ancient symbols still spoke to her. Her confidence restored, she bit her lower lip as her Aunt Celestina had so often admonished her not to do and said, “You are very close to achieving success in your profession. Jupiter, the greater benefic, is poised to enter your House of Public Fame. But it is a poor time for matters of the heart. The Lord of the House of Love is conjunct with Saturn, the greater malefic, which spoils whatever it touches. So you shouldn’t leave the theater for any man.”
Violet’s eyebrow lifted quizzically. “You say I will achieve success in my profession, but from what you’ve just told me I wonder if you understand what exactly my profession is.”
Eliza directed her gaze toward the gaily-colored costumes that filled the dressing room. “Do you not earn your bread by acting in this theater?”
Violet laughed. “If I had to live on what I earn here, I’d have starved to death by now. You are an original, and a country miss, too, I would wager. How long have you been in London?”
“Why, these two months.”
Violet leaned back against the tiring table. “Two months in the city has not been enough time to rub off all your country notions. Would your advice to me differ if you understood that I earn my bread by keeping His Lordship happy? Would that change your prediction of my success?”
Eliza blushed as the full import of the actress’s words struck home. Had she made a complete fool of herself?
“What do the stars tell you if that’s the case?” the actress pressed on. “If I give in and go with him and help him carry out this wild scheme of his, will he make me his wife?”
So that was what she wished to know. As usual, the question asked was not the question the client wanted answered. But Eliza’s heart sank. Violet would not like what she had to say. “I can’t see him marrying you,” she said softly. “The connectio
n between the two of you is a Third House matter. It is one of business, not of love. Besides, the aspect is separating. Whatever the relationship was, it is coming to an end.
“And there is more.” Eliza hurried on, wishing to get past the unpleasant facts as quickly as possible. “You have Saturn in the House of Children and Venus in the House of Illness. You could not give this lord of yours an heir, and a lord must have an heir. Any marriage between the two of you would end unhappily.”
Violet turned pale. “Who’s been telling you my secrets? How did you learn of my misfortune?”
“No one told me anything. I can read it from the chart.”
Violet wheeled around to face her dresser. “You told her, you little snake. You gave away my secrets so she could pretend to tell my fortune.”
“I told her nothing!” Harriet protested, shrinking back from her mistress’s upraised hand. “I just passed on the information she asked me for, just the birthdays you gave me and the times and places of your births.”
“A likely story.” Violet sniffed, then she turned back to face Eliza. “You’ll have to do more to prove to me you aren’t just a clever fake.”
Eliza picked up the actress’s chart and held it up to her face to hide her consternation. It had never occurred to her to pump a servant for information before reading a nativity. There was no need. The information was all there on the chart—in the numbers and symbols so full of meaning to anyone who, like herself, had spent years learning how to interpret them. It was intolerable to be accused of trickery precisely because she had been so accurate.
But she would have to tolerate it if she were to earn the guineas she needed so badly to save her father from debtor’s prison. This was the first client she had found after months of searching. If only she had realized that a paying client would be so different from the villagers of Bishops Ridley who had always consulted her Aunt Celestina when they were worried their husbands might be straying or their children might die of the summer’s bloody flux. They had known her aunt from childhood, so there was no need to convince them that her prophesies could be trusted. But as proficient as she had been at predicting their futures, her aunt had been a respectable woman. She would have known no more than Eliza about the life of a woman like this.
The actress glared at Eliza with calculating eyes. She was so golden, so blonde, so beautiful, and so sensuous. How could Eliza not have realized she was this nameless lord’s mistress—a woman paid to supply him with sexual pleasure? Still, she ought to have guessed it. Had she not been told that in London women of dubious virtue were the only ones willing to pay to learn what their horoscopes might tell them?
But even so, there must be something in these horoscopes she could use to win back her client’s trust, something more promising than her blasted hopes of marriage. Catching sight of the heavy gold bracelet that sparkled on one of Violet’s elegant wrists, Eliza remembered one of her aunt’s adages: “If love is lacking, look for money,” and of course, there was money in abundance on Violet’s chart. She brightened.
“I can see you have already risen from great poverty to riches,” she said. “And your fortune will continue to grow if you invest your money carefully. The strength in your chart lies in your self-reliance. Not on the help of others.”
“Without the help of others, I’d still be selling flowers in the Haymarket,” Violet retorted. “How could I possibly get by without the help of men like His Lordship?”
At least this was a question Eliza could answer with ease. Pointing to the pie-shaped segment of the chart that described such matters, she said, “The Lord of your House of Wealth is Mercury. It stands in the Third House, where it is naturally strong. That suggests you could earn more wealth by investing in something of the nature of Mercury—some method of improving local travel, perhaps. A scheme of building roads—”
“There’s that canal Sir Thomas has been going on about,” the actress interrupted. “He’s told me he could make me rich if I let him put some small part of my savings in it, but I thought that was only flummery.”
“Is Sir Thomas rich?”
“As rich as Croesus—and all self-made they say.”
“Then perhaps you can trust his advice. A selfmade man would understand investment. Is he a good man?”
“What would I know of goodness in men?” snapped the actress. “But he’s handsome, anyway, and very attentive—and far less temperamental than His Lordship. He already has children—his wife died giving him his sixth, and he respects me as an artiste. Perhaps he would make me his wife—”
Violet stood up. As she took a step toward Eliza, her eyes darted from one horoscope to the other where they lay on the tiring table amid the spilled powder and rouge. “Perhaps you do know something,” she said. “But can you tell me about His Lordship? Can you ferret out his secrets with your charts?”
Eliza nodded, relieved to have moved on to an easier topic. “Oh yes, his character is very clear.”
“To you, perhaps, who’ve never met him,” Violet said with a wry grin. “But not to those of us who’ve had to deal with him.”
Eliza could not help but smile. Then she said, “His Lordship is a fiery man. He has great pride and courage. He shows strong loyalty to those who serve him faithfully. He has an excellent wit and wishes others to admire it. He is also a fine actor and loves to play a part. Because the moment of his birth was ruled by Venus there is much pleasure in his life and much affection. Indeed, he has a much greater need than the ordinary man to give and receive affection because he is a Leo. It is the sign of those who are born to love.”
“How very interesting,” said Violet, with a guarded look. “But what about his constancy?”
Warned by the actress’s tone, Eliza paused before replying, anxious not to make another misstep. “I think His Lordship could be very constant in his affections, were they fully engaged. Though it’s true that his Sun is opposed by Saturn, which could mean his ability to love might develop only as he got older. Still, once it was awakened, he would be a very faithful lover.”
She glanced down at the chart again to allow herself another look at His Lordship’s Saturn, before adding, “If he has difficulty expressing his true nature, it’s because there’s some hidden sorrow in his life—something to do with his early life. Did his mother die when he was young?”
It seemed likely. The nameless lord’s nativity bore the same conjunction of the Moon and Mars that appeared on her own chart, and her own mother had died in a carriage wreck when Eliza was only eight.
But Violet disposed of that possibility, saying, “No, his mother is most definitely alive—far too alive according to him. There was some great broil between them in his youth and any mention of her will send him into one of his rages.”
“Well, that would fit, too. The Moon in a chart describes the mother and Mars may often be expressed as anger,” Eliza said. “Still, I would expect he experienced something painful in his childhood. Saturn is the Lord of his House of Early Life and it stands in that house, too, making it more powerful. His childhood must have been one of suffering.”
“Suffering is not a word I should think of in relation to His Lordship.” Violet laughed. “His home is like a palace. He has more riches than he can spend. And if that weren’t enough, he’s so handsome it’s hard to understand why he bothers to keep a mistress as there are plenty of women of the ton who would gladly take on the role gratis. No, the only suffering in his life is the suffering he causes others. He’s notorious for the pranks he plays on people.” Violet paused and the expression of scorn that had previously filled her face was replaced by one that held a hint of curiosity. “Does his chart tell you why he’s such a rake?”
Eliza examined the chart again then answered, “I see nothing here that would explain it.” But even as she spoke she wondered. She knew so little about such matters and doubted her Aunt Celestina had known much more. The only rake they’d encountered in Bishops Ridley had been found in the pa
ges of Mr. Richardson’s novel Clarissa and they hadn’t had his chart.
More to reassure herself than for the benefit of the actress she went on, “His Moon is in Taurus, Venus’s sign, and it stands in the Eighth House, which would be read by some to mean he was very passionate. But even so, Jupiter, the planet of good fortune, is in his Seventh House of Marriage. So, I do not see a rake here.” She tapped one finger on the powder-spattered top of the dressing table. “I see a man who needs love and who is capable of intense devotion. The woman he loved would be very fortunate.”
Several other actresses had drifted into the room, attracted by the sound of conversation.
“Who’s she talking about?” one asked.
“I’ll let you guess,” Violet said. “A fiery man, prideful and courageous, with a strong need of affection. Oh yes, don’t let me forget—he’s loyal and constant in love.”
The other girl looked mystified. “And who, pray tell, is this paragon?”
“That’s the joke of it, Sally.” Violet laughed. “This loving, constant man she’s sketched out for us is none other than Edward Neville, Lord Hartwood.”
“Lord Hartwood? That is a good joke, indeed.” The girl giggled. “Lord Lightning, a loving, constant man? Why he’s monstrous proud of his profligacy. I’ve heard him stand right here and brag that he’d never give his heart to a woman for even a single moment.”
“Indeed,” Violet said.
Eliza put out a hand to steady herself against her chair. It was almost too much to take in. Violet’s nameless lord was Lord Hartwood? Even living in obscurity in the tiny hamlet of Bishops Ridley she had heard dreadful stories about the notorious rake the world had nicknamed Lord Lightning thanks to his shocking behavior.