Mistress of My Fate (34 page)

My keeper’s face went entirely still. Hardly a twitch passed over it. Then his eyes widened, by degrees.

“Can you be certain?” he whispered.

“I am certain.”

He turned his back on me and took several steps towards a servant.

“Find my man! Have my coach brought round at once!” he ordered. “Miss Lightfoot is ill and must return to the house immediately! Now! Go!”

It all happened so rapidly. St. John seemed to disappear in a flurry. I was bundled into his coach and sent charging off to Park Street, my tears never drying for an instant.

Once in my rooms, I was undressed and put to bed, thinking all the while that this was to be my final night in my mother’s home. In my heart I was certain he knew the truth, that the child inside me could not have been his. I could sense it in his look, the manner in which he glared at me. This was the end! He would turn me out for sure! The fate of those weary creatures I had observed from my window would soon be mine too. I was destined to tread the streets, to sleep in corners, to freeze and starve. How I suddenly came to appreciate the coal in the fire, the warming pan on the mattress, the soft night clothes upon my back!

I knew I would have no sleep that night. Instead, I lay awake, awaiting the sounds of St. John’s return, the creak of floorboards, the closing of doors, knowing that his homecoming would seal my fate. But this never came. Only the clock upon the landing filled the silence, striking out the hours: twelve, one, two, three, four…

Chapter 25

“Never have I known a woman to commit a more thoughtless deed than yours, madam,” scolded Mrs. Mahon from the side of my bed. I had hardly awakened that morning before she appeared at St. John’s door begging to call upon me. She was shown into my bedchamber as I sipped my dish of chocolate, my eyes swollen from grief and lack of rest.

“No sooner have you been taken under the wing of a devoted keeper and plied with gowns and gifts than you seek to overturn it all!” she exclaimed.

Her reproaches filled me with self-pity. I could not meet her gaze.

“I did not know what else to do,” I said in little more than a whisper. “I know not what will become of me now…”

“I should think not!” huffed Mrs. Mahon. “Dear child, you have not the slightest understanding of how to manage things.”

I regarded her and she me. It was then that I recognized I had not the faintest notion of what she spoke.

“Manage… what things?” I asked coyly.

She sighed. “Only the most fool-headed girl would announce to her keeper that she is with child without first learning his thoughts upon the matter. You have not been under his roof a full month and you are out with it, quick as that.” She snapped her fingers. “I do not suppose you ever enquired if he would welcome a child? Goodness, girl, how can you even be certain you
have
a child in your womb? Have you felt the quickening? Have you felt it move?”

I stared at her blankly, as stupidly as I had at Miss Bradley and her sister.

“No.”

“Then what makes you so certain?”

“I have not bled and I have been ill these several days.”

The Bird of Paradise sighed again and folded her arms. “I suppose it is possible.”

“He has lain with me almost every day and night since I arrived,” I added, in an effort to shore up my tale. I observed her expression closely, recognizing that Mrs. Mahon was likely to know a good deal more about matters of conception than I.

“I do hope, for your sake, Miss Lightfoot, that you are correct in this instance.”

“Why?”

“Because St. John has passed the entire night toasting the health of his unborn child. He has told half of London that he is to be a father,” she exclaimed. “But if you prove to be wrong, or if you miscarry, he will be made a laughing stock. Then you will find yourself on the street—unless Barrymore will have you.”

None of this made any sense to me. There seemed no reason in it.

“But you made it sound as if he would be displeased to find me breeding.”

“A good many gentlemen would be. For most men, a mistress with a baby is as desirable as a dose of the clap. Few, like St. John, who have no offspring, welcome such news. You are fortunate, my dear. I have known too many ladies of our sort made destitute for allowing their bellies to swell.”

To be frank, I was quite appalled by this. I thought of Allenham, who I was certain would be overjoyed at the news of his impending fatherhood. He had promised me that he would love any child of our union. He had promised.

“St. John will not abandon me,” I breathed with relief.

“I dare say he will not.” She smiled. “But you have a good deal to learn, madam. You must think before you speak, always. The slightest slip may endanger your comfort.” Then she paused thoughtfully. “If I may say so, dear Miss Lightfoot, you are far too honest. You wear your thoughts upon your very face; you make no effort to disguise them. You are artless to a fault.”

“But an honest character is a good one…”

“As is a modest and virtuous character, but that is not the world we inhabit, my dear. You will be eaten alive. Your bones will be picked over by the carrion birds of the
haut ton
. We must rescue you.” She studied me with a sympathetic smile and then pulled the bell rope. “Come now, you must dress. There is someone I should like you to meet.”

No sooner had I been attired than I found myself sitting in Mrs. Mahon’s coach en route to Grosvenor Square, where we were to call upon Miss Mary Anne Greenhill, “the Greenfinch,” as she was called by the fast set.

“They think themselves very witty for inventing such names for us. I am ‘the Bird of Paradise’ and Sarah Adcock is ‘the Goldfinch.’ Mrs. Irvince is ‘the White Swan’ and Mrs. Corbyne ‘the White Crow.’ It is all quite silly,” Mrs. Mahon explained. “The Greenfinch is very much in favour at the moment, as you will see by the manner in which she lives. She has the run of her own house.”

“Do you mean she is the housekeeper?”

My tutoress laughed heartily. “No, I mean that Lord Sefton, who keeps her, has provided her with these lodgings. She has no boarders and comes and goes as she pleases. His credit pays for all that you will see.”

We were greeted at the door by a footman in livery, who showed us through a glittering entry hall and up a set of gold-painted stairs to the drawing room. There we found Miss Greenhill, in an elegant gown of striped yellow satin, stroking a nervous white lap dog.

“Mrs. Mahon,” she exclaimed, rising to her feet and holding out her
cheek for a kiss. Her brown hair had been arranged in modish, free-flowing curls, encircled by a thick blue bandeau of silk, which sat across her forehead. Although she appeared extremely youthful, her air was greatly affected.

“Miss Greenhill, may I present to you Miss Lightfoot, who is in keeping with the Honourable John St. John.”

As we made our courtesies, I could feel my hostess’s hot eyes upon me. I watched her pupils shamelessly wander over my floral patterned gown and study the material of my gloves. Indeed, there was not one inch of me that escaped inspection. The paste buckle of my belt, my pink slippers, every detail and bow upon my hat was examined before she addressed me with a fixed smile.

“Please, Miss Lightfoot, Mrs. Mahon, do sit.”

A Wedgwood tea service and a collection of highly polished silver was brought and laid before us. Two servants fussed with an enormous kettle of hot water, while Spark, Miss Greenhill’s dog, hopped between their legs.

“Dear Miss Lightfoot,” she began with breathy excitement, “do tell me all about Mr. St. John. Does he keep you well?”

I did not quite know how to respond to such an indiscreet question.

“Why, I suppose so,” I commented, taking a sip of my tea.

“Is he generous? Has he showered you with gifts?” She giggled.

I turned to Mrs. Mahon, hoping she might offer an appropriate response, but she merely returned my look.

“Oh, he has been most generous…”

“Has he bought you fine silks and laces?”

My hostess’s questions were now causing me some uneasiness.

“Have you had many gowns made up? Is that lovely gown a gift from him?”

“Yes…”

“And has he bought you many jewels?” She tittered excitedly, her bright green eyes sparkling like emeralds.

“Not so many, yet… but he has been generous. When he learned that I had been robbed of what few jewels I had, he immediately gave to me some pearls that had belonged to my mother.”

Mary Anne Greenhill stared at me, her tight smile unmoving. I could not begin to fathom what thoughts were circulating inside that head of curls.

“The Earl of Sefton has been most generous too. I declare, he must be the most munificent lover in all of London, and handsome as well.”

“Not so handsome…” Mrs. Mahon corrected her, thinking no doubt of the unfortunate Earl’s hunchback.

“Perhaps not,” Miss Greenhill smirked, turning her eye to me, “but he is young… and terribly wealthy.”

It was then that my wise tutoress interjected, “You see, my dear, Miss Greenhill has been exceptionally clever in catching Lord Sefton and she is no older than you—”

“Seventeen,” boasted my hostess, “and nearly two years in keeping with his lordship.”

“Two years?” I echoed in disbelief.

“He has been very content with me.”

“Miss Greenhill is the daughter of a tailor in Holborn. One of six girls.”

“My eldest sister is also in keeping, but only in Bloomsbury. Her lover is a wine merchant. She has not done so well as me.” The pretty braggart blew on her tea and then took a delicate sip. “His lordship is so pleased with me that he pays all my debts without a single question asked. He has permitted me to decorate the entire house to my taste.”

Her drawing room was indeed quite ornate, as well furnished with expensive carpets and cabinets as my father’s. The sofa and chairs were upholstered in cerise silk, dotted with a white fleur-de-lis pattern, while the walls and ceiling were a riot of fashionable plasterwork in curls and swags.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, as if suddenly recalling a matter that had
slipped her mind. “You must see what little treasure he presented to me not three days ago!” She went to pull the bell rope, and then, catching my eye, stopped. “No, I shall not ring for it. I shall take you to my dressing room directly.” And with that, we rose abruptly from the tea table and followed Miss Greenhill as she and Spark bustled down the corridor.

Only a pasha’s tent could have rivalled the splendour of the Greenfinch’s dressing room, with its flounces of aquamarine silk and chartreuse damask. Everywhere gold leaf and mirrors poured light into the room, while in the far corner sat a vast birdcage in the shape of a Chinese pagoda. Its occupant twitched and fluttered at our approach.

“Is it not the most fetching piece?” she declared, holding out a small circle of diamonds. “It is a buckle for me to wear upon the band of my new hat.” She beamed, gesturing to her maid to bring the piece of millinery.

A green, high-crowned creation was offered to me for inspection. Once the Greenfinch was satisfied that she had raised my jealousy, she turned to Mrs. Mahon with a lowered voice. “But you should see what arrived from Captain Hervey-Aston yesterday.” She nodded to her maid, who unlocked a drawer and brought out a pair of ruby earrings.

My tutoress and Miss Greenhill gasped and squealed. I must confess, I was somewhat confused by this. The Bird of Paradise looked over her shoulder and noted my puzzled expression.

“I do believe Miss Lightfoot is scandalized!” She laughed, placing a gentle hand upon my arm. “Dear girl, it is no crime to accept gifts from other admirers. Why, a lover is not a husband, and any lady in our position would be a fool to discourage the advances of other beaux.”

“But would Lord Sefton not be angry if he learned of it?”

“Of course he would,” answered the Greenfinch haughtily, “but he will not learn of it, will he?”

“And who is to say Lord Sefton might not lose his fortune tomorrow, or die from an accident, or tire of Miss Greenhill? Why, such a
thing has occurred to me on several occasions. Nearly every day a mistress is jilted for some reason or other. If she had not other admirers, whom might she call upon in her distress?” my kind adviser explained.

“But… certainly… Lord Sefton loves you…”

“Love?” they both echoed.

“Well, in a fashion, I suppose he does,” mused the younger of the two.

“You believe a man’s love will outlast his purse?” Mrs. Mahon sniffed. “I shall tell you this, Miss Lightfoot, when a man finds he cannot pay his debts or your mantua-maker, he will throw you over, quick as lightning. That is the truth of it. Do not think St. John any different.”

I was terribly chastened by her words, but not entirely inclined to hear them. After all, my keeper believed I carried his child. Why should he want to be rid of me?

Mrs. Mahon tilted her head sympathetically and then reached for my hand. “Henrietta, if you permit me… I do not mean to frighten you, only to offer you guidance. You are so very inexperienced. I should hate some harm to come to you on account of your simple, countrified notions.”

“We only mean to instruct you, Miss Lightfoot,” added Miss Greenhill with a condescending smile.

“Your naivety is charming, but dangerous, dear. One must always keep an eye to one’s future. Guard one’s interests in the face of adversity.”

“And you could have any gentleman you desired, Miss Lightfoot,” exclaimed my hostess, her features hardening with jealousy. “You are a true beauty.”

“She is correct. You might have any man you choose,” encouraged my tutoress.

I shrugged and looked away. “But I do not choose it.”

Oh reader, what was I to say? In truth, I had no wish to live my
life in this manner. My desire was not to collect suitors and jewels, forever moving from one man’s bed to the next, pretending to love. My only wish was for the safe delivery of Allenham’s child, my only aim to secure my current place of refuge until my beloved and I could be reunited. I wanted no other lover but him: my true husband, the keeper of my heart. But I could not confess this to them! No, my friends, I could not betray a single word of my hopes; not the slightest longing or moan of pain for my absent love could escape my lips. I would have to remain entirely silent, for my survival and that of my child depended upon it.