Rules for Being a Mistress Page 14

  “Didn’t know I was famous, but yes,” Cosima answered, a little puzzled by the young lady’s apparent delight in making her acquaintance.

  Lady Matlock glowered at her. “I suppose you are secretly engaged to him, miss! You have a quiet little understanding, I daresay.”

  Benedict frowned.

  Cosima was startled. “Engaged to Westlands?” She laughed. “No, indeed, ma’am. I’ve not seen Marcus in more than five years. In any case, my uncle, Lord Wayborn, does not approve of cousins marrying. He was always going on about that, even when we were children. Believe me, ma’am, we got the hint.”

  “Oh!” cried Lady Matlock, pleased. “That was very wise of his lordship. I know of nothing so abominable as cousins marrying cousins! Except of course, when a young man inherits an uncle’s property. In that case, honor dictates that the young man should marry his uncle’s daughter at once, if possible. Otherwise, he has been the means of injuring his cousin. But that would not apply in your case.”

  “No, indeed, ma’am.”

  Reluctantly, Lady Matlock acquitted the Irish girl of ruining all her daughter’s hopes. Her thoughts turned toward making this pretty young person useful. “All the same! Your cousin has used my daughter very ill! He has treated her infamously, and has made her the laughingstock of the whole world!”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” said Cosima sincerely. “What’s he done?”

  “Nothing,” Rose said quickly.

  “Nothing!” shrieked Lady Matlock. “He has most cruelly raised all our hopes and expectations, only to dash them. In London, he danced with my daughter at every ball. And no one else! He called on her every day. He was always at her side. In short, he did everything a young man ought to do. Everything except propose. You call that nothing?”

  “I’m sure Marcus meant no mischief, ma’am.”

  “And I am sure he did!” replied her ladyship very stoutly.

  “I could write to him, I suppose, and ask him to explain himself,” Cosy said doubtfully.

  “Yes!” cried Lady Matlock, while at the same time her daughter cried, “No!”

  Rose’s hand jerked suddenly, spilling her punch down the front of Miss Vaughn’s white silk slip. Cosima gasped in shock. Benedict instantly offered his handkerchief, but he was not as fast as Rose. “Come with me quick!” she cried, seizing Cosima by the hand almost before the other girl knew what was happening.

  Rose insisted on sponging the punch stain from Miss Vaughn’s dress herself, overriding the protests of both Miss Vaughn and the attendant in the ladies’ retiring room. The worst of the stain was at the waist of the gown, but Rose solved the problem by tearing apart Cosima’s nosegay and pinning the white roses over the pink stain. Satisfied with her handiwork, Rose led her new acquaintance into a private alcove, where they sat fanning Miss Vaughn’s skirt dry.

  “Forgive me, Miss Vaughn! I could think of no other way to speak to you alone.”

  Cosima’s temper flared. “You did that on purpose!”

  “I needed to talk to you,” Rose explained. “Alone,” she added mysteriously.

  “You could have asked me,” said Cosima. “This is my best petticoat! I mean, dress.”

  Rose’s pretty face crumpled as she burst into tears. “Oh, no! You hate me!”

  Cosy looked in astonishment at the chestnut-haired English girl. “Of course I don’t hate you,” she said impatiently. “But even if I did, why would you care? I’m hardly one of the leading lights of Bath society.”

  “I care nothing for Bath society,” Rose declared. “Dante will have written to you by now, I am sure, so you must know who I am. Oh, Miss Vaughn, do you think you could ever love me like a sister? Indeed, Miss Vaughn, I love you already.”

  “Dante!” Cosy exclaimed. Hastily, she lowered her voice. “Dante, my brother?”

  “Yes, of course.” Rose laughed giddily. “Who else?”

  Cosy’s heart sank. Dante was just eighteen, but already he was following in the footsteps of the Vaughn men; drinking, gambling, and womanizing with reckless abandon.

  “He hasn’t written to you?” Rose asked anxiously. “But he promised me so faithfully!”

  “Oh, God,” Cosima groaned. “What else did he promise you?”

  The entire story tumbled out of Rose in less than a minute. Lieutenant Dante Vaughn was the most wonderful young man in the world. She loved him. Happily, the most wonderful young man in the world returned her feelings, and, to make a long story short, the lovely couple were engaged. Owing to the disparity of rank and fortune that existed between them, the engagement was to be kept a dark secret.

  Cosy sighed. Although she was only a few years older than Rose Fitzwilliam, she could not look at the other girl’s pretty, innocent face without feeling old and jaded. This was not the first time she had been called upon to console one of her brothers’ abandoned conquests. What the fair sex saw in the guilty, malodorous creatures was quite beyond her power to understand.

  “Let me see if I have this right,” she said gently. “You met Dan at a ball—once. You became secretly engaged to him at that time. Two days later, he left for India, where he will be stationed for the next ten years at least. Don’t you think that might be a shade unrealistic?”

  She was trying to be kind.

  “It was love at first sight,” Rose explained. “You’ll see when you get Dante’s letter. But we won’t have to wait ten years. In four years, when I come of age, I shall have my money.”

  Cosima winced. This just kept getting worse. “You’ve got a fortune, have you?”

  “Thirty thousand pounds,” Rose said proudly. “Money is not the problem. Right now, the problem is Westlands! You see, when Dante left England, Westlands promised to look after me, to keep me cheerful, and to keep the other gentlemen away from me. Which he did, of course. Only he did it too well.”

  Cosima smiled in relief. “And you and Marcus fell in love?”

  Rose stared at her, horrified. “No! Nothing like that! Marcus and I are good friends, that’s all. But his attentions were so marked that he was obliged to leave London or else become engaged to me! Some say he trifled with me. Others say that I trifled with him! My situation became so intolerable that I was shipped back to my mother in disgrace.”

  Tears began to flow from Rose’s large, dark eyes. Blindly, she reached for the other girl’s hand. “Oh, Miss Vaughn! Mama means to force me to marry anyone she can, and be rid of me as soon as possible. And I do mean anyone. Why, she even threatened me with that old stick, Sir Benedict Wayborn!”

  Cosima hid a smile. “Oh, no. Fate worse than death.”

  “Yes! She makes me dance with him at every ball. Odious man! He has not left me alone since I came to Bath. I do believe he followed me here!” she added with a shiver. “I would not be surprised if it turned out he fiddled with the wheels of my carriage so that I would be stranded in the road. You must admit, it was very suspicious that he came along right when he did and rescued me. Obviously, it was all a plot.”

  “Did Sir Benedict rescue you?”

  “It was no great thing,” Rose explained. “He is no hero, I assure you. My carriage sank in the mud, and he brought me the rest of the way to Bath in his. Now he seems to think he is owed my hand in marriage, only in exchange for a seat in his carriage! I expect, if my uncle had not been with me, I should have been compromised, and so forced to marry him. But, as it is, I would have none of his suit, and so I told him. Why, he’s old enough to be my father! I told him plainly that I would rather die than marry him.”

  Cosima gasped. “He asked you to marry him? When?”

  Rose’s bosom swelled dangerously. “I put paid to his disgusting application right away, I can assure you. Marry him? I would as soon marry a candlestick!”

  “He is a little stiff, I suppose.”

  “Stiff! A resurrection man wouldn’t take him,” Rose declared. “He is such a bore! He is well-respected, of course, but no one really likes him. So sour and sarcastic
!”

  If you only knew him, Cosy thought, as Rose rambled on. Then she realized she didn’t want anyone else to know Ben, not the way she knew him.

  “You must be careful of him, Miss Vaughn. From what I hear, he’s desperate for a wife. He couldn’t find anyone stupid enough to take him in London, so he had to come here, to Bath, looking for fresh victims. I think it very likely he will ask you next. I wouldn’t put it past him!”

  Cosima’s eyes twinkled. “Do you think me stupid enough to take him?”

  “Of course not,” said Rose. “But he may try to persuade you. He is rich, to be sure, and a baronet, but he’s only Number Fifty-six on my Aunt Maria’s list of eligible bachelors, and so old! Positively ancient! You know he dyes his hair.”

  Cosima screamed with laughter. “He does not!”

  “He does!” Rose insisted. “You could do much better. You really are a beauty, you know. Lord Ludham doesn’t dye his hair, and he’s madly in love with you, too, which helps.”

  Cosima wiped the tears from her eyes. “Who?”

  “Lord Ludham. Don’t worry; you’ll meet him. All he ever talks about is you, and now that his divorce has been granted, he’s free.”

  “Divorce!” said Cosima, shocked.

  “Yes, of course. How can you not know these things?” said Rose, jumping to her feet. “We had better go down or we will miss the concert.”

  As the two young ladies walked back down the stairs, they were not without admirers. A waggish gentleman instantly christened them “The Face” and “The Body,” respectively.

  “Ignore them,” Rose advised her companion. “You know what men are like when we pay them the least bit of attention. They are so conceited!” She caught sight of Sir Benedict coming toward them. “Why are you pursuing me?” she demanded, holding tightly to Cosima for support. “I do not love you, sir. I will never marry you.”

  Benedict was unruffled. “Your mother sent me to find you, Lady Rose.”

  Returning to the concert hall, they discovered that the evening’s entertainment was in danger of being canceled. The pianist had taken ill.

  “What no one seems to realize, Mr. King,” Lady Matlock said indignantly, “is that I am seriously ill! Have I dragged my weary body from my deathbed, only to be obliged to struggle home again, without so much as a song to show for all my effort? Why can’t the bloody woman sing a cappella?” she wanted to know.

  “I can play the piano,” Cosima said. “I’ll do it.”

  “There!” said Lady Matlock, pleased. “Now we shall have some music.”

  “My lady! I could not possibly ask Miss Vaughn to make an exhibition of herself,” stammered Mr. King in shock.

  “Why not?” cried the countess belligerently.

  Cosima shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t mind.”

  Benedict was aghast. “I am persuaded, Miss Vaughn, that your mother would not approve. You must cancel the concert, Mr. King,” he said in a commanding voice.

  “You will not cancel the concert,” said Lady Matlock, just as stoutly. “I was promised a musicale and I shall have it, by God, or I will cancel my subscription! I will go to the Lower Rooms,” she threatened. “And I shall take all of Bath society with me.”

  She glared at Benedict. “You are not at home, Sir Benedict. You can not order us all about like servants. Music, King, and be quick about it.”

  “I’ve seen the libretto, Mr. King,” Cosima said calmly. “I know most of the songs already. It’s simple stuff. A child could do it.”

  “Let her play, Sir Benedict!” Lady Rose urged him.

  “I don’t need his permission,” Cosima said, annoyed.

  Benedict could only bow to the ladies. The alternative was an ugly, degrading scene.

  “Never mind him, Miss Vaughn,” Lady Matlock said with a sneer at the gentleman. “I, Lady Matlock, will give you a note for your mother. I would never permit Rose to exhibit in the Upper Rooms, of course, but there is nothing improper in it, I am persuaded. The society in Bath is exclusive enough, I daresay. It is not as though she would be playing in public, Sir Benedict. This ain’t London, after all.”

  “I think Miss Vaughn is very brave,” declared Rose. “Lord Ludham! Do you not agree?”

  She could not have applied to anyone more willing to support Miss Vaughn in her scheme. “I think Miss Vaughn is splen-splen-splendid!” stammered his lordship.

  “Perhaps Miss Vaughn would like to sing as well?” inquired Lady Serena. She was seated in one of the front chairs, and looked impeccable in a gown of sapphire blue satin.

  “My voice is too small for that, I’m sorry to say,” Cosima replied. “It would never fill a concert hall. I’d sound like a tiny bird crying out in the wilderness. But thanks for asking.”

  Ludham was determined not to stutter this time. “I am sure you sing beautifully, Miss Vaughn,” he said.

  Cosima rewarded his effort with a benevolent smile. Then, for some reason, she seemed to think it necessary to address the company at large. There was really nothing to say, but she seemed determined. “I’ll just have a word with the signora,” she announced, spreading her hands. “I’ll be back in a squeeze, and you won’t be disappointed. Sit tight!”

  She followed the master of ceremonies into the anteroom, and everyone began to talk at once. Shielded by her fan, Serena whispered to Benedict, who had taken the chair next to her. “Will this be a disaster, do you think?” she asked him.

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “How exactly does one sit tight?” Serena laughed.

  Lady Dalrymple angrily declared that her Millicent played far better than Miss Vaughn, but that modesty had prevented her from putting herself forward. Miss Carteret, ever the dutiful daughter, agreed with her mother vehemently. Overhearing them, Lady Matlock said derisively, “You forget, dear; some of us have actually heard your Millie play.”

  Lady Dalrymple pretended not to hear the countess. “There is Mr. Fitzwilliam, Millie,” she whispered to her child. “Make sure you tell him how much you like the Church.”

  Serena spoke again to Benedict from behind her fan. “To imagine that she could take the place of a professional concert pianist—! Evidently, her conceit knows no bounds. I only hope that you are right, and that her behavior will give Felix a disgust for her. So immodest in putting herself forward, and so disrespectful to her elders, too.”

  “Elders?” he said sharply.

  “Why, she treated you with scorn, Sir Benedict, just now, when you tried to advise her.”

  Benedict did not like being thought of as one of Miss Vaughn’s elders. He was only thirty-eight. “I should never have presumed to advise her,” he said. “I am not her guardian.”

  Miss Vaughn returned in a few minutes, followed by the soloist who was a wide, sallow woman swathed in rustling burnt-orange silk. Cosima looked wild, Benedict thought with despair, if there was such a thing as an angel that had escaped cultivation. Her hair was coming down. Her cheeks were flushed. By tomorrow, everyone in Bath would have a disgust for her. Why could she not simply do as she was told?

  “Hullo again,” she greeted her audience cheerfully. “Thanks for coming.”

  The attempt at humor only seemed to puzzle her English audience.

  Without further ado, she sat down at the instrument. At a signal from the soprano, she began to play. The melody was pure and simple, almost completely unadorned. Its simplicity was meant to showcase the voice of the singer, and not the skill of the pianist. Any competent student of the pianoforte could have managed to play it reasonably well. And Cosima, Benedict was relieved to discover, was at least competent. He had had his doubts.

  Serena tittered over her libretto. “She is out of order already. This song should be last, according to the libretto. Will you translate, Sir Benedict?”

  He did not need to glance at the libretto. Miss Vaughn was playing “Caro mio Ben.”

  “I don’t speak Italian,” he said curtly.

  In the course of playing the q
uiet melody, Cosima’s slim body rocked back and forth slightly, and her small breasts swelled creamily against the top of her white gown. Her face was sublime. She had sung this simple song to him the night they met. She was playing it now to bewitch him. He was bewitched. Without looking around, he knew that every other man in the room had fallen under her spell, too, but that was their tough luck.

  The ladies were not so easily enchanted.

  Serena was tone-deaf. For her, the greatest pleasure of a concert was the pleasure of being seen, admired, and envied by those less endowed than herself in taste, beauty, and breeding. “Pray,” she whispered to her companion, “is she disgracing herself?”

  She was delighted when he quietly explained that the music was simple enough for any good student of music to play. At least she need not fear that Miss Vaughn was a virtuoso. A plan formed in her head. If she could lure Miss Vaughn into playing something beyond her skill, then the Irish girl would be exposed as a fraud. Her admirers would begin to laugh at her. They would ridicule her failure, and forget about her success. That was the way of the polite world.

  Lord Ludham adored little Miss Vaughn now, but he was an impressionable young man, always eager to do what was pleasing and right in the eyes of the world. It had been quite easy, in fact, to convince him to divorce his wife, once her betrayal was made known to him. If the world turns against Miss Vaughn, so will Felix, Serena thought confidently. Then Felix will return to me, as he always does when his ego suffers a blow. I will send Sir Benedict to the rightabout; and everyone will be happy. By everyone, she meant herself, of course.

  At the interval, when the party went into the tea room, Serena insisted on being introduced to the heroine, the very thing she had avoided for weeks. Benedict obliged her, and did not even cringe when Miss Vaughn explained, once again, that she was Italian in her heart.

  Serena inclined her head like a queen receiving homage. “Why, Sir Benedict, she is charming!” She smiled, laying her hand on Benedict’s arm possessively. “You must bring her to my card party on Friday, Sir Benedict.”

  “I would be happy to do so,” Benedict replied.

  Cosima’s back stiffened. She did not care for Lady Serena’s patronizing tone. The other woman also seemed to be having a little trouble keeping her hands to herself. “Thank you! But I do not play cards,” she said coldly.