His Favorite Mistress (6 page)

As she walked, she recalled her last days in London. Amid copious tears, she had bid a final farewell to Maude; only the sour expression on Mrs. Buckles’s face at losing paying tenants keeping Gabriella from becoming completely maudlin. She and Maude had shared a last laugh over their disgruntled landlady before hugging, then parting to go their separate ways. Maude, of course, had promised to write; Gabriella swore to do the same, missing her friend the instant she drove away.

Heading in the opposite direction, Gabriella had gone to her uncle’s townhouse, only to be informed by a gigantic ox of a man—the scar on his face worthy of a bloodthirsty pirate—that Lord Pendragon was not home. A bit of questioning produced the information that he had gone to his country estate in West Riding. To give the large man his due, he had asked if she would like to come inside and pen a message to his master. With a shake of her head, she had declined, slipping quickly away before he could prevent her.

In order to make the journey north, she had ended up pawning the last of her mother’s jewelry—a gold bracelet with a single ruby heart she knew had been a gift from her father. With the knowledge of what he had truly been weighing upon her thoughts, she found she minded the jewelry’s loss a great deal less than she feared she once might have done.

And so now, four days later, she was here at the Pendragon estate, about to begin a new chapter of her life. She only wished she knew whether the future would prove good or ill. Approaching the front door, she rallied her determination and forced herself to act. Drawing in a lungful of frosty air, she lifted her hand in its ordinary, knit woolen glove and rapped against the door.

A long minute later the portal opened, a very proper-looking manservant appearing in the entry. With a critical eye, the older man inspected her from the top of her plain straw bonnet to her comfortably scuffed, black leather half boots—pausing, she saw, to take note of the muddy, travel-stained condition of her cloak hem.

“Servants ’round the back,” he stated without preamble. “Assuming you are here to apply for a position. I must warn you, however, that there are none to be had at present.”

When he moved to close the door, she stopped him with a quick foot. “I am not here about a position,” she declared. “I am come…I am Gabriella St. George, Lord Pendragon’s niece.”
Well, half-niece, and an illegitimate half at that,
she admitted to herself, but there wasn’t any point in quibbling over such matters. “Please tell him I am here.”
And please don’t let him have changed his mind about welcoming me.

The servant lifted a surprised brow, then stepped back to hold the door wide. “My pardon, miss. I shall inform her ladyship immediately that you are arrived.”

Alarm squeezed like paste through her veins. “Oh no, there is no need to bother her ladyship. I wish to see
Lord
Pendragon, my u-uncle.”

“Lord Pendragon is out inspecting the tenant housing and won’t return for some while. I shall inform her ladyship. In the meanwhile, you may have a seat in the drawing room. But first, allow me to take your luggage.”

Take it where?
she nearly asked, reluctant to let the valise out of her sight. “Umm, thank you, but no. I will keep it for now.”
Just in case matters don’t go as planned,
she thought.

The bridge of the man’s nose wrinkled in obvious disapproval before he gave a faint nod and turned to lead the way. Gripping the worn leather handle of her valise in both hands, she hurried after him.

Moments later, she stood alone, the room’s two great polished walnut doors closed at her back. After setting down her case, she turned in a slow circle, her lips parting as she inspected the elegant beauty of her surroundings. Decorated in soothing shades of green and blue, the refined furnishings were placed so as to capture the best of the late morning light. Fragrant warmth flowed from a massive fireplace—real logs burning in the grate instead of dirty, smoldering chunks of coal. And there were fresh flowers, masses of them arranged inside a pair of four-foot-high, painted porcelain urns. She stepped closer to admire the display, breathing in deeply to catch the scent of roses and lilies.
In February, no less!

Behind her, the doors opened on silent hinges, followed by a whispering of silk. Turning, she beheld one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. She wasn’t sure how she had expected Lady Pendragon to look, but she knew it wasn’t this exotically lovely woman with a curvaceous figure, deeply dark hair, and warm, coffee-colored eyes, with a gentle expression in them that caught Gabriella instantly off guard.

“How do you do,” the woman began in soft tones, extending a hand as she glided across the plush carpeting. “I am Julianna Pendragon. Martin tells me you have come in search of my husband.”

“Yes, I…am sorry to trouble you…”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” Lady Pendragon smiled. “I just put the baby down for her nap and my son is presently in his room killing Frenchmen—little toy ones, that is,” she finished with a laugh. “Oh, but you must be exhausted from your travels. Please, please, have a seat.”

Gabriella glanced behind her at the nearest chair, frowning as she saw the exquisite green damask upholstery.
I can’t sit on that,
she thought,
not without fear of ruining the fabric.
“I am fine standing.”

“Do not fret over a little travel dust, I won’t. Though here, let me take your cloak. Martin should have seen to it when you arrived.”

“Is that the man at the door?”

“Our butler, yes.” With a kind yet implacable look, she waited, clearly expecting Gabriella to hand over her cloak. After a faint hesitation, Gabriella did, watching as the baroness carried the garment out to give to a servant in the hall. When she returned, Lady Pendragon motioned a hand toward the chair. “Sit, please.”

Gabriella sat, trying not to be aware of the plain look of her serviceable, long-sleeved yellow wool dress beside the sophisticated cut of Lady Pendragon’s gorgeous sapphire velvet gown.

Across from her, Julianna Pendragon took a seat as well, meeting her gaze for a moment. “So, you are Gabriella,” she said in a quiet voice. “Gabriella St. George, did I hear Martin say?”

Her shoulders grew taut, well aware that some might say she had no right to bear her father’s name, since he had never publicly acknowledged her. Yet for the whole of her life, St. George was what she had been called, her mother giving her the name when she had been a very little girl.

“Just because your papa and I are not married doesn’t mean you aren’t entitled,”
her mother used to say.
“You are as much a St. George as any of the rest of that family, and a St. George you shall be.”
That and the fact that her mother had detested her own surname—Smollett—had decided the matter.

Although since learning of her father’s past, Gabriella had considered changing her name—perhaps adopting one of her own creation like many in the theater did. Mama had done so, going by the stage name Annabelle LaFleur. But such flamboyant verbal plumage was not for her, and in the end she’d decided it easiest to stay with St. George. Besides, she thought, she’d never remember to answer to anything else. At least not until she married one day; then she supposed she would have no choice but to adjust to a new name.

Lifting her chin, she met Lady Pendragon’s gaze. “That is correct. I am Gabriella St. George. My father was Burton St. George, Lord Middleton.”

She waited for the condemnation, the superior look of a lady born in the sanctity of marriage toward one who had been conceived on the wrong side of the blanket. But none came, Julianna Pendragon’s expression both understanding and accepting.

“Yes, Rafe told me of your visit to the townhouse. I am sorry for the loss of your mother. I know how difficult that can be. As for your father…well, I should probably say nothing.”

“Did he really kidnap you?” Gabriella blurted without stopping to think.

Lady Pendragon paused. “He did, yes. And held me for ransom, though I rather doubt he ever intended to let me go free. He also tried to kill my husband. Your papa was not a nice man.”

Gabriella lowered her gaze. “Yes, so everyone tells me.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “Which is why I understand if you do not want me here. Lord Pendragon…my…u-uncle said I might come to him, but I can see that I should not have intruded.”

“Why not? Rafe told me everything and I entirely agree. You are not to be blamed for the actions of your father, however dreadful they may have been.” She paused. “Although I trust you did not come bearing a gun this time?”

Gabriella’s eyes grew wide, her lips parting in surprise. “No, my lady, I did not.”

“Good, then you are most welcome here. Though you should have let us know your plans, instead of running away from Hannibal that day you stopped by the house—yes, he wrote to tell Rafe. The large man with the bald head.”

“And the scar,” Gabriella added.

Lady Pendragon nodded her lovely head. “Just so. Had you only stayed, Rafe would have arranged for you to use one of our coaches. I hate to think of your having traveled all this distance by mail coach, and on your own, too, since you have no maid. Thank God you arrived without harm. You are well, are you not?”

“Very well, my lady.”

“No more ‘my lady.’ You are family. From now on, you must call me Julianna, or Jules, as my siblings are wont to do. In Rafe’s case, I suspect he would prefer you use his given name as well rather than uncle. Uncles, he’ll say, are white-haired old men and he is far too young to be in his dotage yet,” she finished, amusement twinkling in her dark, expressive eyes.

Gabriella blinked, her own eyes growing moist with unexpected emotion. Of all the things she had expected to hear, words of warmth and kind concern had not been among them. Suddenly, she was very glad she had come here, very glad indeed.

“Now,” Julianna continued, “you must be hungry. Before I came downstairs, I asked Cook to prepare tea and a few cakes for us. The tray should be here any moment, unless you are too tired to eat and would rather have a lie-down? I’m having the blue room prepared for you in the family wing.”

My own room in the family wing,
Gabriella thought, more of her earlier fears evaporating. Suddenly a smile of genuine pleasure spread over her face. “Tea and cakes sound delightful, my lady…I mean, Julianna. To be honest, I…missed breakfast this morning.” She decided not to say it was because she hadn’t possessed the funds.

Julianna smiled back. “Well then, you must eat double the cake. In the meantime, you can tell me all about yourself. Rafe says your mother was an actress.”

Two weeks later, Anthony Black stepped down from his coach, glad to be free of the vehicle’s confines after long days of travel. The mid-March afternoon was brisk but sunny, the kind that lured people to defy the lingering chill in order to savor a long, invigorating draft of new spring air.

“Good day, Your Grace, and welcome,” greeted the Pendragons’ butler as he and a pair of footmen hurried forward to assist with Tony’s arrival. “How was your journey? Uneventful, I hope.”

“Too uneventful, Martin,” Tony replied. “Downright tedious, in sections, especially given the mud that plagued us from Hertfordshire on north. But I am here now and fully prepared to enjoy the celebration. What of the others? Has anyone else made it past the morass?”

The butler smiled. “Only one other. Mrs. Mayhew, her ladyship’s cousin, arrived yesterday and immediately took to her bed with a case of rheumatism. We are hopeful she will be feeling well enough to take dinner with company this evening. All the other guests are expected either today or tomorrow.”

Tony nodded, then glanced around. “So where are Lord and Lady Pendragon?” Usually Rafe and Julianna came out to greet him when he arrived for a visit.

“His lordship is meeting in his study with a pair of investors who drove over from Leeds this morning. And I believe her ladyship is out taking Master Campbell for a stroll in the garden. Allow me to inform them you are here.”

“No, don’t trouble yourself,” Tony said, waving aside the offer. “I’ll just slip around back and announce myself. I know the way.”

Martin inclined his gray-haired head. “As you prefer, Your Grace.”

With a grin, Tony set off, hands tucked inside the pockets of his many-caped greatcoat, his boots sinking comfortably into the soft, cold ground beneath him as he walked. Birds chattered in the trees and bushes, one of them with lively yellow feathers pausing on a branch to complain about Tony’s proximity, the bird’s throat warbling as he sent his urgent call to the others of his flock. Amused, Tony watched for a moment, then continued on, the vast grounds of the garden stretching out before him. With the exception of a few rows of drowsy-headed white snowdrops and a handful of yellow daffodils brave enough to dare the weather, the flower beds stood dormant, green life waiting to burst forth at the faintest hint of steady spring warmth.

The garden appeared deserted—no sign of Julianna and her rambunctious two-year-old son. Moving onward, he continued his search, suddenly spying her dressed in a lovely dark green wool pelisse that blended into her surroundings like summer leaves against grass. Drawing to a halt, he stared, momentarily amazed by the sight of her most unusual position. Kneeling on the ground, her distinctly feminine posterior was pointed toward the sky, her head and shoulders stuck under an evergreen bush. Of all the situations in which he might have expected to discover Julianna Pendragon, this one would never have entered his mind.

“You may find this an impertinent question, your ladyship,” he drawled, “but what are you doing down there?”

She jerked, a muffled murmur following before she began backing out from underneath the bush.

By sheer force of will, he resisted the urge to laugh. “I certainly hope Rafe doesn’t know you’re doing this. He wouldn’t approve of finding his wife scuttling around on the cold ground on her hands and knees.” He broke off as another thought suddenly occurred. “Cam’s not under there, I hope.”

“No,” she stated in a voice that didn’t sound at all like her own. Moments later her head popped out from beneath the bush, and she sat up on her knees. “I’m trying to rescue a litter of kittens. They’re huddled under there and I don’t want them to freeze.”