The Perfect Mistress (14 page)

“Goodness, Victor.” Hermione rose to her feet and addressed the still-indistinct figure. “I don’t know why you are so impatient. It’s not as though we don’t have all the time in the world.”

“I was impatient before my death and I see no reason to change now.” The figure solidified somewhat into a distinguished older man dressed in the fashion of more than half a century ago. “You found it charming.”

“No, dearest, I simply let you think I found it charming.”

He chuckled and looked at Julia, a definite twinkle in his eye that didn’t make up for the fact that she could see right through him. Her stomach churned. “Death hasn’t changed her a bit, you know.”

Julia shrank back against her pillow. “Who is this?”

“Where are my manners?” Hermione shook her head. “Julia, allow me to introduce—”

“No, no!” Julia pulled the covers over her head. “I don’t want an introduction. Just make him go away.”

“She’s not very hospitable, is she?” Victor said in a distinctly wounded tone. “I don’t make appearances to anyone.”

“Yes, I know, dear,” she said, and Julia suspected if she had looked, she would have seen Hermione pat his—she shuddered—transparent arm. “Julia,” she said in a no-nonsense manner, “come out from under those bedclothes at once. You’re being rude.”

“I’m being rude?” Julia pushed the covers off her head and glared. “This is my bedchamber and he was not invited. For that matter”—she narrowed her eyes—“neither were you.”

“And yet here I am.” Hermione huffed. “Goodness, Julia, I should think—”

“I can see through him!” Julia’s voice rose to a high pitch. “It’s … it’s …”

“Most unnerving. Of course, I should have realized. Victor,” she said sharply, “pull yourself together at once. You’re scaring my great-granddaughter.”

Understanding broke on Victor’s face and at once he became substantially more, well, substantially
more
. “I say, I am sorry. One tends to forget the social niceties when one is dealing mostly with the dead.”

“Understandable, my dear.” Hermione nodded. “However, we do need to keep in mind that she is not used to our kind. I am the only spirit she knows.”

“Why do you need to keep that in mind?” Julia stared at the unearthly couple. “Is he coming back?”

“Not if I’m not wanted,” he said loftily.

“My apologies.” Julia forced a calm note to her voice. “I am not used to entertaining gentlemen, living or dead, while I am in bed. It makes me somewhat, oh I don’t know, unwelcoming!”

Victor inclined his head toward Hermione and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “She resembles you in appearance but she doesn’t take after you at all otherwise.”

“More so than she imagines, I think.” Hermione frowned at her companion. “Why are you here?”

Victor raised a brow.

“Oh yes, of course. It completely slipped my mind. We must be off and you should go back to sleep.” She looked at Julia and shivered. “You’re going to look simply dreadful in the morning otherwise.”

“You’re leaving?” Julia stared. “Just like that.”

Hermione shrugged. “Just like that.”

Beside her, Victor started to fade but Hermione smacked his arm with a fan Julia hadn’t noticed before and Victor immediately became solid again. He glanced at Julia and nodded a bow. “Again, my apologies.”

With that he vanished. It wasn’t as bad as watching him fade but it was still most disconcerting.

“When will you return?” Julia asked. “I still have a number of questions.”

“Read the book, dear, I’m sure all the answers are there. As for when I will be back, I don’t know.” She shook her head and sighed. “I don’t seem to have a great deal of control over that. I suspect I will be here when you need me.” And then she too was gone.

Julia slid down under the covers and stared unseeing at the ceiling. Sleep? Hah, not anytime soon.

Now she didn’t just have one ghost, she had two. And who knew how many more of Hermione’s gentlemen might appear? Victor might be only the beginning. Victor? She pulled a pillow over her face and groaned. A Victor played a prominent role in chapter five.

Then there was Hermione’s ongoing suggestion that she marry Harrison. Not that he would be interested even if she was, which, of course she wasn’t. Not in the least. She freely admitted, he had been different tonight and not at all difficult to like. And while his offer of friendship still struck her as suspicious, he had seemed sincere.

But she was not what he wanted in a wife and he as far away as possible from what she wanted. She wanted … another William. Exactly. She was happy once, she could certainly be happy again.

She thrust aside everything that had transpired this evening and tried to go to sleep. But it was something Hermione hadn’t actually said that stuck in her mind like a relentless refrain.

Content was fine unless one longed for adventure.

“I assume you are curious as to why I asked you here today.” Harrison handed Mr. Ellsworth a glass of brandy and waved him to the chair in front of his desk.

“Indeed I am, my lord.” Ellsworth glanced around the library and took his seat. “It is not often I get a summons from an earl.”

“It was an invitation, Mr. Ellsworth, not a summons.”

Harrison settled in the chair behind his desk and studied the author. He was unquestionably handsome with a man-about-town air that was equal parts disreputable and literary. A combination that was, no doubt, irresistible to women, which explained Ellsworth’s substantial reputation with the ladies. Why, just last night, Harrison had watched as one woman after another flirted with the author, some in a most outrageous manner. Even Julia appeared to appreciate the man’s questionable charms while Miss Waverly had paid no heed to the author at all. For a young woman, she was remarkably poised and proper. His resolve to call on her strengthened.

Ellsworth raised a brow. “It did sound like a summons.”

“My apologies.” He chose his words with care. “I do have a proposition that may prove most beneficial to us both.”

Ellsworth sipped his brandy and considered him. “And what might this proposition involve?”

“From your comments last night I understand you’re aware of the book Lady Winterset is interested in having published.”

“Ah yes, the memoirs.” Ellsworth nodded. “They should be most successful.”

“I would prefer that they never see the light of day.”

“Oh?”

“Let me be blunt, Mr. Ellsworth. There are portions of the memoirs that detail the involvement of Lady Winter-set’s ancestor with a member of my family. I do not want that incident to become public fodder. I do not want my family embroiled in scandal.”

“I see, my lord,” Ellsworth said smoothly. “How can I be of service?”

“I have attempted to purchase the memoirs from Lady Winterset to avoid publication. However, as she knows my intention is to destroy them, she has thus far refused my offer.”

Ellsworth nodded. “Understandable.”

“Something you said last night about ideas triggering stories made me think if perhaps there wasn’t a better way to achieve my purpose. Something not quite as straightforward.”

“You wish to deceive her?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘deceive.’” But in truth, his idea was rather less than honest. “Lady Winterset will not sell me the memoirs but she might sell them to you.”

“To me?” Ellsworth’s brows drew together in confusion. “Why would I want them?”

“To use as the basis for one of your own books.” Harrison couldn’t hide a small note of triumph. This was another brilliant idea. “Think of it, Mr. Ellsworth. A story by John Eddington Ellsworth based on the true escapades of Lady Middlebury. Why, it would fairly fly off the shelves.”

“Indeed it would,” Ellsworth said thoughtfully.

“That is the argument you will use to approach Lady Winterset.”

“It is a very interesting idea,” Ellsworth murmured. “And most commercial. With my name and Lady Middle-bury’s stories it could indeed be a rousing success.” He grinned and raised his glass. “A brilliant idea, my lord. I should have thought of it myself.”

Harrison stared at him. “You do realize you aren’t actually going to write this book.”

Confusion furrowed the author’s brow. “I’m not?”

“Good Lord, no. The only thing worse than having the actual memoirs published would be to publish a fictional version of them.”

“Then I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. What do you intend?”

“It’s really very simple. I want you to approach Lady Winterset with an offer to buy the memoirs and tell her you wish to base a book of your own on them. Once she sells you her ancestor’s work, you turn it over to me.”

“Won’t Lady Winterset notice when I don’t write the book? Won’t she want the memoirs back?”

“You tell her another more pressing project has claimed your attention but you do fully intend to write her great-grandmother’s story at some later date.”

“I see.” Ellsworth studied him for a moment. “Tell me, my lord, if I am not to write this book and I must say I do like the idea, then what do I, forgive my candor, but what is the benefit to me of your plan?”

“First of all, I have given you an excellent idea. You are an acclaimed, successful writer—you can certainly write the fictional memoirs of a fictitious mistress.”

“I can indeed but it won’t garner the same public attention as it would if it were based on a real person. The reading public loves scandals taken from real life.”

“Yes, but, as you admitted last night, it’s impossible to predict how a book will be received.” Harrison directed him a firm glance. “Even a book written by you.”

Ellsworth paused for a moment, no doubt considering recent reviews which Harrison believed included words like
trite
and
stale
. “Quite right.”

“In return for acquiring the book for me I am prepared to offer you a great deal of money, payment, as it were, for services rendered. An amount equal to that which I am willing to pay for the memoirs.” He slid an envelope across the desk. “In here you’ll find what I am willing to offer for the memoirs as well as a token advance payment. To seal our agreement.”

Ellsworth picked up the envelope and pulled out the paper and the banknotes. He studied the amount Harrison had written then refolded the paper, replacing it and the notes in the envelope.

“Extremely generous,” he murmured, setting the envelope back on the desk. “I assume, given the amount here, you wish me to acquire the memoirs by whatever means necessary.”

“Good Lord, no!” Harrison pulled his brows together. “I don’t want you to bash her over the head in the dead of night and steal away with the book.”

“My lord, I may not be of noble birth”—Ellsworth’s eyes flashed—“but I consider myself a gentleman. I would never resort to outright theft.”

“I want this to be above board and legitimate. Nothing illicit or illegal. That would spawn an even greater scandal, and the purpose is to prevent any scandal at all.”

“Legitimate, you say?” Ellsworth’s brow rose. “Even though it is predicated on a fabrication?”

“One does what one must.” He ignored the accuracy of Ellsworth’s assessment and nodded at the envelope. “That sum is enough to pay off your debts and allow you to continue to live in the manner to which you are accustomed. At least for a while.”

Ellsworth eyes widened with surprise. “How did you know about my debts?”

Harrison shrugged. “It’s been my observation that a man does not live the type of life you do without incurring debts.”

Ellsworth chuckled. “True enough.”

Harrison leaned forward and met the author’s gaze. “As much as I am not completely familiar with the publishing world, I do know that the proceeds from any book, no matter how successful, accumulate over time. I know your work is popular but even a writer of your stature could use an influx of funds.”

Ellsworth swirled the brandy in his glass and smiled wryly. “Always.”

“Then, Mr. Ellsworth, do we have an agreement?” Harrison rose to his feet behind the desk.

Ellsworth downed the rest of his brandy in one long swallow, set his glass down, and stood. “It seems to me I have nothing to lose and very much to gain.” He picked up the envelope and slid it into his waistcoat pocket. “Yes, my lord, we do.”

“Excellent.” Harrison nodded, circled around the desk and walked Ellsworth to the library door. “I suspect this will not take long. Lady Winterset’s finances are somewhat precarious and she must make a decision soon.”

Ellsworth nodded

“I do expect to be kept apprised of your progress however.”

“Certainly.” The author paused at the door and considered Harrison. “Might I say, my lord, that Lady Winterset does not strike me as the type of woman who would take this sort of ruse at all well should she discover your plan.”

“Then we must make certain she does not discover it.”

“Of course.” Ellsworth nodded a bow. “Good day, my lord.”

“Good day.”

Ellsworth took his leave and Harrison returned to his desk, buoyed by a sense of confidence and satisfaction. It was a perfect plan. Ellsworth was a well-known author and highly respected. Even Julia had not been completely immune to his charms last night.

The thought pulled him up short. Surely Ellsworth did not plan to acquire the memoirs through any sort of seductive means? Harrison certainly did not want him to … to
seduce
Julia into selling him the manuscript. He should have made that clear to the man and would do so at the first opportunity. Not that Julia would be receptive to Ellsworth’s seduction. At least he thought she wouldn’t. She was entirely too clever to allow her head to be turned by a man of Ellsworth’s questionable reputation. Still, her thoughts were no doubt filled these days with her great-grandmother’s questionable advice, and who knew how that might influence her. Not that Harrison cared who Julia might become involved with romantically. It was none of his business really. But as the instigator of this plot and more, as her friend, he did not want to cause her harm or worse, heartbreak.

“Is that wise?” His father stood in the doorway, leaning on the silver-headed cane that had become as much a part of him in recent years as his gray hair.