Rules for Being a Mistress Page 24

  “Only when my fiancée bids me to do so,” the young man replied. “Why do you ask, sir? Are you acquainted with my cousin?”

  Redfylde was annoyed with himself. He had not meant to betray his interest in the young woman until he was certain that interest would do him credit. “Hardly,” he replied. “But I believe my children are fond of her. Are they not, Serena?”

  “They are indeed,” Serena answered dryly.

  Lady Amelia regarded Miss Vaughn as a heaven-sent protector, and the younger girls followed her lead. They would have adored the Irish girl even if she didn’t help them with their lessons, comb out their tangles without pulling, and sing them to sleep. When she was around, their father was almost kind to them.

  Westlands said, “Cosy’s always had a soft spot for brats.”

  “I wonder, Serena,” said Redfylde coldly, “that you do not give Miss Vaughn some of your dresses. You are still slender. They would fit her better.”

  Serena smiled thinly. She had been starving herself for years in order to fit into the floor models of her favorite dressmakers. “Perhaps I should give her my jewels as well,” she sniffed.

  “A little generosity,” Redfylde snapped, “would not go amiss.”

  Serena heard the threat in his voice. She forced a smile. “Perhaps Lady Rose would be kind enough to help me go through my wardrobe?” she suggested. “As Miss Vaughn is such a good friend of yours, you will be a better judge than I of what she likes.”

  “Of course!” said Rose instantly. “I should love to.”

  “Then why not come and stay with me for a few days?” Serena suggested. “Give your mama a well-deserved rest,” she added persuasively. “Why don’t you let me take Rose home with me tonight, ma’am? You can send her clothes along in the morning with her maid. I am only three doors down from you, after all.”

  Lady Matlock seized the moment, and was soon on her way home in the care of her Personal Private Secretary. Serena smiled at Redfylde, knowing full well that he was anything but pleased by this development. With Lord Matlock’s daughter in the house, he would not dare molest his sister-in-law. Redfylde gnashed his teeth in frustration, but he had no one to blame but himself. Giving away Serena’s dresses had been his own magnificent idea.

  “Come, come,” said Lord Ludham, starting up from the table. “Are we not dancing?”

  “You are late, Felix,” Serena chided him. “The set is already forming. You must find your partner at once and apologize. Who is she?”

  He grinned at her suddenly. “Why, you, if you will have me,” he said.

  Serena found herself, at the age of thirty, blushing like a schoolgirl. Rose had to help her pin up her skirts. She didn’t even know which dance it was until they were in line, and the boulangere was struck up.

  Dr. Grantham was dispatched to Camden Place the next day, and, armed with orders from Lady Serena to make Lady Agatha better, he recommended daily vapor baths to the patient. The baths were located in Stall Street, and had been recommended to Lady Agatha before, but she refused to be carried anywhere in a sedan chair, and the Vaughns did not keep a carriage. Carriages, in fact, were not used in Bath as often as they were in other places, owing to the extreme steepness of the streets.

  Lady Agatha was terrified of the chairs. They reminded her of coffins, she said.

  It was ruinously expensive to keep a carriage, of course, but it was an important outward and visible sign of one’s place in the world. A carriage separated the upper echelons from the hoi polloi. Despite her poverty, Serena insisted on keeping a carriage, and this she sent to take Lady Agatha to the baths. It made Lady Agatha weep with joy to think that, when she was gone, her daughter would have the assistance of good friends like Lady Serena Calverstock.

  With the carriage coming every morning, it seemed silly to walk Allegra to school. The Miss Vaughns simply rode with their mother to Stall Street, then walked the short distance from the baths to Miss Bulstrode’s Seminary.

  As Dr. Grantham employed a private nurse to attend his patients in the bath, there was nothing for Miss Vaughn to do while her mother was undergoing the treatment. The carriage brought her to Serena’s house in the Royal Crescent. The offer of clothes caught her by surprise. She did not think that Serena liked her. She felt instantly ashamed of herself for not liking the English lady. At first she refused, but Serena and Rose quickly overwhelmed her scruples. Besides, it was against her nature to resist anything as tempting as free, beautiful dresses.

  She gave in, and the three women went up to Serena’s dressing room.

  Serena’s maid brought out dress after dress, each more exquisite than the last. None of these, Cosima was sure, had been bought off the floor model at half cost.

  Serena left them to it, saying, “Take anything you like, Miss Vaughn. I’ve a feeling you will be going places.”

  “What does she mean by that?” Cosima asked suspiciously. Perhaps it was ungrateful, but she couldn’t help but wonder why Serena was being so nice to her.

  Rose had selected a peacock blue walking dress for her friend to try on. It would need to be taken in a little at the waist and bosom, but, after that, it would be perfect for a picnic in the country. “You have made a conquest of Lord Redfylde,” she told Cosima, giggling. “The poor man was beside himself at the ball because you were not there. He danced with no one. He’s a little old for you, of course. He has a married daughter my age, you know. But he’s still handsome, don’t you think?”

  Cosima snorted. “Right!” she said sarcastically. “A Big Lord like that, interested in the likes of me. He’d be too proud.”

  “I think he is going to propose to you,” said Rose, smiling. “No; I’m sure of it.”

  Cosima laughed it off. “You’re mistaken, Lady Rose. It’s not been seven months since his wife died, and he is so devoted to his children.”

  “He needs a son,” Rose said simply.

  Cosima was horrified. “If people think I’m trying to take advantage of a grieving widower—! Oh, my God, I’ll die of shame!” She began to take off the peacock blue walking dress. “Help me out of this. Indeed, ’tis very kind of Lady Serena, but I can’t accept charity!”

  “Don’t be silly,” Rose chided. “She can’t be seen in public wearing these again. Try this ballgown. Are there dancing shoes to go with it?” she asked the maid.

  The maid went to search the shelves in the huge, cedar-lined closet.

  “Let me tell you about Serena,” said Rose, when the maid had gone. “She hated you until you refused Lord Ludham’s offer of marriage. Now she’s absolutely delighted with you. Poor thing, she’s so obviously hoping Ludham will ask her. Of course, he never will. She’s so old! I daresay, he thinks of her as his old maiden aunt.”

  “Does Serena want to marry Lord Ludham?” Cosima asked in astonishment. The idea of anyone actually wanting to marry a divorced fellow was beyond her power to understand.

  “Of course she does, silly,” said Rose. “He inherited the earldom from her father, you know. If she’d been born a man, she’d be the Earl of Ludham, not he.”

  Lady Serena’s maid returned with a pair of silver kid dancing pumps, ending this topic of conversation. Cosima tried the shoes doubtfully, but to her amazement, they fit. In the end, she walked away with five new costumes, five pairs of shoes, and three spectacular hats. She had a dress for the morning, a dress for promenading outdoors, a dress for promenading indoors, a ball gown, and a dinner dress. It was nowhere near enough, but, as Rose told Lady Serena, she could not make Miss Vaughn take any more. A seamstress was engaged to make the minor alterations, and Miss Vaughn went down to thank Lady Serena.

  Lord Redfylde was there listening to poor Amelia with a pained expression as the child practiced at her aunt’s pianoforte. Cosima was too nervous to look at him.

  Rose chattered happily. “We’ve chosen the peacock blue for the picnic. You wouldn’t believe what it does to Miss Vaughn’s eyes! It makes them look blue.”

  �
�I can’t possibly go on a picnic!” Cosima said too loudly. “My mother’s just starting the new treatments, and we don’t know yet how she’ll like it.”

  “It’s only one day, Miss Vaughn,” Lord Redfylde said. “Your mother will have the private nurse to sit with her. Lady Serena has made all the arrangements.”

  Poor little thing, he thought kindly as he looked at her. She looked adorably flustered. She must be in love with me, he decided.

  Cosima gnawed at her bottom lip. “Mother’s very shy around strangers, my lord. I can’t leave her at home with a stranger.”

  “But you deserve a day out,” cried Rose. “And so does Miss Allegra! Lady Agatha would be the first to say so. If it comes to it, I’ll sit with her, while you and Allie go.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that,” Cosima said firmly. “My mother would be the first to tell me to go, that’s true. But I couldn’t enjoy myself out in the country if I thought she was unhappy or sick or hurt. Honestly, Lady Serena, I’m so grateful to you for inviting me, and I thank you most kindly for the clothes, but if my mother’s not well, I won’t be going, and neither will Allie.”

  “It would be so good,” said Lord Redfylde, “for the children.”

  Cosima smiled at him in relief. She had forgotten that Rose was only a foolish, romantic young girl. Of course, Lord Redfylde was only thinking of his children. Probably his heart was so tender and sore from the shock and grief of his wife’s death that he couldn’t even look at another woman. Silly Rose.

  Lady Amelia jumped up from the pianoforte. Her father was never more cross than when he did not get his way with Miss Vaughn. “But you must come to the picnic!” she pleaded. “We need you there.”

  Cosima winced. She did not want to believe that Lord Redfylde was contemplating marriage, but she worried that the marquess’s children were becoming too attached to her. It wasn’t healthy. “I’m sorry, Lady Amelia,” she said softly. “It’s just too far, darling. If something were to happen when I was halfway to Blaize Castle, I’d never forgive myself.”

  She glanced at the clock, unable to bear Lady Amelia’s pleading eyes. “I’d better be going. Mother will be getting out of the baths any minute. She’ll worry if I’m not there. Thank you again.”

  She bobbed a hasty curtsey and practically ran from the room.

  “Poor Miss Vaughn.” Rose sighed. “Poor Miss Allegra. Poor Lady Agatha. There must be something we can do to make their lives better.”

  “If Miss Vaughn can’t go to the picnic,” Amelia said timidly, “could we not bring the picnic to her?”

  Her father looked at her with scorn. “Go to the nursery at once,” he said. “I believe you have tortured your aunt’s pianoforte enough for one day.”

  “Stay a moment,” said Rose, as Amelia’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s not a bad idea. There’s a park running through the middle of Camden Place, you know. We could have the picnic there. The servants can carry Lady Agatha out on a sofa, if need be. We could put up a tent. Hire a string quartet. Do the thing properly.”

  “If Miss Vaughn should still refuse?” Serena asked.

  “We won’t tell her,” Rose said smugly. “We’ll kidnap her, and take her to the park whether she wants to go or not.”

  Redfylde considered the idea, and approved. “Well done, Amelia,” he said, giving his eldest daughter two fingers to shake.

  Benedict returned to Bath on the afternoon of the picnic. It was nearly three weeks since he had last been seen or heard from in Bath. “What is all the commotion in the park?” he asked Pickering wearily as Pickering helped him out of his coat.

  “Lord Redfylde has taken over the park for a picnic. The entire neighborhood is invited, servants included.” Pickering was worried that he was going to be stuck indoors unpacking the master’s trunk while others enjoyed themselves in the park on this beautiful spring day.

  “Lord Redfylde!” Benedict exclaimed. “Has he taken a house in Camden Place?”

  “No, sir,” Pickering replied. “He has taken an interest in the Miss Vaughns.”

  Benedict was quiet for a moment.

  “Ah,” he said. “I believe I will go and pay my respects to Lady Agatha.”

  “You will find her in the park reclining upon a sofa,” said Pickering. “Lord Redfylde has put up a silk pavilion to keep the sun off of her.”

  “Has he indeed,” Benedict murmured. “You may go to the picnic, if you like, Pickering. Leave the unpacking until tomorrow.”

  He made a beeline for the park.

  When he had left Bath the trees were just beginning to bud with new life. Now they were laden with new green growth and the lilacs were in bloom. Children were flying kites and sailing model boats on the pond. On the green lawn were banquet tables laden with platters of roast fowl, ham, and beef. Fruits and cakes were piled onto huge silver epergnes. Crystal goblets and silver cutlery sparkled in the sunlight. Liveried servants were variously employed carrying plates to and fro, shooing away flies, fanning ladies, and getting unruly children down from trees. Their liveries were in every color of the rainbow. He saw Serena’s pale lavender livery and Lady Matlock’s pea-green among the many colors.

  A small orchestra was playing Haydn near the Italian fountain.

  Allegra Vaughn was among the children sailing model boats on the pond. Benedict walked over to her. “That is a beautiful boat, Miss Allegra.”

  “You’re back!” she shrieked. “What did you bring me from London?”

  He smiled at her. “A marionette and a puzzle map of the world. How is your mother?”

  Allie dragged him over to the white silk tent. Underneath it, laid out on the grass, was what appeared to be an elegant drawing-room. Lady Agatha, painted like a doll, sat at length on the sofa, a fur over her knees. Lady Matlock and Lady Dalrymple sat near her, enjoying the shade. Dr. Grantham was timing Lady Matlock’s pulse against his pocket watch.

  Lord Redfylde, resplendent in tight yellow pantaloons and a scarlet coat, stood a little apart from the ladies, drinking champagne. He looked vigilant, as if he were waiting for something. Looking almost girlish in her white muslin gown, Serena Calverstock was flying a kite with Lord Ludham’s assistance.

  “Excuse me,” said Mr. Freddie Carteret, stepping past Allegra and Benedict to supply Lady Matlock with a fresh glass of iced champagne and a plate of lobster patties.

  Miss Vaughn was notable by her absence.

  “Sir Benedict!” Serena greeted him in surprise. Her heart began to pound. The only way she would ever be free of Redfylde was to marry. But how could she bring herself to accept Sir Benedict’s proposal now, when Felix was being so attentive?

  “I was beginning to think you were never going to return,” she said glumly.

  Redfylde glanced at Benedict. He had once rented the estate neighboring Sir Benedict’s in Surrey, but the two men never enjoyed anything more than a nodding acquaintance.

  “Some business at Wayborn Hall delayed me longer than expected,” Benedict explained, paying his respects to each lady in turn. “I did not have the opportunity to congratulate you, Mr. Carteret,” he added civilly to that young man. “Pray, allow me to do so now. I wish you and Lady Rose much happiness.”

  Lady Matlock laughed gaily. “You are sadly behind the times, Sir Benedict. Rose is engaged to marry Lord Westlands. They are playing badminton over there,” she said, fluttering her fingers in no particular direction, “with Miss Carteret and my brother-in-law. Mr. Carteret is now my personal private secretary.”

  “Good heavens,” Benedict murmured. “Was I gone so long?”

  Lady Agatha had been staring at him in puzzled silence ever since he bent over her hand. “Who is he?” she finally whispered in desperation to Dr. Grantham. “He looks familiar.”

  “She’s only funning!” Allegra assured him. “It’s Cousin Ben, Mama.” She grabbed Benedict’s hand. “Come on! You must be hungry.”

  “Where is your sister?” he asked as she led him over to the banquet ta
ble.

  “I don’t know,” she answered, shrugging. “She was here a moment ago.”

  “Miss Vaughn has gone to change Lady Caroline,” one of the footmen cutting fresh pineapple at the table volunteered.

  “Who is Lady Caroline?” Benedict asked Allie, “and what is she being changed into?”

  Allie grinned her changeling’s grin at him. “I’ll show you.”

  Cosima was changing the baby on Lady Agatha’s bed in what was once the Book room. Benedict was pleased that she had taken his advice.

  “You’re back!” she said breathlessly as Allie dragged him in. All the cool and aloof things she had practiced to say to him when he returned (“Look what the cat dragged in,” “The prodigal returns!” or “Have we met before? You look vaguely familiar.”) simply did not occur to her, and she was left standing there, grinning at him like a fool.

  Hastily, she drew the curtain that separated her mother’s bed from the rest of the room, affording a little privacy for two sets of very pink cheeks, hers and Lady Caroline’s. Her heart began to pound in her chest. She felt as if she had been dead for three weeks and was just now coming alive. In her haste to finish with the baby, she drove the diaper pin into her finger and gasped in pain.

  “I see you took my advice,” he said.

  “The curtain was my idea,” she said.

  Benedict examined her minutely when she at last opened the curtain. She looked beautiful, of course, but she had changed in three weeks. Short creamy-blonde curls framed her heart-shaped face in the Grecian style. She was wearing a striking ensemble of brilliant blue superfine peacock. It looked fashionable and new and there was not a wrinkle on it anywhere. The strong color made her eyes look more blue than green.

  The changes made him nervous. He had only been gone three weeks!

  “You cut your hair,” he said stupidly.

  “It’s only a fringe,” she said, touching a hand to the curls over her eyes.

  She picked up the baby, and, now clean and dry, Lady Caroline cooed as they left the “bedroom.” On this side of the curtain there was a little sitting room so that her mother could receive visitors in situ, if she felt up to it. There was a lady’s escritoire, two dainty gilded chairs, and a number of tiny tables and footstools. On one of the tables was a bowl of fresh lilacs. Its lemony perfume filled the air.