The Perfect Mistress (13 page)

Veronica signaled the end of the meal and announced the ladies would retire to the parlor to allow the gentlemen no more than a half an hour for their brandy before the poetry recitations would begin.

He rose and assisted Julia with her chair. She turned to leave with the other ladies then turned back.

“Lord Mountdale, I congratulate you. Your purpose this evening has been admirably achieved.”

“It has?” he said slowly.

“You said you wished to change my mind about you and you have succeeded.”

His spirits lifted with satisfaction and he smiled modestly. “Excellent.”

“While your manner on our first meeting was not conducive to cordial relations—”

“My fault entirely,” he said quickly.

“—you do seem to have made a concerted effort this evening to convince me to give you another chance. And, as Veronica seems convinced of your sincerity—”

“Oh, I am nothing if not sincere,” he said in as sincere a manner as he could muster

“—I can do no less.” She smiled cordially. “Therefore I will not refuse to consider any further offer you may put forth.”

This was good.

“I assure you, you will not regret it.”

“Furthermore, I do accept your offer of friendship. It’s most kind and one can always use another friend. And I know that, as my friend, you only want what’s in my best interest.”

This was extremely good.

“Without question,” he said staunchly and seized the moment. “And what is in your best interest is to receive the most income possible in the most guaranteed manner possible from Lady Middlebury’s memoirs.”

“Ah, and there we differ, as friends often do.”

“But—”

“I should tell you, my lord, the more I read my great-grandmother’s memoirs the more I feel I know her. Her work is not merely an accounting of her adventures but is filled as well with her observations on the relations between men and women.” She leaned closer, laid her hand on his arm, and gazed into his eyes in a knowing manner. “And some excellent advice regarding those relations as well.”

Good Lord. What kind of advice would her great-grandmother … He swallowed hard. “Indeed.”

“Oh my, yes. It would be a shame, my lord—why, it would be a travesty if her words were not allowed to be read by the world.”

He stared. “The world?”

“The
entire
world.” She removed her hand and smiled. “The world could certainly use more good advice just as a mere woman could always use the benefit of a guiding hand. Don’t you agree?”

“I—”

“However, I will certainly give due consideration to any further offers you might wish to make. Because you”—she cast him a smile so brilliant he swore he felt it somewhere deep inside—“are my friend.” She nodded and joined the rest of the ladies on their way out of the room.

He stared after her. The sense of triumph he’d noted a minute ago still lingered, if now a bit fainter and uncertain. Still, the evening was indeed successful for the most part. Julia had left the door open for him to continue to pursue the memoirs and had agreed to a tenuous friendship. The vaguest glimmer of a new idea teased the back of his mind and, God help him, he needed a new plan. And he had met Miss Waverly. Yes, it had been a most efficient evening.

A wave of satisfaction bolstered him and he ignored the voice in the back of his mind that wondered why Miss Waverly was at the bottom of that list of accomplishments.

And Julia was at the top.

… and the count knew exactly what he wanted or more precisely who. Men are odd creatures in that regard. Often what they think they want isn’t what they want at all. A wise woman recognizes that, a truly clever woman uses it to her advantage.

That is not to say that, on occasion, donning the costume of a shepherdess or a Roman slave girl is not greatly amusing for all concerned even if, as was the case in this instance, the count was intent upon …

from
The Perfect Mistress,
the Memoirs of Lady Hermione Middlebury

“I never imagined you to be a coward.” Hermione’s chastising voice drifted into her dreams and at once Julia was fully awake.

She sat up and glared at the figure as always at the foot of her bed. “Where have you been?”

“San Remo, Brighton, Trouville. Seaside resorts, hunting lodges, palaces.” Hermione scoffed. “Where do you think I have been?”

“I have no idea where those who are no longer alive go when they’re not haunting those of us who are still living.” If Julia hadn’t been sitting up in bed, she would have tapped her foot with impatience. “Well? Where have you been?”

“Hither and yon. Here and there,” Hermione said in an offhand manner then grinned. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

“I most certainly did not.”

“Come now. I am not that easily fooled. You, no doubt, have a great many questions for me other than where I have been.”

“A great many, yes, but let’s start with why you haven’t returned since you proved that you were, well, real.”

“I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“Hah! You don’t convince someone that you’re a ghost and not simply a dream and then just vanish.”

“Most of the people I know vanish all the time,” Hermione said under her breath.

“I think it’s rather rude.”

Hermione smiled in a overly sweet manner. “I have earned the right to be rude.”

Julia ignored her. “And what do you mean—I was a coward?”

“That’s obvious, dear.” She ticked the points off on her fingers. “First, you left Lady Smithson’s tonight before the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, thus avoiding that handsome, arrogant Harrison.”

“Lord Mountdale, if you please.”

“Ah, but you have begun to think of him as Harrison.”

“That’s not the least bit significant and no doubt only because that is how Veronica refers to him.” And, in some odd way, this evening he had become much more Harrison and much less his lordship.

“Secondly, you did not stay long enough to hear Lady Smithson’s cousin’s poetry.” She shook her head. “I never thought any descendant of mine would be quite so fainthearted.”

“My head ached.” Admittedly, it had been more of a twinge but it had promised to develop into an ache if she’d had to continue to parry with Lord Mountdale—Harrison. The man was exhausting. She had spent the entire meal thinking of witty, clever things to say. It had seemed wise to leave when she’d had something of an upper hand.

Harrison was not all as she had expected. He proved to be an engaging but not overbearing conversationalist. He was attentive but not overly so, conversing as often with Portia, Miss Nelson, and the lady on his other side. Oh, there was that moment when he had studied Miss Waverly with an assessing gleam in his eyes that had she had found most irritating. Ignoring the woman sitting next to you for a woman you found more desirable was the height of bad manners. Still, it struck her that the man had made an effort to be cordial, and given all that Veronica had said about him and what she had seen for herself, it could not have been easy for him. His behavior was almost endearing.

Until he had apparently been overcome by his own staunch beliefs as to the capabilities of women to manage their own lives. That had been most annoying and made even more so because her position was not of her choosing. She did not choose for her husband to die nor did she choose independence. She did not choose for her finances to be limited. And she certainly did not choose to be born female.

“That’s not all you found annoying,” Hermione said under her breath.

Julia glared. “Do you read my thoughts as well?”

“Your thoughts are fairly easy to read.” She paused. “She is quite pretty and very young. The older men get, the more they like them young and pretty.”

“Who?”

“Miss Waverly, of course.”

“Nonsense.” Julia sniffed. “I scarcely exchanged more than a handful of words with her. Not nearly enough to find her annoying or anything else for that matter.”

Hermione stared at her in a knowing manner.

“You may know my thoughts but I have no idea of yours,” Julia snapped. “What are you not saying?”

“What is obvious even to a dead woman. Miss Waverly is entirely wrong for Harrison even if he thinks she’s exactly what he wants.” Hermione shrugged. “If he is as clever as he thinks he is, he will realize the truth before he marries her. I can’t tell you the number of gentlemen I have known who have wed because a lady has met some strict list of criteria, only to discover, when it was entirely too late, that they have forgotten the most important attribute of all.”

“Love?”

“Love is always an added benefit because love overcomes most obstacles.” She shook her head. “But I have known men who have married for what they thought was love who then discover, after the first flush has faded, that there is nothing left and nothing to look forward to through the years. I have known men who have dismissed love as being unnecessary. Their unions too ultimately provide little happiness on either side. And I have known men who have found true love, but I don’t think even that is enough.” She thought for a moment. “A man needs a woman who will be a match for his mind as well as his heart. A woman who will disagree with him and challenge him. A woman he can respect and argue with and lose to as often as he wins. That is what makes the blood race in a man’s veins and that is what makes him truly happy to be with one woman for the rest of his days. It’s the adventure, my dear, that makes life worth living. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.” She met Julia’s gaze. “Most men, and most women for that matter, never find that.”

“Did you?”

“You haven’t finished the book, have you?”

Julia shook her head.

“I would never reveal the ending of a book. You shall have to wait.” She paused. “But, as turnabout is indeed fair play, let me ask you. Did you find that with William?”

“I loved William,” Julia said staunchly

“And who wouldn’t? He was a very nice man.”

“Yes, he was. And kind and generous. And handsome.” Julia wasn’t sure why she needed to defend her late husband or her marriage but she did. “And we were very happy. I would have been quite content to have spent the rest of my days with him.”

“One can scarcely ask for more than content in this life,” Hermione said pleasantly. “If only his financial acumen had been … well … had existed at all.”

“He was a good man.”

“Yes, he was. As, I believe, is Harrison under all his stiff and stodgy ways.” She leaned forward and pinned Julia’s gaze with her own. “If you were to marry Harrison, your troubles would be at an end.”

“You made that same ridiculous suggestion the last time you were here.” Julia glared. “Do you intend to bring this up every time you visit?”

“Yes, because it’s not the least bit ridiculous. It is, in truth, an excellent idea.”

Julia drew her brows together. “If you claim to know my mind, I fear you are sadly mistaken. I have not for a moment considered marrying Lord Mountdale. Nor, I am confident, does he have any inclination toward me.”

“Not yet,” Hermione said with a smile.

“Not ever.” Julia huffed. “I will admit that he was most agreeable tonight and charming and very … likable. And there is something quite appealing about a man who wishes to be your friend.”

“Hmph.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he wishes to be more than your friend.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Julia shrugged. “And he only wants my friendship because he thinks it will help him acquire your memoirs.”

“But you cannot be swayed because you are made of sterner stuff.”

“Indeed, I am.” She thought for a moment. “However, I have agreed to give due consideration to any further offer he might make.”

“Thus keeping Harrison in your life.” Hermione nodded. “Very good.”

Julia ignored her. “But I will never turn your memoirs over to anyone who intends to destroy them.”

“I should hope not.” Hermione sniffed. “It’s not as though I dashed them off in an evening, you know. It took me several years to compile my adventures, my observations, and my advice. Why, my very life is laid out in my book.”

“So I have noticed. And quite an”—Julia cleared her throat—“adventurous life it was too.”

“Wasn’t it?” Hermione grinned with satisfaction. “I did so hate to see it end.”

“You shall live on forever through your book.” Julia blew a long breath. “And, apparently in your … visitations.”

Hermione sighed. “Apparently.”

“Will you be with me forever?”

Hermione plucked absently at the bedclothes and shrugged. “Darling, I have no idea. I have a few thoughts on the matter and I have heard rumors—people do talk, you know—but I’m not sure why I’m here at all. I have always kept an eye on you, your mother, and grandmother but I was never able to speak to your mother or to you either until you began reading my memoirs.”

Julia cast her an accusing look. “You talk to my grandmother though, don’t you?”

A distinct look of guilt crossed the dead woman’s face.

“I suspected as much. You do realize that’s why people have thought she was mad.”

“That’s not my doing,” Hermione said quickly. “If one wishes not to be bothered, the easiest way to keep people at a distance is to let them believe something is wrong with you.” She shook her head. “No one wants to get too close to a madwoman. Or men who have monkeys for pets.”

“I’m not entirely certain I’m not mad,” Julia said under her breath. “Here I am speaking to a woman who doesn’t exist.”

“But I do exist, as I believe I have proved by revealing the detail of Harrison’s—”

“You needn’t say it,” Julia said quickly.

“A fact you couldn’t possibly have known.”

“A fact even he doesn’t know.”

“Which is to your advantage,” Hermione said in a sage manner. “It is always good, my dear, to know more than your adversary. Or your newfound friends.”

“Hermione, my pet, are you coming?” A gruff male voice sounded from somewhere behind the foot of the bed.

Julia gasped and clutched the covers tighter around her. A shadow formed behind Hermione then slowly took shape.