Marrying the Mistress (8 page)

‘I can see why you are bitter, Miss Follet.'

‘At the way I was used, and still
am
being used? As Jamie's mother, being told what I must and must not do, as if I were married? Which I cannot do either?'

‘Have there been no compensations?' he asked from
the depths of his chair. His long legs crossed and recrossed, and I saw the pinpoints of fire reflected in his eyes as they turned again in my direction.

‘Jamie. And a place to live in comfort, and a thriving business and good friends to work with. Yes, and I still have
some
freedom left, which I shall fight tooth and claw to keep.'

His tone sharpened to match mine. ‘You have no need to fight tooth and claw, lass. We're on the same side.'

I swung my legs off the long chair, ready to go.

‘Correction,' I said. ‘We have
never
been on the same side, my lord. Not even before I became your brother's mistress, when you tried to warn him off me. Too unreliable, you told him.'

‘Is that what he told you?'

‘That's what he told me. We laughed about it. We shall never be on the same side, except where Jamie's welfare is concerned. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm getting rather tired.' I tried to stand, but the room swayed dangerously and I had to sit down again with an ungainly thud, my hands clutching to keep me upright. ‘Oh!' I said. ‘Oh, dear.'

He was beside me instantly. ‘Steady…steady, lass. God's truth, but I've never known a woman fly up into the boughs so fast. Now wait. I'll take you back, but I shall not allow you to walk. It's time you were taken in hand.'

I let the remark go, for he was justified in thinking that I was on edge, snapping and snarling as if I was being threatened. ‘I'm all right,' I said. ‘It's just dizziness, that's all.'

‘No, you're not.' Busily re-wrapping me, his hands came to rest upon my shoulders where the blanket
pinned my arms to my body. Holding it tightly so that I could not protest, he swung me once more into his arms where I lay with my head upon his shoulder, utterly powerless. Wordless, too.

‘Now, my beauty,' he said, sternly, ‘let's get one more thing straight, shall we? It will be better for Jamie if we both try to show him that we're friends, not rivals. I shall not use him to score points, nor should you do that. If you want to fight me, we'll do it in private, not in front of him. Agreed?'

‘Yes.'

His eyes narrowed and his lips moved, and I knew there was more to come. ‘Fierce woman,' he whispered. ‘My God, but the lad has a warrior-mother to defend him, doesn't he? You don't have the physique to go with it, though, so don't even think about going home yet. You need some care and attention first. I expect someone can take care of the shop?'

‘Yes.'

‘And the house? I'll get a message to them as soon as I can.'

‘Yes. Thank you.'

‘Saints, lass. Have I silenced you at last? No, perhaps not. I remember there was another way to do that, wasn't there?'

‘
Please!
'

‘Hah!' Throwing back his head, he bellowed with laughter as the door opened, letting Jamie and his nurse into the room to make what they could of me in the arms of Jamie's guardian.

It could have been worse, as it happened, for Jamie was too young to think anything of it and Mrs Goode
was one of those rare creatures whose experience of life runs just ahead of one's own. She was approaching middle age and still handsome, and the flash of interest in her eyes disappeared as she dealt with the scene with perfect composure. ‘Oh, good,' she said. ‘You just on your way up, ma'am?'

Jamie ran to Winterson's leg and clung, somewhere beneath me. ‘Bring Mama, Uncaburl,' he said, ‘to see snowman. He wants to say goodnight.'

I began to protest, but Winterson had other ideas. ‘Right,' he said. ‘So if you let go of my leg, young whipper-snapper, and hold the door open for us, we'll go. Come on, lead the way.'

So we did, followed by hounds, striding, trotting and sailing high along the stone passageways, across the great hall and out to the front porch that overlooked the snow-covered terrace. The formal garden lay beyond like a fairyland of blue shadows and heavy-laden trees, and the cold air filled my lungs, making my hair prickle and my eyes water.

‘Not too cold for you?' said Winterson, softly.

‘No, not at all. It's beautiful.'

Mrs Goode tucked the blanket deep into my neck, her expression suitably serious. Jamie ran to greet the snowman who stood twice his height, wearing an old beaver hat. ‘See, Mama!' he called. ‘He's got Uncaburl's best hat on.'

‘It was either that or one of my neckcloths,' the donor explained. ‘There was little choice in the matter, really. What d'ye think, ma'am?'

‘He's a splendid snowman,' I called. ‘Shall we say goodnight to him before we go in?' It was like being a
family, I thought. Mother, father and child, so different from the previous artificial relationship of pseudo-father and pseudo-uncle with me somewhere between.

But close behind that thought came the warning. Beware. This is getting too dangerous. Held in his arms, safe and warm, assuming another ambiguous role, it's going to be so easy to forget the brothers' scheme, forged years ago without a by-your-leave. You owe this man no favours, the warning said, coldly, bitterly.

Back in my room upstairs, the blankets were peeled off.

‘Whose nightgown is this?' I said, noticing for the first time the unfamiliar broderie-anglais yoke. I had made all my own night attire.

‘Mrs Murgatroyd found it for me,' said Debbie, holding the sheet open. ‘I only managed to pack one, and that's gone to the laundry.'

‘Then get this thing off me,' I said. ‘Heaven only knows who's worn it before me. I'll have my own back, if you please.' I could well imagine who had worn it, and who had been hurriedly slipped out of it, too. One of his mistresses.

Wrestling it over my head, Debbie treated me to some mutterings about the whims and fancies of convalescents, but the enchantment of the previous hour had faded and, as Debbie opened the bedroom door to retrieve my gown, I heard the chimes of the long-case clock before the parlour door closed upon them. He would be in there thinking, no doubt, that he had won that round hands down.

* * *

My recovery took only a few days, since I was healthy and strong and eager to resume my life in York. I used
those few days well, though, playing around Winterson's spacious house with Jamie and Mrs Goode, having snowball fights in the garden, playing hide and seek, watching the racehorses, walking in the snow and skating on the lake. Each night my beloved infant would fall asleep with apple cheeks, exhausted and happy in his own rosy paradise, and I fell asleep in the hope that the thaw would set in overnight while my heart was still my own.

I kept to my side of the agreement to assume a convincing friendship with our host, which was little different from what I had always done whenever Jamie was there to see. But as for sitting with him in private again, that I did not do, but found some excuse to be elsewhere. It was not so much that I wished to evade any future tactics he might be planning, but that I had a campaign of my own that did not include letting him think I was softening. Not one bit. Good manners I could manage when I had to, but pretend a sincere friendship I would not.

* * *

At last, after a day of shovelling, of dripping eaves and light sleety rain, the way was cleared between Abbots Mere and York, and I knew that Goody and I would have our work cut out convincing Jamie that going home could be better than staying. A coach ride being out of the question, Jamie rode with Uncaburl to lead the way, helping to ease the transition, while the rest of us followed behind with two grooms. Whether Uncaburl said anything to his ward about accepting the situation, far from ideal in Jamie's eyes, I do not know, but there were no tantrums.

Jamie was carried around the house, straddled across
Uncaburl's waist, to reacquaint him with his own room, his rocking horse and Noah's Ark. How they had missed him, his guardian said, promising him another visit to Abbots Mere before long.

‘And a pony?' said Jamie. ‘You did say a pony, Uncaburl.'

‘When the winter has gone away, there will be a pony for you.'

‘He's too young,' I whispered as we went downstairs. ‘I told you.'

‘I know you did, but he's desperate to learn and that's the best time to do it. Trust me. I'll find something suitable. He'll be safe with me.'

‘What am I to do about my own transport, my lord? Am I allowed to borrow one of the horses from the stable at Stonegate, as I did before?'

Mrs Goode and Jamie had gone ahead to the kitchen, leaving Winterson and me in my pretty pale-green panelled dining room. I poured a glass of port and handed it to him, aware that I was occupying his house and beholden to him for everything in it, even my mode of transport. My question about the horses was meant to point to the fact.

He placed the glass upon the table and came to stand before me where I could breathe in the freshness of his skin. ‘Miss Follet,' he said, ‘you may borrow any of the horses from Stonegate at any time, but don't take your phaeton out yet. It's not safe. If you want to go visiting, send me a message and I'll have a carriage sent for you. And don't go too far.'

‘I see,' I said, flatly.

‘No, you don't see, do you? You think I'm trying to
curb you. But this is only while the roads are treacherous. There's twelve inches of snow underfoot, and when all that thaws there'll be floods everywhere and the Ouse will burst its banks. The ground is still frozen solid. The water will take weeks to drain away. So don't take any foolish risks.'

‘Yes, I
do
see. I'm sorry. I shall be careful with Jamie.'

‘I want you to be careful with you too, Miss Follet.'

‘Yes, of course.' As Jamie's mother, I had to stay in one piece.

‘Oh, for pity's sake, woman. Must you see everything I say in the wrong light? Could
you
not thaw, occasionally?'

I had no answer to that, none that I dared speak. But something in my face must have given me away just long enough for him to see beneath the ice and, before I could sidestep, his hands gripped my upper arms, pulling me to him and sliding round to my back like steel bands, bending me and knocking my breath away.

‘I could thaw you,' he whispered. ‘I did it before and I could do it again. You've done your best to keep a distance between us. Don't think I've not noticed. But the time will come…'

‘No, it won't,' I whispered back, finding it hard to breathe. ‘The time will never come, my lord. Now let me go before we're discovered.'

His arms dropped. He seemed to struggle against some emotion that closed his eyes and tilted his head back with a noisy sigh that made me long to comfort him, to touch his lips with my own. He turned away to the table, picked up his glass and downed the contents in one gulp. Then, smacking the glass down, he threw
open the door into the hall and called for his coat with quite unnecessary loudness.

I should have felt well satisfied by that but, for some reason, I felt quite the opposite, strangely upset and subdued, and wondering how much longer I would be able to stay on course.

N
ot for my own peace of mind, nor indeed for his, could I allow him to go like that. We were not sworn enemies and, although his own behaviour had been less than gentlemanly, I must try to learn how far to push him. It was something I had not needed to do with Linas.

Caring not what Mrs Goode or Debbie might think, I quickly threw on the outdoor clothes I had just shed and went out again, half-running along Blake Street to the corner of Stonegate where I believed he would have gone. I was right. His horses were still in the courtyard, his grooms surprised to see me so soon. One of them ran to open the kitchen door for me.

He was there, hatless, in conversation with Linas's housekeeper, the first to notice my entrance. She turned in surprise. ‘Miss Follet! Good morning, ma'am.'

He came towards me at once, his eyes anxious. ‘Is something wrong?'

I felt that my impulsiveness was getting me into as
big a mess as my long-held resentments, for even now I had not rehearsed what to say to him. ‘Yes,' I said. ‘I forgot something.' It would do for a beginning.

As if he felt something of my discomfort, he escorted me up to the hall where the smell of paint, the general mess of displaced furniture and bare flooring indicated that a grand spring clean was already under way. The changeover was as good a time as any, and already the new coats of white and pale grey paint had brought a clean light to the walls.

‘In here,' he said, holding open the door to Linas's study. It too was in some disorder, the bookcases half emptied, the mantelshelf bare, the few chairs shrouded with holland covers. ‘Will this do?' he said, closing the door behind us. ‘What is it? What did you forget?'

‘My manners,' I replied. ‘I've come…well…to beg your pardon. It was unpardonable of me to allow you to leave my house without thanking you for your good care of us, and for the second load of supplies, and for your kindness to me and Jamie. Thank you, my lord. I am not as ungrateful as I appeared to be just now. Of course, your own manners leave much to be improved on, but I am the one who should apologise. Which I do.'

He listened attentively, though I saw his lips twitch as if a laughing protest was being held in check, though his acceptance was never in doubt. ‘Let's face it,' he said, ‘you've been under some considerable strain lately, Miss Follet, so I think an occasional bout of queer stirrups can easily be forgiven. Think no more of it. As for what you choose to call my kindness, it has given me pleasure to be where I was most needed. That's exactly how I hoped it would be, though without
the illness. My house is always open to you whenever you need it, and for any reason. Or for no reason. It can be your second home, if you wish it.'

This time, I would not allow my scepticism to spoil his generosity, so I nodded and thanked him politely and said I believed that's what Jamie already had in mind. Which made us both smile. I felt we'd made some progress.

His hand rested upon a pile of leather-bound volumes too large for bedtime reading, his palm fondly sweeping. He saw me watching, though thankfully without being able to see into my mind. ‘
History of Arts
and Sciences
,' he said. ‘I shall keep these, but I don't know about this lot.' He patted a smaller pile of notebooks that had been well used. Linas had been an avid note-taker. ‘I don't have time to go through them. Would you care to take them? They might be of interest, or they might not.'

I had an obligation to do what I could. ‘Yes, I'll take them home. They're probably household accounts, in which case they'll be helpful.'

‘Anything else?'

‘Er…else?'

Suddenly, we'd begun to talk more like friends instead of fencers looking for an opening to make a hit. He would be spending some time here, and perhaps I ought to be making the most of that convenience instead of bemoaning it. There had to be some advantages somewhere. Perhaps, I thought, I'd been too hasty in my determination to exclude him.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘I mean…things.' He cast an eye over the piled-up desk. ‘There must surely have been other
gifts apart from those few you mentioned before? You should have them. If you tell me where they are…?'

I hesitated, then decided he should know how things stood. Mistresses, after all, are not on the same footing as wives. ‘The things I collected before were bought by me, my lord, not Linas. They were only here for my use when I stayed, that's all.'

‘Oh. Not gifts?'

‘No, not gifts. Linas rarely bothered with gifts, did he?'

‘So…your black mare was not a gift?'

‘The horses and the phaeton belonged to Linas, not to me. They go with the house. I'm not complaining, my lord. That's how he preferred it. I think he was never quite convinced that I would stay. Perhaps he was influenced by your opinion that I'm unreliable. Who knows? So thank you for the offer. I could say, this, this and this, but that would be grasping and dishonest. There is nothing here that belongs to me.'

He stood very still while I spoke, looking hard at me with eyes widening, then frowning with concern. It was clear he was both surprised and puzzled. ‘And gifts from you to Linas? Was that the same?'

Since I was being scrupulously honest, it was not. I shrugged, trying to make light of it. ‘Embroidered nightcaps, silk nightshirts made by me, silk evening shirts ditto, kid gloves, a tambour-embroidered red-wool dressing gown that I made for him, with matching slippers and cap, monogrammed handkerchiefs and satin embroidered braces, and that striped lustre waistcoat you admired. None of them will fit me, I'm afraid. The monogrammed table linen had better stay where it is.
And the cushions, too. And the chair-seats and fire-screen.'

‘Good grief!'

‘Oh, don't be concerned. That's just the way it was. Linas knew he didn't need to pay me in the way that mistresses are usually paid because for one thing I never asked him to. I had a house to live in and a way of earning a legitimate living, and that's all I ever wanted, and all
he
needed from me was affection and attention, and for me to nurse him. And Jamie, of course. It worked both ways, didn't it? I don't think I let him down, my lord.'

Slowly, his gaze swung away to rest lazily upon the white scene outside and on the dazzle of windows opposite. ‘No,' he said, ‘I don't think you did either. If anything, the shoe was on the other foot, Miss Follet.'

‘Anyway,' I said, ‘it's never much use going over old ground again and again, is it? It's too late. Linas was very poorly and he did what he could. I only tell you this to settle once and for all what belongs to whom. Fortunately, he didn't need to buy my clothes, or Jamie's either. That's one thing I could manage to pay for.'

‘You are the best-dressed woman I know. You must have saved him hundreds, over the years.'

‘Well, now that's gone to Jamie, hasn't it? But when I said it's no use going over old ground, I meant
our
old ground too. I've had my say about that now, and you have listened and I believe you understand my feelings better than you did before. But we must try to put it all behind us and move on, although I would not want anyone to assume that I am now one of your mistresses simply
because I was your brother's, and because Jamie and I must visit you. That's never going to be the case, my lord.'

‘I agree. It's never going to be the case because I shall never ask you to be my mistress, Miss Follet. You may be assured on that.'

‘Oh, then we are agreed. What a relief. So now we can perhaps deal more comfortably together without all those strings attached. Like business partners for Jamie's welfare and no more embarrassing references to…well…you know.'

Again, he appeared to be having difficulty in hiding a smile, though I had not thought my proposal to be so very entertaining. ‘Just put it out of our minds, eh?' he said, touching his nose with a knuckle.

‘Completely and for ever. I am not a saint, so I cannot say that I have forgiveness in my heart, but nor do I intend to harp on the subject till the string breaks. It could become tedious.'

He turned back to the window, I think to hide his face. ‘Well, then,' he said, ‘I suppose I must be devoutly thankful for a thaw, if nothing else. I was afraid the big freeze might last well into the spring.'

There was barely enough time for me to appreciate the analogy before the door opened rather abruptly to the sound of a high voice preceding its owner as if in mid-conversation. ‘Oh! And so
this
is the dreary study that needs…oh!' she squeaked. ‘Miss Follet…er… I had
no
idea you were here. Am I interrupting something?'

‘Yes,' said Winterson, coldly. ‘You are.'

‘No,' I said, ‘not at all, Veronique
dear
. This
is
the dreary study that needs a lick of paint. I always used to knock before I entered.'

Credit where credit's due, I recovered myself superbly. Faster than she did from my reply. But I could see her great baby-blue eyes greedily taking in my dishevelled appearance, my hair straying over my ears, my unbuttoned pelisse-coat and woolly scarf, hardly a walking advertisement for Follet and Sanders. She, on the other hand, wore a well-tailored crimson thing that drained her milky complexion and clashed gaudily with her yellow hair.

Picking up Linas's notebooks, I glanced up to see Winterson's displeasure. ‘Thank you for these,' I said, forcing my frosty smile into his eyes. ‘I would not like them to fall into the wrong hands. He was always
most
fastidious about who he allowed into his study, wasn't he? Good day to you,
dear
Veronique. So good to see you looking…er…well.'

Winterson found his tongue. ‘Miss Follet,' he said, following me to the door, ‘I'll come with you—'

‘No, thank you, my lord. You must stay and entertain your guest.'

He opened the front door for me, but I was out through the crack and down the watery steps too fast for him to protest, and I felt him watching me stalk through the slush without a backward glance like an offended black-headed gull.

To say that I had made a complete fool of myself was well short of the truth: proposing a truce, putting my gripes behind me, attempting to lift our fragile relationship on to a more level plane, thinking in my stupidity that perhaps I'd been a mite too harsh, after his faultless hospitality. What
could
I have been thinking about? Had I really expected things to change because I'd thought it was time they did?

I had never ‘deared' Lady Veronique Slatterly before, but if she was going to insist on getting under my feet at every end and turn, as I had no doubt she would, then there would be no more ‘ladyshipping' from my lips. The thought of her paddling about in Linas's house made me sad and angry, and the thought of Winterson entertaining her there, perhaps in the same bed that Linas and I had once shared, made me angrier still. She must, I thought, have been waiting for Winterson to arrive. Timed to perfection. And why had he tried to hide his cynical smile? Why had he not simply laughed out loud at my absurdity?

Of course I had no hard and fast evidence that Veronique Slatterly
was
his mistress; it was an assumption I made in view of her frequent appearances at Abbots Mere and her simpering, clinging possessiveness of Winterson as if she were already the lady in residence. It was hard to know for sure, his attitude to her being not quite lover-like enough to reveal any deep affection, nor was it
quite
dismissive enough to keep her away for good. However abrupt he was with her—and he could be very abrupt, when he chose—it did not stop her from returning for more of those periods when he seemed content to tolerate, if not actually enjoy, her company.

She had wealth and good connections, plenty of rakes and rattles for friends and a fond father who owned a very successful racing stable near York. His jockeys were drawn from a keen circle of well-born young men who swarmed around the fair and voluptuous Veronique with a view, I supposed, to taking a share of what was on offer. Yes, I had seen the kind of favours she allowed, intimacies she didn't bother to hide from
me since she probably assumed I had done the same, at some stage. Such were the problems of being a man's mistress rather than his wife. I dare say she thought that that kind of behaviour would make Winterson all the keener.

However, she had a title and I was still, in her eyes, a mantua-maker's assistant with ideas beyond her station. But because I now had close ties to Winterson's family, which she did not, she saw me as a threat to her ambition to become his wife. I would like her to have understood, once and for all, how unnecessary her fears were, but the cool civility he had always extended to me was far from the uncertain reception she often had to put up with from him and, although that seemed not to deter her, it did little to help my cause either.