A Lady's Addiction (Honor Prevails Book 1)

by Angelina Jameson

  “Steady now,” Mary said, holding the glass to her mistress’s lips.

  Anna drank her fill and then pushed the glass away. The water hadn’t helped either her dizziness or nausea. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel awful.”

  Mary pulled a thin blanket from a wardrobe and placed it gently around her mistress. She looked from Anna to the mess on the floor. “Your stomach is unsettled?”

  The answer was readily apparent, but she replied, nonetheless, “Yes. My head hurts, and I feel dizzy.” She whimpered and closed her eyes. “I think I might be dying.”

  “No, my lady, it’s the wine.”

  She cracked open an eyelid and glared at the maid. “I fell asleep without drinking any wine last night.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You knew this could happen to me?” she asked with a whimper.

  Mary folded her arms across her chest. “I thought it might.”

  “You should have told me.”

  The girl looked mutinous.

  “Have you seen this before?”

  “I’ve seen it. My own father was a drunk until he had no more money or credit to pay for his drink.”

  To her dismay, tears pooled in her eyes and ran down her face. “I’m no drunk, Mary.”

  “I know why you used the wine, my lady. I understand. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding behind it.”

  Lost in physical misery, both eyes again closed, she could hear sounds of the maid cleaning the mess on the floor.

  “Mary, please bring me the wash bowl from my dressing room. I may need it.”

  The girl brought the ceramic bowl just in time. Once the water she had consumed came back up, the dry heaves began.

  “No one but you are allowed in this room,” she said to the maid when her body finally stilled. “Do you understand, Mary? No one.”

  “What should I tell Lord Stafford?”

  She had forgotten all about her plan to spend the day with Neil. Although she hated not saying goodbye to him before he left on his trip to the York estate, she couldn’t let him see her in this condition. The boy had placed her on a pedestal. She would be humiliated if he knew her secret.

  “Tell him I suffer greatly from my monthly.” It was the only excuse she could think of and knew such a malady would keep her brother-in-law far away from her bedchamber.

  Mary mumbled her agreement although she looked less than happy at the story she must tell the master of the house.

  “I know of something which may help you feel better. I will return very soon.”

  Anna thought the only thing that might help her was a blow to the head. She sat stoically in her physical hell until her maid returned a short time later.

  “Drink this.” Mary’s voice came from in front of her. She opened her eyes to see the girl holding out a small vial. “It’s laudanum.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “I know where cook keeps some hidden,” the girl replied with a shrug, not meeting Anna’s eyes.

  She sensed there was more to the story. Right now, she didn’t care. Mary pulled out the stopper to the vial and handed the container to her mistress. The clear liquid smelled horrible. At this point, she would try anything and swallowed it all at once.

  “Good heavens, that’s vile.”

  Mary took back the small bottle. Anna remained in her motionless position for a few more minutes until her body began to tire. She took up a fetal position on the bed, closed her eyes and clutched the blanket her maid had given her.

  “Stay with me, Mary?”

  “I’m right here, my lady.”

  * * * * *

  Cecily was rapidly losing patience with Anna’s elderly butler. The man had repeated the same sentence all three times she’d requested to see Anna: “Lady Stafford is not at home for callers.”

  “Tell her Lady Pickerel is here to see her.” She smiled her best smile. “Tell her I’ve brought Andrew.”

  The fourth time must have been the charm, for the stodgy servant deposited her and Andrew in the parlor. Some five minutes later Anna’s maid, Mary, entered the room.

  “The mistress is ill, my lady. She will contact you when she is able.” The girl gave no indication she remembered having once worked in Cecily’s household.

  “Has Lady Stafford seen a doctor?”

  “I cannot say, my lady. The mistress has requested no visitors be allowed in her rooms.”

  Andrew wailed for ‘kitty.’ Cecily removed her son from his perch on her lap and placed him to stand on the floor where he proceeded to twirl around near her chair.

  “What is the nature of Lady Stafford’s illness?” she asked sweetly.

  Mary was in an excellent position to know the closeness of Cecily’s friendship with Anna. The girl appeared not to find the fact merited divulging any further information to her former employer.

  “I cannot say, Lady Pickerel.”

  “Will she recover?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  She looked at her son. A horrible thought struck her. “Is her illness contagious?”

  “Lady Stafford merely requires a few days of rest.”

  “You won’t tell me anything else?”

  The maid shook her head. Any loyalty she’d had for the Pickerel household had been transferred to Anna.

  “Let her know I was here. Let her know I’m worried.” She knew Anna was accustomed to drinking a large amount of wine in the evening. Perhaps her friend was merely recovering from an overindulgence of alcohol.

  “I will tell her, Lady Pickerel.”

  Cecily nodded, dismissing the girl. There would be no speaking with Anna today. Concern for her friend’s health warred with her inherent selfishness. Yesterday, Anna had expressed hope for her future. Misery loves company and the prospect of wallowing in her unhappy existence alone was most unwelcome.

  Removing a trinket from Andrew’s hand and replacing it on a side table, Cecily picked up her restless child and went home.

  * * * * *

  Mary was glad she had been of no help to her former employer. As she climbed the servant’s staircase and made her way back to her mistress’s rooms her thoughts turned to the night she’d come into Lady Stafford’s employ.

  Well past midnight over six months ago Mary stood trembling in the entry hall at Stafford House. Her employer, Lady Pickerel, had brought her to the house after she’d found her husband assaulting her lady’s maid.

  “You’re a new girl,” the lecherous goat said when Mary crossed his path the day before. She’d hurried away to assist Lady Pickerel in dressing for the evening meal. The way the man looked at her made her stomach clench. She resolved to avoid him as best she could.

  She’d been told the master generally resided at his townhouse near Westminster presumably to be closer to Parliament. The cook was quite the gossip and informed Mary that once Lady Pickerel had become enceinte with Andrew, she’d barred her husband from her bed. Their employer now kept his latest mistress at the Westminster townhouse.

  To Lady Pickerel and the household staff’s obvious dismay, the man had decided to visit his wife for a few days.

  The master and mistress had returned from a dinner party. Mary assisted Lady Pickerel into her night clothes. Afterwards she hurried down the corridor headed for the servant’s staircase. Lord Pickerel stood at the head of the stairs, blocking her exit.

  “Good evening, my lord,” she said, her voice even. She must not show fear. “May I pass?”

  “That depends.” He chuckled, ogling her chest. “What toll will you pay?”

  “Toll? I do not understand, my lord.” She wondered if she could turn and run fast enough to get away from the horrible man.

  “What will you give me to let you pass?”

  “I have nothing, my lord.”

  “You have something I want very much,” he replied. He seized one of her wrists and pulled her toward him.

  “Lord Pickerel, please let me be.”

  She kicked a
t him and used her other hand to try and remove her wrist from his grasp. He laughed at her efforts to escape him.

  “I won’t be long,” he said as he attempted to kiss her. She struggled as he dragged her into his arms and she nearly gagged from the brandy she could smell on his breath. “I’m about to burst from thinking about you all day.”

  Mary would have screamed but his hand clamped over her mouth. He lifted her slight body against him and strode down the corridor toward his suite of rooms.

  Lady Pickerel’s bedchamber door opened, and she looked out. “What is going on?”

  Lord Pickerel came to a swift halt and dropped Mary onto the floor. There ensued a long silence while she struggled to her feet and Lady Pickerel rushed forward to shield her maid from her husband.

  “How dare you?” Lady Pickerel asked her husband, her tone icy. “What you do in the townhouse is none of my concern. I will not have you molesting my maids.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t hire attractive maids,” Lord Pickerel replied with an unconcerned shrug and turned away.

  Lady Pickerel took Mary to Stafford House and Lady Stafford employed her on the spot. Although Mary had been afraid to meet the master of the house, Lord Stafford had barely noticed her addition to the household. She felt safe at Stafford House.

  Lady Pickerel had been an unkind, shrewish mistress. Even when in her cups Lady Stafford was kind to Mary.

  She didn’t believe Lady Pickerel to be half the lady her mistress was. The woman could ask her all the questions she liked. She would never tell her any of Lady Stafford’s secrets.

  Chapter Nine

  Michael watched Cecily and Andrew leave Stafford House. Their visit to the mansion had been brief. He’d followed Cecily from Hyde Park. Had known she would want to speak to her friend.

  He watched the Pickerel carriage drive away. Lucky for him, the vehicle had gone in the opposite direction as he himself sat in an open carriage. A hackney in this part of town would have drawn attention to himself. The curricle he now sat in, in addition to the tiger on the back, was lent.

  “Hold, James.” He handed the leads to the boy and vaulted from the seat of the vehicle. A maid had exited Stafford House and proceeded to walk in his direction. He took a few steps forward.

  “Good day, miss.” He doffed his tall hat and smiled his most charming smile.

  “Good day, sir.” The maid looked quite pretty for a lower servant. She smiled back and bobbed for him.

  “Is your mistress home to callers?” he asked.

  “You know the mistress?” Her eyes told him she would like to see more of him about the house.

  “We have a mutual friend.”

  “Lady Stafford is not receiving callers, sir.” The words were spoken hesitantly as if she wasn’t sure how much she should tell him. When he only nodded in reply, she added in a low voice, “Sick as a cushion, she is. Only her maid is allowed in her rooms.”

  “Thank you, miss.” He handed the girl one of his few precious coins.

  The maid bobbed again and went on her way.

  Now he knew why Cecily had left the house so soon. His thoughts briefly turned to Andrew. He didn’t really care about the child; nonetheless the boy shouldn’t be exposed to more sickness than necessary.

  He didn’t quite understand why he’d felt the need to bring breadcrumbs to Hyde Park. He’d enjoyed feeding the ducks when he was a boy and wondered if Andrew would want to feed them as well. Perhaps the death of his mother just after Christmas affected him more than he knew. Right now, he couldn’t afford to be sentimental about anyone.

  Michael strolled back to the curricle and took the leads from the tiger. He would return the carriage and cadge a meal from his friend. Approaching Devlyn Maitlin would be a tricky thing. It would be far easier to work on the woman once she was well again.

  Lady Stafford wasn’t his usual target as he hadn’t slept with her. He believed Cecily when the woman told him her friend would pay him to prevent scandal. Cecily painted an image of Lady Stafford as a meek, nervous woman he could exploit. An affair between a widow and an unattached peer such as Devlyn Maitlin would raise few eyebrows. He needed to find other grounds for blackmailing Lady Stafford.

  Mr. Maitlin had returned from the Netherlands after completing his service to the crown. He knew little about the man and had no clear idea whether Maitlin could be bothered with Millicent’s past transgressions. Damn the woman for losing the child. Without the babe, he had no hold over Millicent or her family.

  His mind circled back to Andrew. He knew Lady Stafford had been named the boy’s godmother. From his clandestine observation of her time with the boy, the woman loved Andrew as her own. What would happen to the child if Lord Pickerel knew his true parentage?

  “Yes,” he murmured aloud. “I do believe Lady Anna Stafford will do anything I ask to protect the boy from Lord Pickerel.”

  * * * * *

  “The ladies of the household requested trays in their bedchambers,” a footman informed Devlyn when he entered the breakfast room and found no other family members present.

  Although he’d slept in longer than usual due to his nocturnal activities with Anna, he hadn’t really expected to encounter either his mother or Millicent at breakfast.

  He helped himself to a liberal amount of ham, tongue, and eggs from the sideboard and proceeded to enjoy his solitary meal. The quiet gave him time to think. Today he was determined to speak with Lady Pickerel and find out what her involvement with Franco consisted of. He couldn’t avoid the possibility of Anna’s involvement in the whole unsavory affair of blackmail any longer. He had to remember his duty to his family.

  His thoughts turned to his sensual interlude with the lovely Anna. Their tryst last night hadn’t cooled his desire for her one little bit. He’d observed her at Lady Beauchamp’s ball and noted none of the young bucks in attendance appeared to have turned her head. The idea left him strangely pleased.

  Devlyn’s good mood was short lived as he recalled Anna’s words about a husband and children. She would eventually discover Franco and Devlyn Maitlin were not the same person. She would learn about his accident and she would pity him.

  In one of her letters his mother had asked about his health. He’d replied that he was fine. And he was. He’d not seen a doctor since he was treated after the accident in Kent three years ago.

  He fleetingly wondered if the attending footmen in the room knew of his physical inadequacy. How much had the servants heard about his accident? The cook, who had been with the family since he was a child, had greeted his return home with thinly veiled joy. And he thought he’d glimpsed compassion in the housekeeper’s eyes. Did Mrs. Hopkins know of the injury he’d suffered three years ago during the collision that crippled his brother? Did the whole of London know he was sterile?

  The food on his plate no longer appealed to him. He abruptly rose from his chair and exited the room for Cameron’s study. No sooner had he entered that room than Wiggins appeared in the open doorway.

  He’d dispatched his valet to discover what Lady Pickerel and Lady Stafford had planned for the day and to relay a message to the Foreign Office under-secretary. He couldn’t put off seeing Joseph Planta for any longer. His assignment to the Netherlands had ended. At loose ends, the summons from his mother had come at an opportune time.

  As far as Lady Stafford was concerned, he preferred not to be seen visiting Anna’s home. If the real Franco hadn’t reasoned out what really transpired at the Bell and Swan, he wouldn’t draw a picture for the man.

  “Lady Pickerel is at home and Lady Stafford is ill,” Wiggins informed him without preamble.

  “Ill?” he asked the other man, endeavoring to keep concern from his voice. He’d left Anna only a few hours ago and she’d appeared in the best of health.

  Wiggins cleared his throat before he replied, “A lady’s problem.”

  “I’m not going to ask how you found out that tidbit of information.”

  “The under-sec
retary will see you at four of the o’clock. Do you have any further instructions?”

  Devlyn shook his head. “That is all I require at present. I expect to be out all afternoon and will not require your services until this evening.”

  A visit to see Lady Pickerel should provide a diversion from his constant thoughts of Anna.

  He preferred to drive himself whenever possible. The short trip from Berkeley Square to the Pickerel mansion on Curzon Street afforded such an opportunity. The day looked fair and the slight breeze was indeed welcome. London felt a trifle warm after the cooler climate he’d grown accustomed to in the Netherlands.

  He’d drafted a young groom named Toby as his tiger. He vaulted from the seat of the open carriage and handed the boy who stood beside his curricle the leads. The spirited matched set of greys attached to the shiny black curricle had been a gift from his mother to celebrate his return to England.

  “Be on your toes, Toby.”

  “Yes sir,” the boy replied as he took up his post on the front seat of the sleek carriage. “Your cattle are top of the trees, if I may say so, sir.”

  “Yes, they are,” he replied, distracted. Despite his best intentions his thoughts returned to Anna. He hoped her illness wasn’t more serious than Wiggins had told him.

  The Pickerel butler answered the door promptly upon Devlyn’s knock and informed him Lady Pickerel was not at home.

  “Would you care to leave your card for the mistress?” the decidedly correct butler asked Devlyn with no real enthusiasm.

  He declined the offer and asked, “Lady Pickerel will be out for some time?”

  “The mistress expects to be away until the dinner hour, sir.”

  Wiggins had informed him the lady would be at home. Something unexpected must have occurred as he didn’t doubt his valet’s capability at information gathering. Wiggins could charm any servant while his own expertise appeared limited to the women of higher society.

  He nodded farewell to the unhelpful butler, walked the short distance to his waiting carriage and took the reins from Toby. The small vehicle was just the thing for town. The main streets of The Hague had been as crowded as any in London and a smaller conveyance had proven useful.