The Perfect Mistress (2 page)

“Thank you,” he said with relief. “Perhaps I can arrange for a higher advance as well. May I call on you again in a day or two to discuss it further?”

“Of course.”

“Again, you have my gratitude.” He smiled and his eyes lit with pleasure, very nice eyes in a more than ordinarily handsome face. “I am confident, Lady Winterset, this is the beginning of a profitable relationship for us both.” With that, he nodded and took his leave, offering a polite bow of greeting to her friends who entered the parlor as he left.

“I can see why you are late,” Veronica, Lady Smithson, said in a wry manner, her gaze following the publisher. “I would certainly forgo tea with my friends for a liaison with a man like that.”

“It was not a liaison,” Julia said firmly.

“Still, he is quite dashing, isn’t he?” Portia, Lady Red-well, craned her neck to see past the parlor door and into the entry hall. “If one likes fair hair and broad shoulders …” Her gaze jerked back to the other women, a telltale blush washing over her face. “Not that I do. Although, of course, what woman wouldn’t? That is to say …” She raised her chin. “One can appreciate art without being in the market for a painting. That’s what I meant.”

“Yes, of course you did,” Veronica said in an absent manner, her attention again on Julia, much to Portia’s obvious relief.

Of the three widows, Portia was the most concerned with propriety. Veronica had, on more than one occasion, observed privately that it was those who walked the narrowest paths that were the most likely to plunge over a cliff when the opportunity presented itself. Fortunately for Portia, or unfortunately in Veronica’s view, Portia had yet to so much as peer over the edge of a cliff.

For that matter, neither had Julia. But she had discovered a great deal about herself since her husband’s death. Her character was far stronger than she had imagined. One did what one had to do to survive in this world. As for propriety, while she had always considered herself most proper in both behavior and manner, it was no longer as important as it once was.

“If it wasn’t a liaison,” Veronica continued, “which, I might add, is a very great pity as surely Portia agrees, given that she is an excellent judge of art …” Portia offered her friends a weak smile. “Who was he and what sort of profitable relationship is he confident about?”

Julia narrowed her eyes. “How much of the conversation did you hear?”

“Not nearly enough.” Veronica breezed farther into the room, settled on the sofa, and began taking off her gloves. “You should call for tea.”

“I thought we were to have tea at Fenwick’s?” Julia said slowly.

“We were.” Portia moved past Julia and seated herself beside Veronica. The three women had first met several years ago at the reading room at Fenwick and Sons Booksellers, which did seem to attract young widows who had little else to occupy their time. Indeed, it had become something of a unofficial club for ladies, as well as the home of the loosely organized Ladies Literary Society. It was Veronica who had suggested to the elder Mr. Fenwick or perhaps one of the sons—as they were all of an indeterminate age, somewhat interchangeable, and nearly impossible to tell apart—that the reading room could prove profitable by simply offering refreshments. Although Veronica had never admitted it, Julia suspected her suggestion had carried with it financial incentive. It would not surprise Julia to learn Veronica was now a part owner of Fenwick and Sons. “But you failed to appear at the appointed time.”

Julia glanced at the clock. “I am scarcely half an hour late.”

“Yes, but while Veronica and I are rarely on time, you are always punctual.” Portia pinned her with a firm look. “Your note said you had something of importance to discuss. When you did not appear, we were naturally concerned.”

Julia folded her arms over her chest. “You were naturally curious.”

“Regardless.” Veronica studied her closely. “It was concern that compelled us to fly to your rescue.” She raised a brow. “Tea?”

“Of course,” Julia murmured and stepped out of the room to direct Daniels to have tea prepared. She would have much preferred to have had refreshments at Fen-wick’s rather than here. It wasn’t that she did not like her modest home, it was simply not as grand as either Portia’s or Veronica’s. As such it pointed out the vast differences between her life and that of her friends. Now, as she often had in the past, she marveled that they had become friends at all.

At first it seemed the three women had nothing in common save that they were all of a similar age and their respective widowhoods had begun at very nearly the same time. Veronica’s husband had been involved in the sort of financial dealings open only to those of great family wealth. Portia’s had been a literary sort, something of a scholar from what she had said. And Julia’s husband had been engaged in the practice of law. Three years ago, their husbands had died within months of each other of accident or illness or mishap. That they had forged a true friendship was attributable only to the whims of fate and perhaps the fact that they had met at a time when each needed a friend who was neither a relation nor considered them an obligation. And now they had come to rescue her.

Julia fetched her great-grandmother’s manuscript from the library and returned to the parlor. She took a seat, keeping the memoirs on her lap. “This is what I wished to discuss with you.”

Veronica eyed the stack of papers curiously. “And what, may I ask, is it?”

Portia sniffed. “It doesn’t look very interesting.”

“Appearances, my dear Portia, are often deceiving.” Julia drew a deep breath. “Do you recall my telling you that my grandmother’s brother died oh, about six months ago?”

Portia brightened. “And you have at last received an inheritance? Monies that will allow you to take care of the responsibilities that should have rightfully been his?”

“Yes, and no.” Julia shook her head. “His property went to a relative so distant I was not even aware of his existence. As for money, well, it seems he had none to speak of.”

“Of course not.” Portia’s expression hardened. “Vile creature.” Portia could not understand a family not caring for its own. Her parents had died when she was very young and her aunt and uncle had taken her in.

“This”—Julia laid her hand on the manuscript—“is my inheritance. It was left to my mother by my great-grandmother. For reasons unknown to me, although I have my suspicions, my great-uncle kept it in his possession.”

“And now that it is rightfully yours, what—” Veronica paused to allow a maid to enter with a tea cart then take her leave. She waited until the door closed to continue. “Now, what is it?”

“These are my great-grandmother’s memoirs.”

Portia sighed with disappointment. “Oh yes, that is interesting.”

“Julia, dear,” Veronica eyed her thoughtfully. “Who was your great-grandmother?”

“Lady Hermione Middlebury.” Julia held her breath.

“Oh my,” Veronica murmured. “That is interesting.”

“Why?” Portia’s impatient gaze slid from one woman to the other.

Veronica chose her words with care. “Is this the same Lady Middlebury who was reputedly the mistress of—”

Julia nodded. “Yes.”

“And involved in the scandal surrounding the prince of—”

“That too.” Julia winced.

“And the rather infamous incident with a prime min—”

“Yes, yes, all of that.” Julia waved away Veronica’s words.

“Well, I don’t know what either of you are talking about.” Portia huffed.

“My apologies, Portia.” Julia paused to gather her thoughts. “My great-grandmother was widowed at an early age and then proceeded to live her life exactly as she pleased.”

“In a most … independent manner,” Veronica said with an amused smile.

“By ‘independent’ do you mean scandalous?” Portia asked.

“Of course.” Veronica poured a cup of tea. “But it was a very long time ago.”

Julia cleared a space and set the manuscript on the cart. “She passed away more than thirty years ago.”

“Still,” Portia said, “scandal is scandal.”

“As I was saying,” Veronica continued, “these are the memories of a woman who has been dead for these past thirty years and her …”

“She calls them adventures.” Julia wrinkled her nose.

“Amorous adventures, no doubt,” Portia said darkly.

“Adventures? How delightful. Oh, I do like that.” Veronica paged through the manuscript. “The amorous adventures of a woman long in her grave may well have been scandalous when they occurred. But today, they are more in the realm of …” She thought for a moment. “Oh, history, I would think, as those who shared her adventures are long dead and buried as well.”

“History?” Portia stared at the manuscript as if she wasn’t sure if she wished to spirit it away and read it in the dead of night or burn it. “I daresay no one would look at this as history.”

“The history of society as it were, for better or ill,” Veronica said in a superior manner. “These amorous exploits of Julia’s great-grandmother happened so long ago they are only of interest in a literary sense.”

“More prurient than literary, no doubt.” Portia directed a warning look at Julia. “Some people have very long memories.”

“And some people are fast reaching a point of financial ruin.” Julia tapped her fingertip on the manuscript. “Hopefully, this will provide salvation.” She drew a deep breath. “My finances are dwindling quickly.”

Veronica stopped paging through the manuscript and cast a startled look at the other woman. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“It’s rather embarrassing to admit that one’s resources are limited,” Julia said with a wry smile.

Surprise crossed Veronica’s face. “Even among friends?”

Julia nodded. “Especially among friends.”

Veronica huffed. “I tell you everything. Why, you know very nearly all my secrets.”

Portia ignored Veronica, directing her words to Julia. “You should marry again. That would solve all your problems.”

“I would very much like to marry again,” Julia said, her tone a bit sharper than she intended. “However, it was not easy to find the right man once.”

“It would be much easier if you were looking for financial stability rather than love,” Veronica noted, not for the first time.

“At this particular moment, I would turn my life over to a man without hesitation if it would mean financial salvation,” Julia said staunchly.

Veronica raised a brow. “You do not lie well, my dear. You would beg on the streets before you wed a man you did not care for.” She paused. “How bad is it?”

Julia blew a long breath. “I have approximately three months before my circumstances are serious.”

Veronica frowned. “I thought I noted a look of concern about you in recent weeks.”

Julia grimaced. “I have not been sleeping well.”

Veronica leaned toward her and lowered her voice. “Do allow me to give you what you need. I have more money than I could possibly spend in a lifetime.”

“I cannot take your money, although your offer is most appreciated,” Julia said.

“Why ever not? She certainly has the money.” Portia poured her tea. Veronica’s spending habits were the subject of great amusement and, on Julia’s part, who had to watch every penny, some envy. “Why, the amount she spends on hats alone would fund a small country for a year.”

“Longer probably,” Veronica said, the fanciful concoction of feathers and flowers on the hat she wore today bobbing with her movements. “I see no reason not to indulge myself as I have the means to do so. And I simply adore a hat that makes a statement.”

“Oh, your hats make all sorts of statements.” A wicked light sparked in Portia’s eye. “I would say the statement that particular hat makes is—”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Veronica cast Portia a narrowed look. “Or wise.” She turned back to Julia. “Nor is your refusal to take my money.” She met her friend’s gaze and took her hand. “I have never had a great number of friends but I understand friends do things like this for one another. And, in truth, I have come to think of us as somewhat more than friends. You are the sister I have never had.”

Julia swallowed the lump that abruptly rose in her throat. “I never had a sister either.”

“And I’ve never had a real sister,” Portia said quickly, not to be outdone, and fairly slapped her hand on top of her friends’. “And, while my finances are not as vulgarly excessive as Veronica’s, I too have a tidy fortune. I should like to give you money as well.”

Julia stared at Portia, glaring at Veronica, then met the other widow’s gaze and the gleam of amusement in her eye. Both women laughed and Portia huffed. “I am quite sincere, even if a bit tardy.”

“I know you are.” Julia smiled. “And I am most grateful.” She withdrew her hand, settled back in her chair, and considered her friends. “That you would both make such an offer touches me more than I can say, however I cannot—”

“Of course you can. You simply won’t. Pride, my dear, is not nearly as becoming as you might think.” Veronica straightened. “But do understand this, regardless of your refusal, the offer—both offers I assume—stand.”

“We do not want to see you destitute.” Portia flicked her gaze over Julia’s serviceable but well-worn dress and wisely kept her opinion on the topic of Julia’s wardrobe to herself. “You will never find a wealthy husband if you look like you need one.”

“I should quite like to marry again, but as no potential suitor has yet to appear on my doorstep, I must take matters into my own hands.” Julia nodded at the manuscript. “This might well be my salvation and, like any true miracle, arrived just when I needed it.”

Veronica raised a brow. “Left to you by your late great-uncle then?”

“Not exactly.” Annoyance sounded in Julia’s voice. “According to her memoirs, my great-grandmother had always intended for this to be left in the care of my mother as she thought her children were too proper to appreciate it.”

Veronica nodded. “Byron’s memoirs were burned after his death, by friends I believe, who were concerned as to the scandal they might cause.”

“For reasons unknown to me, it instead fell into the hands of my great-uncle who did not see fit to give it to my mother.”