No Man's Mistress (31 page)

“He loved me,” she said. “He always loved me. I never doubted his affection while I was a child, before my mother married. I doubted it afterward because suddenly he did not come anymore or even write. But that was my mother's fault, I learned later. She had broken off her relationship with him and refused to let him even see me. She destroyed all the letters and gifts he sent me. It was quite by chance that I saw him in the park But no matter. The details can be of no interest to you. Did you persuade Mr. Westinghouse to erase the new clause from his will?”

The explosive blasphemy that was his first reaction convinced her that he was not the villain of this piece. “Get out of here,” he told her, “before I throw you out.”

“Could he have made a new will with someone else?” she asked, ignoring his wrath. “You see, it is not only Pinewood that is at stake. There was another paper,
which he said he would file officially with his solicitor so that the matter could never be disputed. He paid off some debts to release me from an obligation and keep my mother out of debtors' prison. He had the man who held the debts sign a paper stating that all the bills had been paid in full, that there were no more, and that he waived the right to claim for any other unpaid bill that preceded the date of the agreement.”

“What the devil!” the Earl of Bamber said.

“That man has now discovered other debts,” Viola said, “and is demanding payment.”

“And you expect me—”

“No!” she said. “My father rescued me… from the life of prostitution I had been forced into so that I could pay back the debt. He provided for my future so that I could live in peace and security for the rest of my life. I ask nothing of you, my lord. I ask only that my father not be denied his dying wish. That paper is of vital importance to me. Your father loved me. I was as much his daughter as you were his son, you see, even though I was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

He stared at her for a while and then ran the fingers of one hand through his hair before turning abruptly away to stare into the unlit coals of the fire.

“Damn me,” he said. “Why did I go to Brookes's that night? I have had nothing but trouble over that worthless property ever since. Well, he didn't change his will, and that's all about it. And there is no paper. Westinghouse would have said so. He would at least have recognized your name, wouldn't he?”

“And there is no possibility there was someone else?”

He drummed his fingers on the mantel above his head. “I wonder if m'mother knew about Hillie,” he muttered.
“And about you. I bet she did. M'mother always knows everything.”

Viola waited.

“I'm sorry,” he said eventually, turning abruptly to face her. “I can't help you, you know. And I can't send you back to Pinewood even if I wanted to—which I don't particularly. Why should I? You are just m'father's by-blow. Pinewood is Dudley's. Go beg from him. I'm expected somewhere for dinner. You will have to leave now.”

There was nothing further to say. Viola left with Hannah. There was no way to save herself from her inevitable future, it seemed.

They began the long walk home.

I
have never known you so out of sorts, Ferdie,” Lady Heyward complained. “I expected you to be bubbling over with stories about Pinewood and your two weeks in the country. But whenever one asks you a question, you say nothing whatsoever of any significance.”

“Perhaps, Angie,” he said irritably, “it is because trying to get a word in sideways in your company is an exercise in futility. Besides, the dinner is good and to be savored. Convey my compliments to your cook, will you?”

“Unfair!” she cried. “Is he not being unfair, Jane? Tell me, have I or have I not plied Ferdie with enough questions to get him talking about Pinewood? And have I or have I not paused each time to allow him all the time in the world to answer?”

“There really is not—” Ferdinand began.

“Of course
there must be a great deal to say,” she said. “Who are your neighbors there? What—”

“Angie,” Ferdinand said firmly, “Pinewood no longer
belongs to me. It is hardly worth talking about the place.”

“Jocelyn told me you have legally made over the ownership to Miss Thornhill, Ferdinand,” the Duchess of Tresham said. “I
do
admire you for doing something so very honorable.”

“You have done
what
, Ferdie?” His sister's eyes were wide with astonishment.

“He has given Pinewood back to Miss Thornhill,” Jane explained, “because he believed it was more hers than his. I am very proud of you, Ferdinand. Jocelyn told me that it is a lovely place.”

“Was that wise, Ferdinand?” Lord Heyward asked. “It might have been a prosperous estate for you.”

“Now everything makes perfect sense!” Angeline cried. “Ferdie is in
love
!”

“Oh, good Lord!” he was startled into saying.

“You are in love with this Miss Thornhill,” she said. “How absolutely splendid. And so of course you have made the magnificent gesture of returning Pinewood to her. But you
must
go back there. She is sure to fall into your arms and dissolve into tears of gratitude. I simply must be there to see it. Do take me with you. Heyward,
may
I go? You spend all your days at the House of Lords anyway, and you know it will be a relief not to have to escort me to evening entertainments for a week or two. There will be time before the Season ends to organize a grand wedding at St. George's. We will have a great squeeze of a ball here. Jane, you must help me. I was deprived of the opportunity of doing it for you and Tresh when he whisked you off to marry you one morning with absolutely no one in attendance but his secretary and your maid. What a waste that was. For Ferdie I am determined to do much better.”

“Angie!” Ferdinand said firmly. “Take a damper.” He caught his brother's eye across the table. Tresham merely raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and addressed himself to the food on his plate.

“I do believe you are embarrassing your brother, my love,” Lord Heyward said.

“Men!” Angeline exclaimed. “Always embarrassed at any mention of love and marriage. Are they not ridiculous creatures, Jane?”

“I have frequently said so,” the duchess agreed, looking with some amusement at Tresham, who did not rise to the bait. “But Ferdinand, who
is
Miss Thornhill? Jocelyn did tell me she is beautiful.”

“It was, of course,” Tresham said, “the first question Jane asked when I returned home.”

“Oh, not the
first
, you odious man,” she protested.

“She is the most irritating
female
I have ever known,” Ferdinand said. “She talked me into making a wager with her, Pinewood as the prize—and she won. She would not take it. Then I gave it to her as a gift. She ran away. I followed her and caught her before she reached London. Today I had Selby make the change of ownership legal, but when I went to tell her so, she had disappeared again. It seems she really does not want it.”

“How extraordinary!” Jane said.

“You must go back tomorrow, then, and get Selby to reverse the procedure,” Heyward said. “You ought to have come to me or Tresham before you did it anyway, Ferdinand. You have a strong tendency to act impulsively. It is the Dudley blood in you.”

“People are always impulsive when they are in love,” Angeline said. “Ferdie, you must find her. You must comb London for her. Hire a Bow Street Runner. How very romantic.”

“I have no wish to find her,” he said.

“Do you have no idea where she is?” Jane asked.

“None,” he said curtly. “And I have no wish to know. Pinewood is hers. If she does not want it, that is her concern. It may rot, for all I care.”

And then a thought popped into his head as if from nowhere—a thought spoken in her voice…

Probably serving coffee at my uncle's inn
.

He had asked her what she would have been doing six or seven years ago if he had met her before she became a courtesan. At the time his mind had scarcely registered her answer.

“I believe her uncle owns an inn,” he said.

Angie was all eagerness to know what kind of inn, where in London it might be situated, what the uncle's name was. She—and Jane, to a lesser degree—seemed determined to find in the whole situation a romance that must be given a happy ending. He could stand it no longer after a few minutes.

“There is no question of finding her,” he said. “I offered her Pinewood and she would not take it. I offered her marriage and she would not accept me. I offered her…protection and she ran away. She would prefer to return to her old way of life.”

“What is that?” Angeline asked.

Ferdinand was aware of his brother's black stare across the table.

“She was a courtesan,” he said. “A very successful one until she went to Pinewood two years ago. And she is illegitimate into the bargain. So you might as well take a damper, Angie, and go matchmake for someone else. Now let's change the subject, shall we?”

“Oh, the poor lady,” Jane said softly. “I wonder what is driving her back to her old life.”

“Me,” Ferdinand said.

“No.” She shook her head, frowning. “No, Ferdinand. Not that.”

“A lady with a scarlet past and a murky secret,” Angeline said, clasping her hands to her bosom. “How irresistibly intriguing. You can be sure she loves you as desperately as you love her, Ferdie. Why else would she have run away from you twice?”

Women!
he thought as Heyward launched into a long, dry monologue about a speech he had delivered in the House that very day. The older he grew, Ferdinand thought, the less he understood women. Angie and Jane should be in the middle of a fit of the vapors apiece.

An innkeeper. He dared not even guess how many inns there might be in London. Her uncle—maternal or paternal? How slender was the chance that he bore the same last name as she? He had been an innkeeper six or seven years ago. Was he still?

She had no wish to be found—until she surfaced again as Lilian Talbot, he supposed. And he had no wish to find her. She had deceived and rejected him one time too many.

How many inns
were
there?

He was not really going to waste his time searching, was he?

I wonder what is driving her back to her old life
.

Jane's words echoed and reechoed in his mind.

A coach was leaving the White Horse Inn with a great deal of din and bustle. Viola and Hannah stood aside to let it turn out onto the street before stepping into the cobbled yard. The innkeeper was standing outside the door, bellowing something to a distant ostler. But he
turned and saw the two women, and his scowl was replaced by a broad smile.

“Viola!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide.

“Uncle Wesley!”

Soon she was enveloped in his strong arms and crushed against his broad chest.

“So you
did
come,” he said, holding her at arm's length. “But why did you not let us know when? Someone would have met you. Hello, Hannah. Rosamond and the girls are going to be delighted.” He called through the open door of the inn, “Claire! Come and see what we have here.”

Viola's sister came rushing through the door a moment later. She was looking remarkably pretty, Viola noticed at once. She had blossomed into a slender, shapely beauty with shining blond tresses. Then they were in each other's arms, hugging and laughing.

“I
knew
you would come!” her sister exclaimed. “And Hannah is with you. Oh, do come upstairs. Mama will be ecstatic. So will Maria.” She took Viola by the hand and turned back toward the inn door. But then she stopped and looked anxiously at her uncle.
“May
I go up with her, Uncle Wesley? Everything is quiet now that the coach has left.”

“Up with you both,” he said jovially. “Away you go.”

Viola was led up to the private living quarters on the upper floor and into her mother's sitting room. Her mother was seated by the window sewing, while Maria sat at the table, a book open before her. But a moment later, all was movement and squeals and laughter and hugs and kisses.

“We
knew
you would come,” Maria cried when some sanity had been restored to the scene. “Oh, I do hope you will be living here now.”

Maria had changed from a child to a young girl with some promise of beauty to come.

“You must be weary,” their mother said, linking an arm through Viola's and leading her to a love seat, where they seated themselves side by side. “Have you just traveled up from Somersetshire? I wish we had known it was today we were to expect you. We would have come to meet you. Maria, dear, run downstairs and bring up a tea tray and some cakes, there's a good girl.”

Maria went obediently, even though she looked reluctant to miss even a moment of her eldest sister's homecoming.

“It is so lovely to be back here and to see you all,” Viola said. For the moment she allowed home and family to wrap themselves about her like a cocoon, where she could be safe from all the menaces of the outside world. And from all the memories. She wondered if Ferdinand had returned to the house yet and discovered her gone.