The Perfect Mistress (37 page)

Julia suspected even if she were to bodily throw her friends out of the house, they might well listen at the window.

“Very well.” She sighed. “I shall meet with him in the library. But there will be no interference from the two of you.”

“We wouldn’t think of interfering,” Veronica huffed.

“Absolutely not.” Indignation sounded in Portia’s voice.

“Hah. I don’t believe either of you for a moment.”

“Nor should you.” Veronica grinned and glanced at Portia. “And you said I was the clever one.”

Portia ignored her. “We will, however, agree not to make our presence known unless you need us.”

“Or we think you need us,” Veronica added.

“I will not need you.”

Veronica shrugged. “One never knows.”

“And while we wait for Mr. Ellsworth …” Portia poured a cup of tea in an offhand manner. “You can tell me everything that transpired while you were away.”

Julia raised a surprised brow. “I assumed Veronica would have told you.”

“She alluded, she implied, and she hinted but she really didn’t say much of anything.”

Julia stared at Veronica. “How very unusual of you to hold your tongue like that.”

“I didn’t think it was my place.” Veronica sniffed. “Besides, there has been no time. The moment I met Portia she told me what she had heard and we came to tell you without delay.”

“Were it not for the importance of the information we had to bring you I would have been beside myself with curiosity.” Portia sipped her tea and studied her over the rim of her cup. “Now that we have accomplished that …”

“You are beside yourself with curiosity?”

“From the minor details Veronica has revealed, I gather Lord Mountdale followed you to the country?”

Veronica shuddered, no doubt at the thought of how she had discovered Harrison’s presence.

Julia nodded “He came to tell me about the rumors.”

“Did he?” Portia’s gaze slid from Julia to Veronica.

“She might prefer not to discuss it, dear.” Veronica considered Julia carefully. “From my observation, it did not end well. Unless … have you have heard from Harrison today?”

“Not yet.” Julia sipped her tea. “And if I don’t then he shall hear from me. As for not ending well …” She cast her friends a pleasant smile. “That remains to be seen.”

“Bloody hell.”

Harrison stared at the note in his hand then glanced at the clock on the mantel. Thank God, Veronica had had the foresight to have a footman deliver this message to him at once. He shouldn’t be the least bit surprised that Ellsworth was behind the rumors, although one did wonder what he hoped to gain. Nor should he be surprised that Veronica and her cohort, Lady Redwell, had taken matters into their own hands and were even now luring the author to Julia’s. He had no doubt that when cornered, Ellsworth would reveal Harrison’s part in the author’s proposal regarding the memoirs. The man was not to be trusted. And while Harrison could, and fully intended, to stand by his actions with Lady Holridge, as he could certainly argue he had simply acted in what he believed were Julia’s best interests, he could never explain his involvement with Ellsworth.

Upon his arrival home last night he had discussed the disagreement with Julia with his father and what he should do now. The older man had agreed that actively pursuing Julia coupled with thoughtful tokens of affection and his unrelenting presence was, if not brilliant, at least a fairly good idea. But Harrison had been beset by other matters demanding his attention today and had not yet had time to set his plan into motion. Now, it seemed there was no time at all. He had to reach Julia and tell her about what admittedly was a dreadful error in judgment before Ellsworth did.

He threw open the library doors, but before he could take a step was nearly knocked over by a large, furry creature bounding into him. He staggered backward, under attack by the beast who planted huge paws on his chest and took a swipe at his chin with an inordinately long, wet tongue.

“What in the name of all that’s holy is this!” He pushed the creature down and backed away.

“It’s a dog, of course.” His father grinned and stepped into the library. “Sit, Browning. That’s a good boy.”

The dog—Browning—obediently sat at Harrison’s feet but his tail continued to wag frantically, the rest of his body wiggling with his tail, a furry mass of barely restrained enthusiasm.

“I can see it’s a dog.” Harrison stared at the creature. His head came to just above Harrison’s knee. He was solidly built, Harrison could attest to that, with long gray fur and white markings, and was perhaps the most absurd animal Harrison had ever seen. “But what kind of dog? And why is it here?”

“It’s a Scotch bearded collie,” his father said proudly. “I have a friend who breeds them.”

“Why? It looks like a doormat.” Browning wiggled even more if possible and stared up at him. “And it’s grinning at me.”

“He’s a very friendly dog. And quite smart I’ve been told.”

“He can count to ten and play the violin for all I care. Why is he here, no doubt shedding on my carpet?”

“You said you wanted one. For Lady Winterset.”

Harrison stared. “What are you talking about?”

His father heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Last night, when we were discussing how you could get back into Lady Winterset’s good graces, you mentioned that she liked dogs. I distinctly remember you saying that presenting her with a dog might be a thoughtful gesture. So”—Father gestured at the beast with a flourish—“I acquired Browning for you to give to her.”

“But he’s … he’s …”

“Irresistible?”

Harrison studied the grinning creature. There was something, well, happy about him. He reached out and petted his head and he could have sworn he heard the animal moan in delight. “Why Browning?”

“You also mentioned she liked poetry. Robert Browning is my favorite poet and I feared, left to your own devices, you might name him something less dignified.”

“I doubt that I have ever seen an animal less dignified than this one.” Harrison chuckled in spite of himself. “He is somewhat irresistible, isn’t he?”

“Trust me, Harrison,” his father said in a sage manner. “She will adore him and adore you for bringing him to her.”

He met his father’s gaze. “She can scarcely stay angry for long with a man who is this thoughtful.” He grimaced. “Even if he has done something she might consider reprehensible.”

“I hardly think that business with Lady …” Realization dawned on the older man’s face. “She knows about you and Ellsworth?”

“Not yet. I was just about to go tell her myself before she finds out from him.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Off with you, my boy. Ride to the rescue once again. Try to do a better job this time.” He handed his son a leash. “And take Browning. He might turn the tide in your favor.”

“Although I doubt even the most irresistible creature will make a difference, I will bring him along.” He blew a long breath. “I shall need all the help I can get.”

“Lady Winterset.” Mr. Ellsworth beamed and started across the library toward her.

“Stay right where you are, Mr. Ellsworth,” she said coolly and closed the library door behind her. As annoying as she had initially thought it would be to have Veronica and Portia on the other side of the door, right now, she was grateful they were there. After all, if she did indeed strangle him, she could never dispose of his body by herself.

He stopped in midstep; his confident expression faltered. “As you wish.” He paused. “I was quite pleased to receive your note. You have made your decision then? About the memoirs.”

She smiled pleasantly. “Ah, yes, the memoirs. Precisely what I wished to discuss with you.”

“Excellent.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I should like to begin work at once. I have been giving the memoirs a great deal of thought. First, of course, I shall need to read them fully as I have only Mr. Cadwallender’s assessment as to their—”

“Mr. Ellsworth, it has come to my attention that the memoirs have become the topic of a considerable amount of gossip.”

“We should have expected they would not remain secret. But it scarcely matters, they shall be public knowledge soon enough.”

“Oh, but this gossip isn’t just about the memoirs but, rather, about the author.”

He chuckled. “Well, your great-grandmother was well known in certain circles.”

“Indeed she was, but the rumors I am hearing do not give her the credit due her.” Her voice hardened. “The talk is that I am the author and that they are based as much on my own experience as on Lady Middlebury’s life.”

Concern showed on his face. For a moment she could almost believe he was innocent. “Nasty business, gossip.”

“Isn’t it though?” She sighed in a dramatic manner. “I can’t imagine how such a thing could happen.”

“And yet these things do happen.” He shook his head. “Still, I suppose, the situation can be salvaged.”

“Oh?”
Salvaged?
If ever a man deserved to be strangled it was this man. “Please, do go on.”

“I believe we can use this to our advantage,” he began, the most infuriating note of eagerness in his voice. On further consideration, strangling was too good for him.

She widened her eyes in an innocent manner. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“My dear Lady Winterset—may I call you Julia now? As we are going to be partners?”

She smiled her assent but didn’t trust herself to speak. Not yet.

“Well, my dear, as you know, scandal sells books. The scandalous affairs of a woman long in her grave, while certainly interesting and profitable, are not nearly as lucrative as the amorous adventures of a living, breathing lady. An exceptionally beautiful lady, I might add.”

“So.” She chose her words with care. “This rumor is your doing then?”

“Well.” He smiled in a modest manner. “I must admit it was a stroke of genius. As clever as any story I have written.”

“Did you give no thought as to what this might do to my reputation?” In spite of her best efforts her voice rose. “My life?”

“Yes, of course. It will change your life completely. You will no longer be the nearly impoverished widowed Lady Winterset but Julia Winterset. Authoress, adventuress, and—”

“And nothing! How dare you presume to take such liberties with my life!”

“Nonsense.” He scoffed. “Why, my dear Julia, you shall be famous. We shall be famous together.”

“I don’t want to be famous. And I certainly don’t want to be anything with you. I want to be …” What did she want? A life with Harrison? Love? Children? All of it? “Happy!”

“There’s no reason why you can’t be both. I am famous and happy as well.”

“You are a nasty, contemptuous creature.” She narrowed her eyes and took a step toward him. He wisely backed away. “As for your stroke of genius, it will do you no good whatsoever. I have no intention of letting you anywhere near the memoirs or anywhere near me!”

“You needn’t be so indignant.” He shrugged in a nonchalant manner. “It’s not as if I am the only one whose actions were, perhaps, questionable.”

“Perhaps?” She glared. “Perhaps?”

“Others are just as responsible as I am.”

“Don’t try to lay this at someone else’s feet.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s your doing entirely.”

“Not entirely.” Mr. Ellsworth paused for a moment, no doubt to find the right words and not out of any sense of regret or loyalty. “This was not my idea in the first place.”

She gasped. “Surely you’re not trying to blame this mess on Mr. Cadwallender?”

“Don’t be absurd. While I have no doubt Cadwallen-der’s new enterprise will be a success, he simply doesn’t have the imagination for a scheme like this. Besides, he is entirely too nice.”

She cast him a narrowed look. “What scheme?”

“To acquire the memoirs.”

“I am losing what little patience I have left, Mr. Ellsworth. Explain yourself.”

“It was Lord Mountdale’s idea. At least in the beginning.”

“What do you mean?” The most awful feeling of dread settled over her.

“Lord Mountdale offered me a tidy sum to propose to you that I purchase the memoirs and incorporate them into a book of my own. I thought it was a brilliant idea.” He shrugged. “Once I had Lady Middlebury’s book, I was to turn it over to him.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, even though she had thought it odd that the sum the author had offered was precisely the same as Harrison’s initial offer. And wasn’t there more than the figure that had seemed familiar?

She circled around Mr. Ellsworth, pulled open a drawer, and found the envelopes containing his offer and Harrison’s. She pulled both offers out and laid them on the desk. Studying them side by side, it was apparent the figures were written by the same hand on the same paper. Her heart lodged in her throat. There was no denying it. Harrison had thought to trick her into giving him the memoirs.

“I gather you believe me now,” Mr. Ellsworth said.

She nodded, ignoring the queasy sensation in her stomach.

“Although I suppose it scarcely matters.” He rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “He reneged on our arrangement. Oh, he did pay me what he had promised but he no longer wished to continue.” He chuckled. “I, however, still thought the idea of combining my skill with Lady Mid-dlebury’s adventures was excellent and had every intention of pursuing it.”

She stared in disbelief. “But what purpose did starting the rumors serve?”

“To get rid of Mountdale, of course.” He scoffed. “I saw him kiss you at Lady Tennwright’s and, worse, I saw the way you looked at him. I knew you would never agree to my proposal if you were involved with him. I thought if you were embroiled in a scandal, he would scamper off into the woods like a good little earl.”

“And then?”

“And then he would be so preoccupied with the current scandal he would no longer care about the scandals of decades ago. And I could have the memoirs.”

She considered him for a moment. “But how could you afford them if you no longer had his lordship’s funding?”

“I had thought to convince you to form a true partnership.”

She scoffed. “Surely you are not speaking of marriage?”