A Proper Mistress (18 page)

Only that was nothing to do with her, either.

She would just have to be more careful. Far, far more careful. He had the experience she lacked. If she allowed him too many freedoms, he would soon know her for a fraud. She ought to keep him at arm's length and not let him guess her as a virgin who knew about as much as love-making as a nun.

But not one bit of her wanted to heed such sensible thoughts.

She knew what went on between a gentleman and a hired woman—it had been impossible to avoid seeing what went on in Sallie's house, or hearing it. She knew the bad of it, and the good.

Who was to say she couldn't have just a bit of fun with Theo? After all, she knew her way around a hot stove and an open fire, so there was hope that she might play a bit with both and not get burned.

And if that's not wishful thinking, Molly-may, I don't know what is!

#

Theo came downstairs early, whistling, only to be met by his glowering father in the breakfast room. Theo broke off his tune. The squire glared at him from over the top of
The London Times
. At least the dogs offered a good morning to him, tongues lolling, panting happily and ready to lick his hand or lean against his legs.

He gave his father a nod, and the squire snapped his newspaper straight and disappeared behind it. With a shrug, Theo took up a plate and set to filling it from the sideboard with buttered eggs, Wiltshire bacon, and smoked kippers. After pouring himself a tankard of ale from the pottery jug, he settled himself at the table, the dogs tucking themselves at his feet.

"So what did you think of Miss Sweet?" Theo asked.

The squire lowered his paper, offered a scornful glanced at Theo, and raised it again.

Theo went on talking between bites. "I spoke to Meers. He'll start calling the bans this Sunday—all that nonsense about asking anyone if there is any reason we should not marry."

The paper snapped again and a grunt came from behind it.

His temper starting simmering, Theo glared at the front and back page of
The London Times.
However, he had to keep control of himself, or he would say too much, or too much of the wrong thing.

And then the idea struck him.

That was exactly what his father wished to do—goad him into revealing too much. Well, that trick wouldn't work. No, indeed. He would not be the first one to blink here. Let the old man think again on that!

Stretching, he manufactured a yawn. "Blazes but that Molly can snore." His comment pulled no reaction, so he added, "I swear I'm half starved from all that exertion last night! Lord, she'll wear me to the bone before the wedding day's half here."

Still the squire said nothing, but Theo felt certain he had at least made it clear just what sort of woman he had brought home for a bride. That cheered him and gave him reason to wolf down his food. Finishing his ale, he rose. The dogs rose as well, coming out from the table to see what sport waited.

"I'm off for a ride."

At that, the squire glanced over his paper. "Not waiting for your intended to come downstairs?"

"Oh, she's not one for early hours," Theo said, knowing that his father despised laziness more than any other sin. "I swear, she'd stay in bed all day if she could."

This drew a disgusted snort and the squire disappeared behind his paper again.

With a ruffle to each set of floppy ears, Theo strolled from the room and headed for the stables. But his food lay heavy in his stomach and his shoulders did not relax. Blazes, but his father could be a damned uncomfortable man. Frowning, Theo wondered if perhaps, just to be on the safe side, it might not be bad if he found a reason to stay out of the house for the day. And it wouldn't be such a bad thing if that forced Molly and his father to spend some time with each other—particularly if Molly set out to do her worst.

With that, he made for the front door.

And he told himself he wasn't escaping—he was just following a wise course of avoiding too much time with his father.

#

Washed, with her curls caught up in a green ribbon and her stripped gown freshly pressed, Molly found her way through the maze of the house. Its path, she decided, were as confusing as her feelings this morning. Part of her argued for a hard-headed stance of allowing no more intimacies such as last night. But that was not what she had agreed upon, nor was it really very helpful to Theo in losing his inheritance. Most of all, while it might be sensible, it did not fit with what she wanted.

So perhaps she could just think of her fifty pounds whenever he kissed her.

She doubted she would do that.

When Theo had had his arms around her, she had not felt a level-headed business woman. She'd felt floaty and warm and all soft in a way that had nothing to do with any sort of business. It seems she'd been wise to avoid Sallie's trade, but would she feel this way with other gentlemen? She did not think so, for she certainly had not felt anything for the gentleman Sallie had first tried to use to stir her interest. But something about Theo stirred her.

She had lain awake last night, thinking about him and about her reaction to his kiss. Was it just that he was so handsome? She could stare at him all day, really. Or was it that no one had ever smiled at her with such charm? Or was she vulnerable because she had never had a beau before?

Not for lack of chance, of course. When she had left St. Marylebone's for her first position—as a scullery maid at Mr. Dillington's home at Number Seven, Great Queen Street—there had been a second footman who seemed quite taken with her. And there was the butcher in Knightsbridge now who added an extra quarter pound on her orders, and who kept the freshest sausage for her. Even Sallie had said that with her hair and figure she'd not lack for gentlemen if she wished it.

Only she had never been particularly interested.

Or had just been too particular. The second footman, even though he had had lovely blond curls, had also had the most off-putting braying laugh. And the butcher, a heavy-set man, carried with him the unattractive odor of blood and onions, which he seemed to eat raw.

But now she had gone and found herself a gentleman who was as far above her touch as were the clouds in the sky. And she was only his for hire. And for pretend.

Still, she knew herself lucky.

She might not have him for long—nor for genuine—but she had him for now. And those first few tear-filled weeks in St. Marylebone's Workhouse had taught her the wisdom of living for the moment, and not for some lost past or uncertain future.

She would stop fretting and she'd enjoy what she could.

When it ended, she would have fifty pounds in her pocket and some lovely memories. Yes, she would.

She just hoped that proved enough.

With that settled in her mind, she made for the breakfast room, the faint aromas of hot food stirring her appetite.

She paused, however, as she opened the door and saw the squire at the table—and those dogs of his. They looked larger and hungrier today.

Lowering his paper, the squire glanced at her before he went straight back behind it. The dogs seemed to take their cue from their master for they also disappeared, darting under the table as if it were a cave for them.

Just remember he is not supposed to like you,
she told herself, squaring her shoulders.
And he's certainly disagreeable enough there's no need to have a care for him.
But it was rather a bit much that even the dogs turned their backs to her.

Shutting the door behind her, she slipped into her Sallie accent. "Coo—I'm fair famished I am."

The squire glowered at her over the top of his paper, his eyes narrowed. And Molly almost smiled to see a copy of the expression that Theo got when he was crossed. Lord, these Winslow men! Like half-wild boys.

"Though you slept all day," the squire said, his voice a low grumble.

She started to deny this, but it occurred to her that some of Sallie's girls indeed worked the night through and took their rest while the sun shone. Not her hours, of course.

Still, she saw no need to stray from the truth, so she said, "I'd rise from the dead, I would, for one of Mrs. Brown's meals—she's a way with food that could make an angel wish for mortal form."

With a snort, he put up his paper before him.

He had not, Molly noted, either risen in her presence as should a gentleman for a lady, nor offered to pour her coffee. Well, that certainly told what he thought of her. And showed poor manners on his part, she decided, for a real gentleman would have treated her just the same as any lady.

Clattering plates and humming, she made her selections from the sideboard—being generous with her helpings, for didn't those thin wafers of ham just look to melt on the tongue. She sat down in a chair near the windows. The noise had pulled the dogs from under the table, and they sat lined up on either side of her. One of them—the brown and white one—had a hopeful look in his eye as he licked his lips.

She glanced at them and at the squire's paper. Tearing off three bits of ham, she had it disappear as soft tongues lapped her fingers. She smiled at them. Well, at least she had some friends now.

"I expect Theo'll be wantin' to send somethin' to the papers about us getting married. Quite excitin' to think of my name being printed up for all t'see."

The paper lowered. Molly met the squire's harsh stare with a calm smile in place. How much would it take to make him lose his temper and throw her and Theo out? He seemed even more stubborn than his son.

She began to cut apart her smoked herring. "D'you think Theo's brother'll come to the wedding? I'd quite like that."

With a snap the paper rose again. "I've only one son."

Molly's fork clattered onto the china. The noise startled the dogs into ducking under the table and pulled the squire out from behind his paper barricade.

"Just like that—" Molly said, staring at him. "You're willing to throw a child away? Well, of all the—why I wouldn't waste a single relation if I had one! And that's not just from being an orphan."

With a snort, he thrust up his paper again.

Molly's eyes narrowed. Thickening her Sallie accent, she hoped for the worst. If he threw her out now she would happily dance out the door with Theo. And she would know she had done Theo the greatest good in helping him out from under the influence of such a disagreeable old man. "I plan to be a proper sister, I do, to Theo's brother. So Terrance'll be welcome here when I'm mistress."

With an abrupt movement, the squire flattened his paper onto the table next to his coffee cup and glared at her. "You're...you're impertinent!"

She forced a broad smile and patted her curls. "Why, ducks, ain't that just dear of you. I ain't ever been called that afore."

The squire's face flushed a splotchy red, and Molly watched, a little worried now. "Here now—you aren't going to have an apoplexy on me, are you?"

Scraping his chair back against the wooden floor, the squire pushed himself from the table and stood scowling at her, black bushy eyebrows tight. She lifted her chin, unwilling to allow him to bully her.

Imagine him casting off his own son—and for what?

What, indeed, she wondered? Oh, gracious, she hoped Theo's brother had not done something so dastardly as to deserve this treatment. She thought of how Theo had spoken of his brother—there had been nothing but admiration in his tone, and she could not imagine he would think so well of a brother who had committed some horrible crime.

So she glared back at the squire.

For a moment, his mouth worked, almost as if he was chewing the words he wanted to spit at her. Turning away, he strode out, his boots clomping and his dogs clattering after him, their nails skittering on the wood. The heavy oak door shut behind him with an ominous click.

Letting out a breath, Molly slumped in her chair, her appetite gone and her insides shaking. Well, Theo wouldn't be able to say she had not done her best today to make herself unwanted.

However, she did not have the chance that day to tell Theo of her exchange with his father. They met only just before dinner, and before she could say anything, the squire came in, black eyebrows as low as storm clouds, his mouth set in a line, his blue eyes snapping with irritation.

Theo kissed her hand and did his best to act the lover—and very distracting it was, too. Only not so distracting that she could ignore the squire's sullen mood, which settled around them like a heavy, chilling mist. Even the dogs seemed to sense it, for they kept themselves tucked into the corners of the room.