Only a Mistress Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

  “Mr. Blake?” Dora twisted in the saddle.

  Yipping, Jasper raced toward an ancient board wagon pulled by a small pony just rounding the corner of the baker’s shop. The elderly little man at the reins could be no one but Mr. Blake. His worn brown coat, threadbare in places, barely seemed to cover his diminutive frame. His face lit up at the site of Dora. “Miss Harper it is. I’ve not seen your lovely face these two months. A Merry Christmas to you.”

  “And to you, Mr. Blake. I was surprised to see Jasper and not you.” At once, Dora slid nimbly out of her saddle to the ground. “I never see one without the other.”

  “Aye, well, Jasper’s a sight faster ‘an me these days.” He ruffled the fur on the excited dog’s ruff. “He’s always loved boundin’ through the snow.”

  They continued speaking, but Tris heard nothing.

  Christmas. Christ, had it only been three days since he’d seen Violet? It seemed a year at least. The fleeting contentment he’d enjoyed with Dora vanished like a snowflake in the sun. Much as he was coming to admire his future wife, his heart twisted at the thought of the woman he’d left in London. The woman he might never see again but would never forget. His love, his soul.

  “My lord?”

  Dora’s raised voice finally penetrated his reverie. Focusing on her once again, he found her staring at him oddly.

  Mr. Blake glanced from her to him with raised eyebrow.

  Damn. He refused to let his lack of self-control hurt his future wife. She deserved better than that. Better than him. “My pardon, Miss Harper, Mr. Blake. I was woolgathering, I fear. Are you ready to go, my dear?”

  Giving him a wary look, she nodded slowly.

  He tossed her up onto Gretchen again, and swiftly mounted Rufus.

  Mr. Blake eased himself down out of the seat and slowly tethered his pony. He called to Jasper, who bounded to his side, wide doggy smile and wagging tail declaring his happiness. Blake raised a hand in farewell, then picked his way carefully into Mrs. Pierce’s establishment.

  “Shall we head home for tea?” Tris gathered his reins then turned to Dora.

  The wide smile and animated face had gone, leaving in its place the thin-lipped woman of the morning. She wanted to return to Harper’s Grange about as much as she wanted to shoot Jasper. Well, she wouldn’t have to live there much longer. He would take her away from her awful family as soon as he possibly could. If he couldn’t love her, he could at least do that for her.

  By the time they arrived at the front of the manor, the light had faded from the western sky, leaving it deep lavender tinged with a pink edge where the sky kissed the earth. Tris hoped Lord Downing hadn’t sent out a search party for them. The closer they had gotten to the house, the more Dora had withdrawn from his attempts at conversation. A scolding from her father might finish the job, leaving her sullen and silent for the rest of the night. They dismounted at the portico and he grasped her hand to tuck it in his arm. The chill that emanated from her body made him shiver.

  “My dear, you are frozen.” He chaffed her hand, willing the stiff fingers inside her gloves to warm. “Come, we must get you inside and before the fire.”

  “Oh, no, my lord. I will go directly to my room. Larkin will see to me.” She clutched his arm.

  “You don’t think you should see your parents first? We are so late they may be quite worried.” Staving off possible protest, he rapped on the door and when it opened, strode in before the butler could swing it wide. “Where are the family currently, Eccles?”

  “In the large drawing room, my lord.” Eccles shut the door and indicated the stairs to the first floor.

  Tris flowed forward, bringing a now shivering Dora along with him. They’d shed their outerwear in the foyer and the house was quite cool. He hoped they had a good fire going. They both needed to thaw out. He squeezed Dora’s hand. “It will be fine. I insist on taking all the blame on myself.” He searched her pale face, noting feverish pink splotches. “I only pray you have not taken a chill. I could never forgive myself if I have been an agent to harm you in any way.”

  She smiled at that, though it paled in comparison to her earlier brilliance.

  He steered her into the drawing room they had occupied last night, braced for the explosion. Tension in the room pricked the hairs on the back of his neck immediately. There seemed to be half a dozen people present, although in truth there were only three.

  Lord Downing, Lady Downing, and Simon Harper clustered around the sideboard. The men held full glasses of port; Lady Downing looked longingly at the decanter while sipping her tea.

  “That’s the second one in three months, Simon.” Lord Downing’s florid face deepened as his eyes bulged. “I’ll not stand for this kind of behavior anymore.”

  “Dora, where have you been?” Setting her cup down, Lady Downing rushed to her daughter. “We were quite worried.” She cut her gaze toward her husband.

  “We stayed overlong in the village, Mama,” Dora said, making a beeline for the fireplace.

  “That is no excuse for putting the household in an uproar.” Her father glared at her, then emptied his glass. “What were you doing in the village?”

  “She was showing me all about the estate, my lord,” Tris answered smoothly in her stead, following her to the fire. This was one damsel he’d be able to rescue. “I must take the blame for our late appearance. I’m afraid we tarried eating Mrs. Pierce’s excellent bannocks. We were also chatting with many of your tenants and cottagers.” He eyed Downing, gauging the depth of the man’s ire. It might be his own perception, but the man seemed more on edge than their tardiness allowed for. Certainly they knew he’d been with Dora and would let nothing happen to her. “No harm done. We are back safely in time for dinner.”

  Downing shot another angry look at Harper who flushed and took a long pull at his glass as well.

  “Is anything else amiss?” Certainly, something more than their tardiness was afoot.

  “Just a little domestic upset,” Lady Downing answered, wringing her hands. “Miss Giles, the governess, has left, without word or reason. She didn’t even stay long enough to receive the wages coming to her.”

  “Huh. Knew she wouldn’t get a farthing from me.” Downing poured another hefty libation, sloshing the tawny liquid into the glass with an unsteady hand. Spots of mottled pink smudged his cheeks. “That’s why she stole away.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.” Dora ventured to put a word in. “She was always nice to me when I went to the nursery and seemed genuinely fond of Anna. I wonder what upset her.” She rubbed her hands then held them out to the fire. “Did she receive bad news, perhaps?”

  “We have no idea, my dear,” Lady Downing replied, tsk, tsking across the room to the teapot where she poured tea into the waiting cups. “We knew nothing until Mrs. Lane came in to tell us not half an hour ago that Miss Giles had demanded a carriage to take her to Devizes, where she could catch the mail coach back to London. Tea, Lord Trevor?”

  “Yes, thank you, my lady.” Leaving the fire reluctantly, Tris accepted a cup.

  “Clark is going to get the sack for that too.” Downing clenched his fists. “He should have asked permission before stirring a step. We might have found out the reason behind Miss Giles’ treachery.”

  “Surely not treachery, my lord.” Raising an eyebrow, Tris settled himself on the sofa and sipped the hot tea gratefully. He was chilled to the bone and not only by the weather outside. “Miss Giles must have had a good reason for her precipitous flight.”

  “I daresay she finally got fed up with Anna’s little tricks,” Harper spoke up, staring into his drink. “She can be a little terror when she wants to be.”

  “Simon.” His mother shook her head, her mouth drawn. “Dora, stop standing there and come get your tea.”

  “Simon, how can you say such things?” Dora stared at her brother, a scowl marring her face. She took the proffered cup, but didn’t drink. “Anna is a perfe
ctly sweet child. I have cause to know.” A glance at Tris and some of the tension left her face. “Miss Jones’ departure in November put me in charge of her for two weeks. We had a lovely time together.”

  “Well, then, how do you explain Giles’ flight today?” Simon rounded on her. “You don’t know anything about it, Dora. You shouldn’t speak when you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Perhaps one of the servants upset her. Here, Dora, come sit by me.” Lady Downing patted the sofa beside her. “I will inquire of the housekeeper, Mrs. Lane.”

  “Whatever the reason, we are left once again without a governess.” Pacing like a tiger, Simon stalked back to the sideboard. “Children and servants can be a terrible nuisance, Trevor. Be sure you have both well in control.”

  “I’ll be sure to take that into consideration, Harper.” Tris eyed him askance. His brother-in-law seemed strung tight as a bow over the departure of a governess.

  “Dora, you will have to take over as governess to Anna until other arrangements can be made.” Lady Downing nodded as she sipped. “She seemed to respond well to you last time.”

  “That is fine, Mama. You know I don’t mind. I like children very much.” She smiled shyly, her gaze on Tris.

  “Because you are a child yourself, Dora.” Her father snorted into his drink.

  “I beg to disagree, Lord Downing.” Tris sent a warm smile back to his betrothed. “I’m glad the future mother of my children will enjoy caring for them. Dora is a kind and gentle woman who has very maternal instincts.” In truth, Dora had shown today she could be both womanly and compassionate, hardly the child he’d mistaken her for in November. Perhaps her impending marriage had changed her. He smothered a laugh. Or he’d simply misjudged her.

  “I hope you find her so when the time comes.” Lord Downing snorted, completely oblivious to the presence of his daughter. “In any event, Trevor, what about this relation of yours. Will she do?”

  “What relation?” When had he lost the thread of the conversation? “And do for what?”

  “You told me some time ago a relative of yours was in need of a position as companion or governess.” Scowling, Downing peered at him. “So is the woman engaged elsewhere or not? We need a governess for Anna at once.”

  If he hadn’t already swallowed his mouthful of tea he’d have choked. He coughed, sputtered and sucked in a breath. The man wanted Violet. Damn. His heart beat like a drum as he strove to answer nonchalantly. “I believe you are referring to Miss Carlton, a very distant relation, who is nevertheless dear to me.” Surreptitiously, he cut his eyes toward Dora, but she was deep in conversation with her mother.

  “I don’t care about her name, Trevor. Can she come immediately is the question?”

  He’d rarely been in a situation so fraught with peril. The position was exactly what Violet had been looking for, what she needed to be able to survive. Yet how could he bring her here, see her every day, at least until he married, and not acknowledge her? Still, if she were a governess he’d likely have little chance to see her. Knowing she was under the same roof would likely drive him to madness, but if that was the price he had to pay to provide a position for her, then he’d manage it somehow.

  Oh, but it was folly. How could he withstand being always near her and never with her? Even worse, could he keep his feelings for Violet hidden from Dora? Could he risk it to give Violet her chance? Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.

  “Why yes, Lord Downing. Miss Carlton is available, or she was when I left London.” He forced himself to speak calmly. “Shall I write to her extending the offer?”

  “Yes, thank God.” Downing’s voice boomed and echoed in the chamber.

  Tris nodded and, with a stricken glance at Dora, hurried to the door. He sprinted to his room, cursing Downing, Dora, Violet, and himself.

  God help them all.

  Chapter 23

  Violet sat in the music room, staring at the curt note she clutched, her head spinning as she tried to stop her hands from shaking. She’d recognized Tris’s handwriting and broken the seal with a pop that shot it into the air. Hungry for news of him after nearly a week, she’d almost torn the paper unfolding it. The summons to Harper’s Grange, however, had left her troubled and wary.

  The offer of a position as governess to Lord Downing’s granddaughter was as manna from heaven. The Lord had obviously answered her daily prayers for a respectable position. She smoothed out the cream-colored paper again, running her fingers over the masculine script, afraid to feel elated. Did she truly want to take this position? There were pitfalls whatever choice she made.

  Spending the better part of four days sitting idly, reading, or practicing on piano or harp had convinced her she must find some employment to keep her occupied. Mrs. Parker had offered to teach her some of her best baking secrets, so yesterday she’d made a valiant attempt at an apple tart. After one bite of the misshapen, blackened thing, she dumped it in the trash bin. “I wouldn’t even feed it to the pigs—if we had any,” she’d confided to Susan.

  There must be something she could do to be useful and earn her living. Perhaps she should take up her needle again. She might find employment with one of the other mantua makers. And now here the ideal position had presented itself, and she hesitated.

  She’d never taken care of children before, true, but surely she could teach one little girl all the things she’d been taught. The letter didn’t mention why the post had come open, but she doubted the child herself was the issue. If so, she could certainly manage a six-year-old.

  No, the true reason she hesitated was Tris. If she became governess at Lord Downing’s estate, she’d most likely have to see Tris again on a regular basis and in the company of his betrothed. At least until their wedding. Could she bear being in such proximity to him without exposing her feelings to him or anyone there?

  A shattering pain struck her heart. To see him, knowing him beyond her reach, would cause agonies enough. To see the woman who would be his wife smile at him, look adoringly at him, take his arm by right, and show her possession of him might be more than she could bear. Her body ached, every muscle tensed against the pain. No, she would send to Tris tomorrow telling him to thank Lord Downing, but she must refuse his kind offer.

  “Susan,” she called. The maid hovered incessantly these days, never out of earshot. As though she expected her mistress to vanish, like a magician’s assistant. Of course, she had good reason to do so.

  Sure enough, before the echo of her name faded, Susan appeared. “Yes, miss?”

  “Fetch my pen and ink, please.”

  Once the girl had gone, Violet sat to the harpsichord, fidgeting with the keys. She worried her bottom lip, pulling it until it bled. Trish would be furious with her. They’d been waiting for just such a respectable position for so long. It offered the chance to go on with her life with honor. Did she have the right to refuse it?

  “Here it is, miss.” Susan laid pen, inkpot, and paper on the top of the spinet, the creamy sheet a stark contrast to the shining dark wood.

  Violet nodded and flexed her fingers. She’d been practicing all morning. Her fingers should be limber by now, yet they acted stiff as pikes. “Thank you, Susan,” she said, giving a wave of dismissal. She would write this letter alone.

  “Shall I pack your belongings, Miss Carlton?”

  Violet jerked her head up, the pen tumbling from her fingers. “How did you know I’m to leave, Susan?” Had her maid been snooping in her mail?

  “Lord Trevor sent a note instructing me to pack your clothes and accompany you to Devizes, miss.” Susan peered oddly at her. “Has he told you differently?”

  “No, I…I’d simply no idea he’d written you as well.” Then he assumed she’d take the position, expected her to take it. A wave of sadness washed over her. This truly was the end of his relations with her. She must take it with as good a grace as she could muster and move on.

  Straightening
in her chair, her back now like a ramrod, she grabbed the pen and dipped it in the ink so furiously drops flew willy-nilly across the spinet. “Here.” She scribbled a dozen words, blew across the paper, folded it and handed it to Susan. “Have Thomas post this immediately. Tell him to make sure it is on the next mail coach to Wiltshire.” She thrust it into the maid’s hands as if it burned her.

  Through narrowed eyes, Susan shifted her attention from her mistress to the letter.

  “As soon as Thomas is off, come to my chamber. We have much to do if I am to leave tomorrow.” The catch in her voice hurt abominably.

  “Very good, miss.” The girl stared at her dry-eyed, but her lips trembled. A nod and she hurried from the room.

  Violet rose from the bench, an air of unreality descending on her. She would leave tomorrow, never to return. Her hand rested on the polished wood of the spinet and she rubbed over the smooth, shiny surface lovingly. She would miss it so much. She cursed herself for being a terrible coward. Rather than bend to his will she should have been able to stand firm and sever the ties between them. If such a thing were even possible.

  * * * *

  The raging fire in the formal drawing room at Harper’s Grange had done its job too well. Violet stood before Lord and Lady Downing, beads of perspiration trickling between her breasts. Her hands, however, anchored in the folds of her sapphire blue gown to keep them from trembling, were icy.

  “Miss Carlton? You are Lord Trevor’s cousin, I believe he said?” Lord Downing’s bushy gray eyebrows rose slightly.

  “A distant relationship, my lord. Although he has been kind enough to assist me in my search for a position.” Violet smiled then thought better of it for fear his lordship might think her frivolous. His stern visage certainly held no such sign. “The death of my grandmother left me quite alone.”