The Perfect Mistress (3 page)

“No doubt because of its scandalous nature. You can scarcely blame the man for that.” Portia’s brow furrowed. “I never knew you had a scandalous great-grandmother.” She glanced at Veronica. “And why is it that you know about this Lady Middlebury and I don’t?”

“My grandmother quite enjoys a good story and considers them even better if they include an element of truth.” Veronica smiled with the memory.

“Gossip?” Portia scoffed. “My family has never been prone to gossip.”

“How sad for you, my dear.” Veronica cast Portia a sympathetic look then turned her attention back to Julia. “I, for one, think this is fascinating. Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”

“There is much about my family I don’t know. I always thought we were quite ordinary, but apparently we are a family of many secrets.” Julia thought for a moment. “I did know that my great-grandmother was considered quite notorious in her day but she died before I was born and my mother rarely spoke of her. I know as well that she was not close to her children—my grandmother and her brother—and spent the later years of her life living in France.” She shook her head. “But I didn’t even know my grandmother was still living until six years ago when my parents died.”

“Which is when you became responsible for her support,” Veronica said slowly.

“A responsibility that should have fallen to your great-uncle,” Portia pointed out, again.

“It’s all quite tangled and convoluted. After all, including me, it encompasses four generations.” Julia paused in an apologetic manner. “And you have heard much of this before.”

“And like any good story, we shall enjoy hearing it again.” Veronica refilled her cup.

“My great-grandmother and her children were estranged. She lost her husband at twenty-four, the same age I was when I lost William.” Julia sipped her tea. “Spouses do not seem to live overly long in my family.”

“There’s something to be said for that,” Veronica said coolly.

Julia bit back a smile. In spite of Veronica’s skeptical comments, she knew full well her friend had cared deeply for her late husband.

“My mother and my grandmother at some point had a falling-out which led to their estrangement for a time although I have never known why. But then, as I understand it, she became ill—”

“Mad.” Portia nodded sagely.

“She’s not mad,” Julia said quickly. “Eccentric, yes, but—”

“You told us she hears voices,” Portia said. “That’s the very definition of mad.”

“She’s not mad.” Julia’s tone was sharper than she intended even if she didn’t quite believe her own words. “She has lived quietly in the country for years with a housekeeper who is more friend than servant. Indeed, they …” She hesitated then looked at her friends. “They both seem quite happy. I first went to see her when my parents died and I learned of her existence—”

“Kept secret because of the madness no doubt,” Portia said under her breath.

Julia met Veronica’s gaze. “I had to meet her and see for myself, you understand, how ill she was.”

Veronica nodded. “And?”

“And, I would not call her mad.” Julia smiled. “I thought she was delightful. Quite witty and most amusing.”

“And her voices?” Portia asked. “Were they witty as well?”

“I visit whenever I can and her company is most enjoyable. And”—Julia turned to Portia—“I have never seen behavior that I would truly call mad. Certainly her memories are muddled on occasion. She has a tendency to speak of matters long past as if they were yesterday—gentlemen callers and treasures lost and found and paths not taken. But it seems to me she is merely eccentric which, as a woman of advanced age, she has earned the right to be.”

“Perhaps the voices simply don’t speak to her when you are there.” Portia’s smile was entirely too sweet and not the least bit legitimate.

Veronica frowned. “You’re being exceptionally nasty today, Portia. What on earth has possessed you?”

Portia opened her mouth to issue a sharp retort then apparently thought better of it. “My apologies. It’s my mood I’m afraid.” She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “My cousin is having yet another dinner party tonight. Inevitably I shall be seated next to the most eligible gentleman there who has been invited with the sole purpose of marrying me.”

Veronica smirked. “Again.”

Julia stifled a laugh. In recent months, Portia’s loving and well-meaning family had apparently decided it was time for her to remarry. While she did indeed wish to marry again, her family’s interference did not sit well. The woman who had never had a rebellious bone in her body found herself in the unfamiliar role of mutineer.

“Whether she is truly mad or merely odd with the eccentricities of age scarcely matters. After my husband died, I wanted to bring her to London to live with me but she refused. She insists she is happy where she is.” Julia shook her head. “But I am reaching a point where I can barely support one household let alone two. Therefore …” Resolve straightened her spine. “I shall sell my great-grandmother’s manuscript and use whatever it fetches to support her daughter. The gentleman you saw here is a publisher.”

Portia gasped. “Surely you’re not serious?”

“I have never been more serious in my life.”

“I’m not sure publishing will provide you with the funding you need,” Veronica said thoughtfully.

“If it sells well, it should provide a steady income.” Julia wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or her friends. Still, she had nothing else.

“Perhaps it isn’t scandalous enough to sell well.” Portia’s gaze settled on the manuscript. “As your friends, it might be wise if we all read—”

“It is a risky proposition.” Veronica thought for a moment. “I think Portia’s suggestion might better serve.”

Portia glanced at the other woman. “What suggestion?”

“Blackmail,” Veronica said in an offhand manner.

“I suggested nothing of the sort.” Portia huffed then paused. “Did I?”

Julia stared. “I don’t recall blackmail being mentioned nor would I consider such a thing.”

“You should,” Veronica said, “although
blackmail
might be the wrong word as it implies something, well, wrong.”

Julia’s brows drew together. “Probably because it is.”

“What did I suggest?” Portia said.

“You said some people have very long memories.” Veronica nodded at Julia. “There are no doubt any number of people who would prefer that past scandals stay in the past.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Julia waved away the comment. “You said it yourself. My great-grandmother’s adventures were half a century ago. No one cares about those scandals now but hopefully they are interesting to read. However, I shall allow you to judge for yourself.” She selected a section she had copied and handed it to Veronica. “This chapter is about a gentleman related to you.”

“How delightful,” Veronica murmured, and paged idly through the pages.

“Isn’t there anything in there about a relation of mine?” Portia craned her neck to peer at the manuscript.

Julia shook her head. “Not that I’ve found thus far.”

“We have never been a scandalous lot. Still …” Portia eyed the manuscript with barely concealed longing. “It would be advisable to look. Just to make certain, you understand. For no other reason than that.”

“Of course not.” Veronica’s innocent tone belied the amusement in her eye.

“Besides, who among us is better suited to assess just how scandalous the work is?” Portia said primly. “I know scandal when I see it.”

“Then you should certainly read a chapter.” Julia selected another section she had copied, anticipating Portia’s request, and handed the pages to her friend.

Portia frowned at the small number of pages. “Is that enough? To be able to ascertain the scandalous nature of the work, that is. Perhaps I should read more?”

“I’m certain when you finish reading, Julia would be happy to provide you with more,” Veronica said smoothly. “For purposes of assessing the level of scandal, of course. Nothing more than that.”

“My life is exceptionally dull,” Portia said under her breath, leafing through the pages. Her gaze jerked to her friends as if she were surprised by her own words. “Not that I am interested in this in any way other than to help my dear Julia.”

Veronica smiled. “We never thought otherwise.”

“Not for a moment,” Julia added, casting Portia a reassuring smile.

It was indeed odd that this disparate trio had become friends but friends they were and, Julia suspected, friends they would be for the rest of their days. She sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward for these women, adding an additional prayer that the memoirs were indeed scandalous enough to provide true financial salvation even if that might not be the type of request the Almighty would be amenable to granting. Still, she would be most grateful if he would consider it.

And perhaps, she cringed to herself at the absurd thought, she would have to thank her great-grandmother as well.

“This is unacceptable.” Harrison Landingham, the Earl of Mountdale, glared at the pages laid out on the desk in front of him. “Completely unacceptable.”

“If you think the first page is unacceptable …” Amusement gleamed in his sister-in-law’s eyes. “Wait until you read the rest.”

“Good Lord,” Harrison muttered. What he’d read thus far was bad enough. He didn’t dare consider what the rest of these memoirs might contain. “This family has avoided scandal in the past and scandal will not touch us on my watch.”

“More’s the pity,” Veronica murmured.

He glanced up. “I do appreciate your bringing this to my attention, however.”

She smiled pleasantly. “I thought you would find it interesting.”

He raised a brow. “‘Interesting’ is the very least of what I find it.”

Veronica shrugged. “I found it rather amusing as well.”

“That comes as no surprise,” he said coolly. His late half brother’s wife was exactly the type of woman who would find something of this scandalous nature amusing.

Seven years ago, when Charles had announced his intention to marry Veronica Wilton, Harrison had done his best to dissuade him. Not that she wasn’t lovely with her dark red hair and tall stature and, indeed, her family was more than acceptable, her father was a viscount after all. But there was something in the woman’s manner, as if she were far more intelligent than anyone else and found the rest of the world amusing in its stupidity, that he found most irritating. In his experience, intelligent women were prone to making their own decisions and never overly concerned with the propriety of those decisions. Still, he had to admit, in many ways he had been wrong about her. While he never did understand what his brother saw in her aside from her appearance, and certainly one required more in a wife than a pretty face, she had made Charles happy and they seemed to have truly cared for each other. Which somewhat redeemed her in Harrison’s eyes. In this world, could one ask for more?

Veronica laughed. “Goodness, Harrison, Charles would have found it amusing as well.”

“Charles found much amusing that I do not,” Harrison said in what struck even him as an overly stodgy manner. While they shared the same mother, the two brothers could not have been more dissimilar in temperament.

Charles was nearly seventeen years of age when his widowed mother had married Harrison’s father and had promptly borne another son. Harrison had adored his older brother in spite of the disparity in their ages. But it wasn’t until he was an adult that they had become close even though the characters of the two men were decidedly different. While Charles was brilliant in all matters of finance, he had lived his life with a devil-may-care attitude and a passion for wine and sport and women—especially women. He was well past his fortieth year when he had at last decided to marry. No one was more surprised than Harrison by his brother’s decision and his choice. He had rather expected his brother to fall head over heels for an actress or another unsuitable sort rather than a woman who, in spite of Harrison’s initial concerns, was still a fitting match for the Earl of Smithson.

In recent years Harrison had been searching for an appropriate wife of his own. He was well aware of his responsibilities and his duty to provide an heir, as his half brother had failed to do. Charles’s title had passed to a distant cousin upon his death. Harrison had no intention of allowing the same fate to befall his heritage. Indeed, he was currently considering several suitable candidates for the position of Countess of Mountdale, young ladies of good family and unblemished reputation. That he hadn’t selected a wife yet he attributed only to the fact that he had yet to find one he considered absolutely right and had nothing at all to do with the lack of particular affection he felt for any of them. Affection would come in time.

“Even Charles would not be amused to see the infidelities of his father available at a bookseller’s for all the world to read.”

Veronica raised a brow.

“Well, perhaps he would.” His brother had always been amused by scandal. “But his father is dead and mine is very much alive. However this …” He cast a disgusted look at the pages in front of him. “The scandal this will cause will kill him.”

Veronica laughed. “I very much doubt that.”

Harrison drew his brows together. “My father is seventy-six years of age and—”

“He is the youngest elderly gentleman I know.”

“His constitution is not what it once was,” Harrison said staunchly.

“How is your father’s health?”

“Acceptable.” Harrison ignored the fact that his father’s physicians pronounced him the picture of health, save for stiffness in his knees. “Regardless, it is a risk I do not intend to take. Now, you say this friend of yours—”

“You needn’t say
friend
as if it were an obscenity.” Veronica’s brows pulled together in disapproval. “She is a very nice woman and I am fortunate to count her among my friends.”

“Very nice women do not publish the scandalous memoirs of their ancestors.”

“Very nice women who have financial responsibilities do what they must to meet those responsibly. Goodness, Harrison, she’s not pandering in the streets.”