Rules for Being a Mistress Page 31

  Unless it was being eaten by dogs, Miss Vaughn’s naked body had no power to please him. “Where is she?” he demanded. “What have you done with her?”

  “What are you looking at?” she suddenly demanded.

  A constable of the Watch stood next to Benedict, looking up at the naked girl curiously.

  “Constable, you may go,” Benedict said harshly. “Nothing to see here.”

  The constable seemed to disagree.

  “Move along, Constable,” Benedict snapped, “or I’ll have you arrested for eavesdropping on a private conversation.”

  The watchman wisely withdrew. In his line of work, it didn’t pay to offend the gentry.

  Miss Vaughn hadn’t budged from the window.

  “Tell you what,” she said agreeably. “I’ll sell her to you.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what you do with a whore,” she said pleasantly. “You sell her, don’t you?”

  His mouth twisted. “Name your price.”

  “No,” she insisted, leaning out the window. “You name your price. How much is the girl worth to you?”

  Chapter 20

  Four days later, the arrangements had been made with his bank. Benedict went to Lady Matlock’s house to take his formal leave of Bath, interrupting the waltzing-lesson. “We are very sorry to see you go, Sir Benedict,” said Lady Matlock, suppressing a yawn. “But, I daresay, you must go and pay your respects to your grandmama in Ireland.”

  “Er…yes, of course,” he murmured. In fact, he had no thought of doing any such thing. He had no idea where he was going or how long he would be gone. Miss Vaughn had not yet told him where he could find Cherry. He murmured something about family duty.

  Now I am a liar, he thought grimly. A liar, as well as a hypocrite.

  He took his leave of Serena. “You must invite your Irish relations to our wedding, Sir Benedict,” she said in a tone that suggested she hoped none of them would be able to attend.

  Lord Ludham cheerfully promised to look after Serena while Benedict was gone.

  Last of all, Benedict turned to Miss Vaughn.

  “Miss Vaughn.”

  He bowed to her. She was wearing the dress that looked like mattress ticking. Her pale hair was neatly braided with pin-curls on her brow. She looked harmless and demure as she curtseyed. “Have you got my money?” she asked quietly.

  “The papers have been delivered to your house,” he answered in a low voice. He had signed his inheritance over to her, the princely sum of thirty thousand pounds. “All you have to do is sign. Now tell me where I’m going.”

  She smiled at him. “Did you not hear? You’re going to Ireland to pay your respects to your grandmother. If you hurry, you just might overtake Kellynch. He left about two hours ago.”

  “She’s gone back to Ireland then?”

  “Where else?” said Miss Vaughn.

  Lady Matlock’s voice pierced the illusion of privacy. “What are you doing there so secretly with Miss Vaughn, Sir Benedict?”

  Benedict stepped away. “I was just asking Miss Vaughn if there might be some service I could perform for her while I am visiting her native country.”

  “Oh, fetch her harp!” cried Lady Matlock at once. “I’m sure if you brought her harp from Castle Argent, she would play for us.”

  Benedict was sardonic. “I would be honored. Whereabouts is Castle Argent?”

  She shrugged. “Oh, you know. West of Dublin, east of Galway City.”

  His lips thinned. “Somewhere between Malin Head and Mizen Head?”

  She smiled faintly. “You can’t miss it.”

  “Believe me, I won’t,” he said coldly.

  To his surprise, Miss Vaughn followed him out.

  “Cousin Ben?” she called.

  He paused on the stairs and looked at her silently.

  “You’ll want to take the Grand Canal from Dublin, and get off at Ballyvaughn. That way you won’t get lost,” she said sheepishly. She had meant to keep herself aloof of him, and remain at the top of the stairs, but her feet, as if possessed by a will of their own, were straying toward him one step at a time. She couldn’t bear to think what might happen to him in Ireland if he got lost in the countryside. Some of those bogtrotters had no manners.

  “It’s a short walk from Ballyvaughn to Castle Argent. And don’t mind the dog,” she added. “She’ll knock you down and lick your face, but she’ll never hurt you. Her name is Dolphin, but we call her Dolly. Take this with you,” she added, now close enough to give him her handkerchief. “Keep it in your pocket, and she’ll know you’re a friend.”

  “Yes, Mother,” he said rudely.

  Taking the square from her, he used it to blow his nose.

  “Bastard,” she said dispassionately.

  “Bitch,” he muttered, turning away.

  Sadly, his manners had sharply declined since meeting Miss Vaughn.

  It was good that he was leaving Bath, Cosima told herself. By the time he returned, the fire between them would have burned itself out. When he returns, he will be just another man to me. Soon enough, a married man. Serena will take him to London and there it all would end.

  But, for now, she felt like a bereaved widow.

  When Benedict reached the Welsh coast the following night, the choppy Irish Sea was in no mood to be crossed, and he was forced to put up for the night at one of the local inns and wait for the morning packet to Dublin. When he went down to dinner, he found the Duke of Kellynch dining alone. “Lord Oranmore! So you decided to go to Dublin and claim your inheritance after all,” the duke greeted him. “Good for you!”

  “I am not Lord Oranmore,” Benedict said firmly, taking his seat at a separate table.

  “I see,” said Kellynch. “Incognito, eh? Would you care to join me for dinner?”

  Benedict studied the bill of fare studiously. “No, I thank you.”

  “I’m having the duck,” Kellynch told him loudly. “I daresay if it were an English title, you’d have lost no time claiming it,” he went on, “but as it is only an Irish title, it is of no consequence to you. Would it interest you to know that your grandfather left behind a fortune of five hundred thousand pounds? Hmmm?”

  The lady at the table next to His Grace gave an involuntary gasp.

  Benedict reluctantly left his table and sat down at Kellynch’s. Anything to shut the man up. “You go from nonsense to nonsense, sir. I am not Lord Oranmore, and my grandfather had nothing like five hundred thousand pounds. How could he? That is an absurd sum.”

  “It is an absurd sum,” Kellynch agreed. “It makes me angry whenever I think of it. Of course, every landowner in Ireland was compensated for his boroughs when the Act of Union passed in oh-one. My father got his fair share of the windfall. But your grandfather was unique in that he regarded it as a bribe—flatly refused to spend a penny of it. Didn’t stop him from taking it, mind you. He just wouldn’t spend it. Instead, he invested it. Probably, it was looking at all those zeds that carried him off in the end. You’re lucky. My father gambled all his boroughs money away in the first year.”

  “I daresay it will take my cousin Ulick more than a year to gamble away five hundred thousand pounds,” Benedict said dryly.

  “Ulick? He’ll be doing no gambling this side of hell.”

  “Good Lord,” Benedict said, startled. “Did Ulick die?”

  “In a Barrack Street brothel with a smile on his mug. Of course, that’s not exactly how your grandmother decided his obituary should read in the Times of Ireland.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. His son must be, what, eleven or twelve by now? I trust he has sound guardians to watch over him.”

  Kellynch shook his head sadly. “Poor lad! He never saw the age of seven, let alone eleven. Fever carried him off, along with his poor mother. The two daughters were left unscathed. Sure they’re fine young ladies now, your cousins. Nuala and Glorvina.”

  Benedict waited without comment while the waiter served the meal.

 
“That is very sad,” he said carefully. “However, my uncle must be pleased.”

  “There’s not a lot of pleasure to be had in the cemetery,” Kellynch said. “Not below ground anyway.”

  “Cousin Tom?”

  Kellynch shook his head. “Don’t ask.”

  “So you’re saying that I’m Lord Oranmore? Why was I not informed?”

  “Your grandmother would move heaven and earth to cut you out of the succession, that’s why. Lady Angela Redmund could have married the richest man in Ireland, but one of those Richmond girls snapped him up when your mother married that English fellow. Your grandmother never spoke to her daughter after that. Now, she’s married Glorvina to some chinless wonder in the hopes the union will produce male issue before you come traipsing into Ireland with your greedy aspirations.”

  Kellynch chuckled. “Unbeknownst to her ladyship, poor Gerald had the misfortune of insulting Cosy Vaughn one night at Dublin Castle. Her brothers took him to Phoenix Park and put some manners on him. He won’t be cutting the mustard any time soon.”

  Benedict frowned. “I suppose that sort of thing happens quite often in Ireland.”

  “Not to the Lord Mayor’s son, it doesn’t!” For a moment, the duke looked wistful. “Ah, but they were a breed apart, Larry and Sandy Vaughn. What they did to young Lord Lucan—! But his death was not entirely in vain. The creatures were more apt to be respectful of Miss Vaughn after that.”

  “And their other sister as well,” said Benedict.

  “Allie? Sure, she’s too young for all that. Thank God!”

  The meal was finished in silence.

  “By the way,” the duke went on, as they went out to the lounge to enjoy brandy and cigars. “She’s agreed to sell me the house. After swearing up and down she wouldn’t. But that’s a woman for you. The answer’s always no, until it’s yes, eh? They have us by the balls from the minute we’re born until the minute we die. Funny thing is, I actually have the money, for I’ve just sold my house in Dublin. Now all I have to do is convince my mother to move out.”

  Benedict stared. “Miss Vaughn agreed to sell you Castle Argent?”

  “Aye. Fifty thousand pounds! ’Tis highway robbery.”

  Benedict pressed his lips together. Before leaving Bath, he had signed over to Miss Vaughn thirty thousand pounds. If she had agreed to sell Castle Argent to Kellynch, it was not because she desperately needed funds. The woman was a greedy, scheming bitch. The sooner he got Cherry away from her, the better.

  Wouldn’t Cherry be delighted when she found out that her lover was Lord Oranmore, with a staggering fortune of five hundred thousand pounds? And wouldn’t Miss Vaughn gnash her teeth?

  “I admit I was surprised,” said Kellynch. “Cosy Vaughn is as stubborn as a mule! But, I suppose, love has made her see the light at long last.”

  “Love?” Benedict scoffed. “Miss Vaughn?”

  Kellynch laughed. “That young lad of Lord Wayborn’s. What’s his name—Waylands?”

  “Westlands.”

  “He came to the box that night at the theater and had a bit of a chat with his pretty little cousin. All of a sudden, she said she’d sell me the house. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s reached an understanding with this Wetlands boy.”

  “Westlands,” Benedict corrected him automatically.

  “He’ll be breaking it off with that poor girl Rose any minute now,” Kellynch sighed. “For there’s no getting between Cosy Vaughn and what she wants.”

  “Between ourselves, we’ve given her a handsome dowry, too!” Benedict said bitterly.

  The next morning, the Irish Sea was smooth as glass, and the mail packet crossed without any difficulty, decanting its passengers in Dublin in time for tea. “My wife is sure to have sent a carriage for me,” said Kellynch, moving with surprising speed around some bags of wool on the dock. “Come; I’ll set you down at Saint Stephen’s Green. Oran House is on the west side, in French Walk, in case you don’t know. The three front windows are broken forward under a pediment. You can’t miss it.”

  Benedict declined, and, leaving Pickering to deal with the luggage, he left the docks and walked into Dublin, ignoring the hordes of boisterous, dirty children who crowded around him, offering to do any mortal thing for a penny. Try as they might, they could not make themselves as pathetic as their London counterparts. Benedict could almost suspect that they were begging as a competitive sport, their tales of misery were so wildly inventive, and they told them with such sparkling eyes. Also, their dirty cheeks were suspiciously rosy. The dregs of London were too miserable to tell stories.

  He walked west, following the River Liffey to the center of Dublin, where stately mansions with elegant facades faced the river, in marked contrast to the eastern limits, where the houses had their backs to the river. Turning south, he walked past the spires of Trinity College to Saint Stephen’s Square. Oran House stood across from a long promenade shaded by lime trees. Its brass name plate was almost completely covered in ivy, but its distinctive architecture made it easy to find.

  A very proper English butler in black livery answered the bell. Benedict took out his card, then hesitated. He was no longer Sir Benedict Wayborn, as it said on the card. The full implications of this suddenly hit him. He would be obliged to give up his seat in the House of Commons, and take his grandfather’s place in the House of Lords. There he would be as the lone voice crying out in the wilderness, a reformer surrounded by Tory conservatives.

  “What name shall I give her ladyship?” the butler coldly inquired.

  “Lord Oranmore.”

  “Lord Oranmore,” the butler said severely, “is dead. Perhaps you noticed the black crepe on the knocker?”

  “I’m new,” Benedict explained. “I’ve just arrived from England to take possession. I haven’t had a chance to get any new cards printed up.”

  The butler’s eyes flickered. “In that case, my lord, her ladyship will be delighted if you join the family for tea in the drawing-room.”

  “I doubt it, my good man, but lead the way.”

  The drawing-room was so large that it took him a moment to find its occupants. His maternal grandmother was seated beneath the tall windows in a gilded French armchair, tiny and frail-looking in her widow’s weeds. Her lavender hair was dressed in a simple pompadour. Her small, heart-shaped face still bore traces of what must have been in her youth a remarkable beauty. Her eyes were clear and gray, rather like Benedict’s own. Two young females, presumably Ulick Redmund’s daughters, sat near the marchioness. Like their grandmother, they too were dressed in high-necked mourning gowns. The younger had Ulick’s dark red hair, while the elder was a black-haired, blue-eyed beauty of perhaps eighteen. Behind the ladies, holding a cup and saucer of translucent Belleek, was a chinless young man, also dressed in black.

  Benedict went down the length of the room and bowed. Lady Oranmore silently stretched out her hand to him, and he kissed its cold papery back dutifully. “Grandmother.”

  He withdrew to find two more feminine hands outstretched to him. “Cousin Glorvina, Cousin Nuala,” he said, making nice. The younger girl looked terrified, while the elder had an odious self-assurance that reminded him, unpleasantly, of Miss Vaughn.

  “Gerald was just leaving,” said Lady Oranmore.

  The chinless young man reddened, but turned in his cup like a good boy. “Glorvina?”

  His wife looked at him calmly. “Yes, Gerald?”

  “Are you coming with me?” he asked impatiently.

  Lady Glorvina Redmund had eyes only for her English cousin. “But you are only going to your club, Gerald,” she said sweetly, “where you will drink too much, and tell dirty stories to your drunken friends. I’m much better off staying here. Do please sit down, my lord,” she said, smiling at Benedict with great tenderness and respect. “Phelan!” she called to the servant. “Take Mr. Napier’s dirty cup away.” She already had a fresh cup in hand. “Milk and sugar, my lord?”

  Her husband
stalked out of the room without another word.

  “Thank heavens he is gone,” cried Lady Oranmore when the footman had closed the double doors. “He is such a beast. You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but he is cruel and violent. We’ve been living in the most dreadful fear of him since your grandfather died. I’m so glad you’re here, my lord. I would have sent for you at once, but Gerald prevented us. He was so hoping that poor Glorvina would conceive and bear a son before you found out that you had come into the title.”

  “There is not the least chance of that,” Glorvina hastened to assure Lord Oranmore. “I hope you do not think that I would ever be part of a scheme to cut you out of your inheritance? It was all Gerald’s idea, and, as his wife, I am bound to obey him, or there is no telling what he will do to me when we are alone.” Her beautiful dark blue eyes filled with tears. “It has been the most beastly four months of my life! I thank God you have come to free us from his tyranny.”

  Benedict felt ashamed of himself. Based on Kellynch’s version of events, and that version alone, he had formed the idea that his grandmother was a formidable old harridan bent on wreaking an unnatural vengeance upon her only daughter’s son. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Lady Oranmore and her granddaughters were innocent victims being held prisoner by an unscrupulous man who was beastly to his beautiful young wife.

  “I am here now,” he said. “I will look after you all.”

  Glorvina smiled. Nuala, who had not yet dared to speak, stared at him round-eyed.

  “I was never frightened for myself,” said Lady Oranmore. “What could he do to an old woman, after all? My concern was only for you, my lord. Gerald would do anything to cut you out. Anything. My dear boy, you are in grave danger. I trust you are not traveling alone?”

  Her light gray eyes widened in grandmotherly concern.

  “My manservant, Pickering, is with me,” he assured her. “He will be here soon. I thank you for your concern, Grandmother, but I seriously doubt that Mr. Napier has any serious plan to harm me. After all, he would gain nothing by it. The title and the fortune would simply pass to my cousin Mr. Power.” He smiled. “Indeed, if I have anything to fear, it is William Power. And five hundred thousand pounds is a considerable temptation.”