His Secret Mistress

by Cathy Maxwell

  “It is almost time for curtain,” Mr. Arnold reminded her.

  “I’ll be ready. Will you take Mr. Balfour to his seat? I need a moment more to myself.”

  “I’ll be happy to. This way, sir.”

  “I will see you after the performance?” Brandon asked.

  “Yes. Come here.”

  He nodded and then left with Mr. Arnold.

  Kate took a last look in the mirror. She closed her eyes. Brandon was here. He’d come to her. And now, she needed to focus on her upcoming performance.

  Releasing her breath, she straightened her shoulders and left the room.

  Silas, Mary, and the actors who played the sailors were already waiting upstairs. Kate gave them all an encouraging smile.

  She could hear the restless audience. It had been fifteen years since she’d listened to one this large. In a few moments, there would be a clap of thunder to signal the storm and she planned for it to be loud enough to bring them all into the story.

  The sailors took their places.

  Silas leaned toward Kate. “Jess is in the audience. I thought you should know.”

  Before she could respond, the thunder sounded, the lightning rumbled, and the curtain came up.

  Chapter Twenty

  From where she stood in the wings, Kate could see Jess. She understood why Silas had warned her. Jess sat right in the middle of the audience, surrounded by men. Her admirers. And they were talking in carrying voices as if eager to destroy the dramatic opening of the play.

  There was no way Kate would have missed her from the stage.

  Kate wondered if the infamous Lord Dervil was there. She’d never met him so she wouldn’t know.

  Unfortunately, Jess’s presence had scrambled Kate’s concentration. She forced herself to breathe, to take in what was happening on the stage.

  The sailors spoke about the storm. The ship rocked and then the sailors turned the pillars and the stage became that magical island.

  Kate heard the audience voice its approval over Brandon’s fanciful design, as she knew they would.

  Prospero and Miranda began telling their story. In a few moments, Ariel would make her entrance. This was not the time for fear.

  Kate placed herself in the story. She took on the bearing of the fairy spirit—and then it was time for her entrance.

  She opened her arms and danced upon the stage, coming to a halt before her master, Prospero—that was when the hissing began. The audience suddenly sounded like a thousand angry geese.

  Kate endeavored to ignore them. “All hail, great master! Grave sir, hail—!”

  “Go to hell,” shouted a man in the audience. The suggestion was met with catcalls and encouragement.

  Kate endeavored to carry on, except her concentration had been broken. The hissing was disconcerting. She forgot her lines. Her mind was blank.

  Silas picked up on her distress. He delivered his next line. “Hast thou, spirit, perform’d to point the tempest that I bade thee?”

  She knew where she was. She answered, “To every article—” The shouting and hollering had ceased when Silas spoke but now they called out even louder. She could barely hear herself as she said, “I boarded the king’s ship; now on the beak—”

  “You can feel my beak,” a man yelled. He stood and grabbed his crotch to let her know what he meant. The mass of people in front of him jeered their responses. The audience echoed the word beak. Kate was stunned by this behavior.

  She’d been before difficult audiences. Having the Matrons of Maidenshop shout names at her had not been easy. Of course, they had not been the only ones who had attempted to degrade her with words. Over the years she’d been called all sorts of things.

  But this was different. This was London. She’d once ruled here.

  Or had she?

  She looked to Jess sitting smugly in the audience. She appeared young, clueless, and vindictive and Kate realized Silas had been right, talent had nothing to do with the milkmaid’s success.

  It also might not have had anything to do with Kate’s success years ago either. She’d just been the next new ingenue and so many of those around her gave her credit for being nothing more than the pleasure of the moment. It was a startling and humbling realization.

  And then, through the din of the crowd, she heard her name being called. Brandon was standing and shouting for her attention.

  She almost cringed. She didn’t want him here to see her humiliation . . . until she heard what he was saying. “Go on, Kate. It is your stage. Make them listen.” He clasped his hands together, the sign of a champion. He believed she could turn this around. He was here for her.

  In the middle of the chaos, Kate found her strength. It came from his faith in her.

  She remembered Brandon asking if she ever felt her mother’s spirit and she’d claimed she did before a performance. She reached for that spirit now. She was Kate Addison, an actress, a woman with a will of her own.

  Whether this audience listened or not made no difference. In fact, considering what was happening, Mr. Arnold would probably shut down her play. Audiences could riot if they were not controlled. More than once, they had been known to tear up a theater, causing great damage.

  However, before she was shut down, Kate was going to give a performance that few would forget, and she’d do it for Brandon—because he believed in her.

  She drew a breath, returning to her character. Silas had dropped character and looked as if he’d like to head into the crowd and knock heads together. She blocked his path. When she spoke, her voice was louder and stronger than it had ever been. She had never been like Jess, and this was her chance to prove it.

  “To every article, I boarded the king’s ship, now on the beak, now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flamed amazement—” She threw her arms out, indicating the spell she had delivered in destroying a ship because she was that powerful a fairy.

  “Sometime I’ll divide,” Ariel said, indicating where she’d created havoc with fire. “And burn in many places; on the topmast, the yards, and the bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, then meet and join.”

  The shouting was quieting.

  She didn’t care. On the surface, she was a fairy meeting the will of her master.

  Inside, she could feel the blood of her mother, another woman who dared to be up on the stage, and the heartbeats and souls of every actress who had come before her. She was the emissary. They would not bow to such a crowd, and neither would she.

  But best of all, Brandon was here for her. No matter what happened this night, he would be here.

  Lost in the words and the magic of the theater, Kate gave a performance like no other.

  The catcalls stopped. She could feel the audience move to the edge of their seats as if they dared not miss one word of the play. They believed there was a magic island where love battled the forces of vengeance and won.

  And when it was done, when Prospero said his final lines, the audience rose to their feet in applause.

  The actors came out for their bows. Kate always had them bow as an ensemble because she believed it took the full cast to make a play succeed. However, it was obvious the audience cheered for her.

  Since she would not step forward, Silas and the others stepped back. The crowd clapped and stomped their feet all the harder, but theirs wasn’t the adulation she wanted.

  Her gaze searched the crowd until she found Brandon. He was applauding harder than anyone else, his eyes shining with pride.

  And suddenly, overwhelmed, she fell to her knees, tears of relief and gratitude running down her cheeks.

  A sound of alarm went up as everyone feared something was wrong—until they saw Brandon leap up on the stage. Actors started to stop him, thinking he might mean harm to Kate but Nestor put out an arm to ward them off.

  Reverently, Brandon knelt in front of her so they were at eye level. The people grew silent.

  “I could not have done it without you,” she confessed.

/>   “I was here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

  The truth of his words filled her with joy, and she said what was in her heart. “Mr. Balfour, would you marry me?”

  A gasp went up, probably because of her audacity. Did women ask men for such a thing? Kate didn’t care.

  Neither did Brandon. His hand went to the back of her neck drawing her to him. “I can think of nothing I want more,” he declared, right before kissing her in front of one and all.

  The reviews for The Tempest were excellent. The house for the short run of the play was packed. Kate made her money and then some.

  Most of all, she’d proven her worth on the stage, except that no longer mattered to her.

  Oh, she would act. It was a connection to her mother and it was her gift in life. However, the drive to be seen, to be recognized, was not as strong because the one person whose acceptance she sought was Brandon’s.

  And he loved her whether she was perfect or not.

  They spoke their wedding vows at the first church they came to once Brandon purchased the special license. Kate’s brother, the Duke of Camberly, and his duchess were the only ones in attendance.

  Afterward, instead of the traditional breakfast immediately following the sacrament, Kate and Brandon chose Maidenshop for the celebration. Kate wrote letters to her sisters and their families inviting them to join.

  Two weeks later, Kate and Brandon arrived in Maidenshop to host the largest wedding breakfast ever devised by man. The village—servants, lads, and all—was invited. It would be held at St. Martyr’s barn. Old Andy started brewing ale and the Smythson staff began planning for a feast.

  Winderton turned down the invitation to attend. He’d told Brandon he couldn’t. He was too busy going out of his way to avoid Kate.

  “I wish he could be happy for us,” she said.

  Brandon shrugged. “It is time he learned that things don’t always go the way one wants, even when one is a duke.” He paused and then said, “I suggested that since Napoleon has abdicated and it is safe to travel on the Continent, he should take a tour. He agreed.”

  “I don’t like feeling as if I have run him off.”

  Brandon drew her to him. “You haven’t, Kate. He has his own lessons to learn. You were just part of teaching it to him.”

  “Is there a story about that?”

  Brandon laughed. “Just a few.”

  As for everyone else in the village, they were happy for Kate and Brandon. Even the dowager, although she also liked the idea of her son touring the Continent. “It is what a nobleman does,” she said to Kate and Mrs. Warbler.

  In truth, the duchess was looking happier. She’d finally given up her black. She’d gone to purple. Brandon said everyone should be thankful for any steps forward, including small ones.

  Not even Mr. Thurlowe and the earl seemed disappointed in their marriage. They discussed the Logical Society when they came to call. “We hate losing Balfour,” the doctor admitted candidly to Kate and Brandon. “However, our seminar brought in two new members.”

  “Good, because you are going to be marrying soon,” the earl reminded him.

  “Not real soon.”

  The earl’s response was a roll of his eyes that made Kate laugh. And then he clapped Brandon’s hand in congratulations and kissed Kate on the cheek. “I can do that since we shall be good friends.”

  “I was afraid you liked her too much,” Brandon confessed.

  “You are a jealous oaf. Although, I was tempted,” Mars said with his easy drawl, “but reason prevailed.”

  “And you are welcome at The Garland anytime you wish,” Mr. Thurlowe told Brandon. “And for the seminars.”

  “I will look forward to them,” was the answer.

  Thinking about Miss Taylor’s complaint about being left out of lectures concerning natural philosophy, Kate had to ask, “But what if I wished to attend?”

  Under his breath, the earl said, “Here we go again,” while Mr. Thurlowe launched into an apologetic and sorry list of reasons women couldn’t possibly be invited to a seminar.

  Kate had an idea that she and Mr. Thurlowe would be revisiting those silly excuses in the future. However, for now, she just smiled.

  “Oh,” the earl said as if just remembering, “did you hear anything from the bridge council?”

  “They canceled the project,” Brandon answered. “All that fuss for nothing.”

  “You don’t seem upset,” Mr. Thurlowe noted.

  “I’m not. Actually, the Surveyor-General and one of the council members asked me to design a house for them.”

  “That is capital,” Mr. Thurlowe said.

  “It is certainly more interesting than a bridge. Of course, I told him I could not see to plans for their houses right away because I’m doing the drawings for a home for Kate and me.”

  “I wondered if you would stay in the Dower House,” the earl said.

  “You could move into Smythson. It is large enough,” the doctor observed.

  “No, that belongs to my nephew and always will,” Brandon said. “Besides, Kate has rather modern ideas. I’m anxious to see this house built.”

  “And,” Kate said proudly, “Covent Gardens Theater has asked my husband to design the set pieces of their next opera.”

  The earl looked at Brandon with new eyes. “Well, this is all far better than bridges.” And everyone had to agree.

  Their wedding feast was held on the most perfect September day ever.

  The Matrons decorated the old barn as if they were planning for the Cotillion. A banquet of food was spread out for guests.

  Everyone came. The dancing started at two and was still going strong at ten that night when Bran grabbed Kate’s hand and led her outside.

  They walked around to the back of the barn. “Do you remember our confrontation here?” he asked.

  “Roughly. I can’t imagine being as angry as I was with you now.”

  “I’m relieved, because you were furious.” He took her hand, pulled her closer so that he could wrap his arms around her. “So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about that you don’t wish the rest of the world to hear?”

  She fit her body against his. “I think,” she started, and then corrected herself. “I know I’m with child.”

  “You what?”

  “I’m surprised, too. I thought I was too old, especially since years ago, nothing happened. I assumed I needn’t worry.”

  “Are you certain?” he asked.

  “All the signs are there and I talked to my sisters this afternoon. I’m pregnant.”

  Bran spun her around in a lively little dance. “We are pregnant.” He had to repeat it again. “We are pregnant.”

  “And you are as happy as I am,” she said as if confirming to herself.

  “We are happy.” He sealed that statement by kissing his wife. More than once, in fact. Right there under the stars of a September night with the whole village dancing away.

  Love brought them back together. Love would carry forward.

  And it was nothing less than a miracle.

  Author’s Note

  Dear Readers,

  I hope you enjoyed Brandon and Kate’s story. Many of you first met Kate in The Duke That I Marry. She really captured my imagination. I adored her outspokenness and knew she must have her own tale.

  However, I grappled with the idea of second chances. Especially after fifteen years? I worried if it was plausible. Doubt is my major pitfall. I worried, I fumbled, I talked to myself.

  Then, as it so often does, the Universe offered a gift. I received an email from someone I’d known thirty years ago. Someone who had once been important to me and thirty years was twice the time Kate and Brandon had been apart.

  Once again, I am reminded of how generous love is. Not just that intense let’s-do-it kind of love, but also the love of kindness, of friendship, of connection. Recognition is a gift. And I firmly believe those whom we’ve met along the way never actually leave
us, do they?

  The book began to flow.

  As for dukes marrying actresses, I covered that topic in my Author’s Note for A Date at the Altar. If that isn’t enough for you, please look at Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex, and his lovely wife Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Are explanations truly needed?

  Here is wishing you love in all its forms.

  Many hugs,

  Cathy Maxwell

  Buda, Texas

  June 29, 2019

  Announcement

  Don’t miss the next installment in the Logical Man’s Guide to Dangerous Women series, coming soon from Avon Books!

  About the Author

  CATHY MAXWELL spends hours in front of her computer pondering the question, “Why do people fall in love?” It remains for her the great mystery of life and the secret to happiness. Contact Cathy at cathy@cathymaxwell.com or the old-fashioned way at PO Box 484, Buda, TX 78610.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  By Cathy Maxwell

  The Logical Man’s Guide to Dangerous Women

  His Secret Mistress

  The Spinster Heiresses

  The Duke That I Marry

  A Match Made in Bed

  If Ever I Should Love You

  Marrying the Duke

  A Date at the Altar

  The Fairest of Them All

  The Match of the Century

  The Brides of Wishmore

  The Groom Says Yes

  The Bride Says Maybe

  The Bride Says No

  The Chattan Curse

  The Devil’s Heart

  The Scottish Witch

  Lyon’s Bride

  The Seduction of Scandal

  His Christmas Pleasure

  The Marriage Ring