Mary Brendan - Regency Mistresses - A Practical Mistress / The Wanton Bride

One hour and five minutes later, when his brother and their friends had noisily departed, Jason descended the stairs of his opulent mansion in Grosvenor Square. He quite hoped his unwelcome visitor had tired of waiting for him and had removed herself. However, that would leave matters unresolved. He swore beneath his breath in exasperation. It would be as well if Mrs Kingston were still loitering about the place somewhere. Not by nature inhospitable, he nevertheless hoped that Cedric hadn’t been plying her with refreshment to wile away the time. Within one step of the marble-flagged hallway he halted, and watched curiously as Cedric emerged, shaking his head, from a cloakroom.

Cedric glanced up and, seeing his master’s bemused expression, hobbled across to glumly impart, ‘I am afraid she has gone, sir. Mrs Kingston can’t be found.’

‘Did you think she might be lurking in there?’

The mildly amused comment caused Cedric’s loose jowls to take on an unusual sanguinity.

Jason had hoped that Iris hadn’t been mollycoddled; from his butler’s guilty look it seemed he had little to fear on that score! ‘Where exactly did you show her to wait?’ he demanded to know.

Cedric’s withered lips puckered mutinously on understanding the reprimand in Sir Jason’s tone. He had been working for Hunters before this fellow was a twinkle in his sire’s eye. He was the old master’s servant, not this young pup’s. Sir Gordon Hunter had been happy to leave the welcome … or otherwise … of uninvited callers to his discretion. Had Sir Gordon been alive, the Kingston woman wouldn’t have put one foot over the threshold, let alone been given the courtesy of a seat. ‘Bold as brass and looking at me with those cat’s eyes …’ he mumbled out defensively. A watchful, watery eye slanted at his employer. He had been subjected to that scowl before, and caught the sharp side of the fellow’s tongue. Cedric now knew to quickly curb his insubordination, for he was aware the boy kept him on simply because his father had said he must.

‘Cat’s eyes?’ Jason echoed exceedingly quietly.

‘Eh?’ Cedric cocked his good ear towards his master.

‘You said she had cat’s eyes.’ Jason’s tone held much volume and scant patience.

‘Yellow … like a cat.’ It was a statement accompanied by a wag of Cedric’s head. He continued to mutter to himself. In his opinion he’d put the baggage where she belonged.

Jason frowned. He took little notice of Iris Kingston, avoided her when possible; nevertheless, he had been close enough at times to know her eyes were blue.

‘What else can you recall of her appearance?’

‘Thin … black hair … prim.’ Cedric listed out each trait as though it was a sin.

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he pondered on whom it could be the old fool had insulted. ‘And she gave her name as Mrs Kingston?’

‘Gave her name in full, she did. Mrs Margo May Kingston, she told me.’

The furrow in Jason’s brow deepened. He knew no other Mrs Kingston. If for some bizarre reason an impostor were masquerading as the Mrs Kingston he did know, she surely would introduce herself correctly. Noticing that Cedric was sliding wary glances at him, he dismissed him with a flick of a hand and a caution. ‘We’ll speak further about this.’

As Cedric trudged away Jason took out his watch. Diana was expecting him to traipse around the warehouses with her this afternoon and he was already late. If his tardiness provoked a fit of the sulks he might be sorely tempted to go instead to White’s and find some uncomplicated male company. He strode to the door, the question of his visitor’s identity now submerged beneath thoughts of another exasperating female. At times he doubted Diana’s delightful attributes were compensation enough for her juvenile nature.

‘Please accompany me inside, Jason. How am I to know if you would rather see me in blue satin or lemon silk …?’

Jason felt tempted to honestly say that he couldn’t care less in what Diana chose to garb herself. The only reason he paid for any woman’s finery was to see it in a crumpled heap on the floor. ‘If you can’t decide between them, buy both.’

Diana showed her pleasure at his generosity by sliding along the phaeton’s seat to rub her hip on his thigh.

Jason acknowledged the artful caress with a cynical twitch of the lips. He then tilted his head to watch a man beckoning him from across the street. ‘I’ll join you inside in a short while. Peter Wenham’s over there and I want to speak to him on a matter of business.’

Diana limited her pique to a pretty pout. A most pleasing aspect of having hooked such a distinguished and wealthy protector was being able to show him off to envious females. There was no better place to parade her triumph than in Baldwin’s Emporium, for women of every class were to be found browsing the sumptuous array of wares.

Diana’s sulky expression brightened when she spied an acquaintance of her own. Mrs Bertram was approaching with a servant trotting behind. Obviously the woman had started shopping early, for the poor maid was bearing evidence of numerous purchases.

Georgina Bertram was the mistress of Lord Frobisher and an erstwhile playmate of Diana’s. The two young women were of similar age and had been reared in rags in the shadow of the east London docks. Both had been blessed with abundant female charms and a most canny instinct on how to exploit such assets to escape the drudgery their mothers endured. They engaged in quite a good-natured rivalry when it came to finding rich gentlemen to keep them. With an affectionate squeeze for Jason’s arm, Diana nimbly alighted, with a groom’s help, from the smart phaeton. ‘Don’t be too long,’ she breathily nagged over a coquettish shoulder. Soon she was entering the shop arm in arm with Mrs Bertram.

Jason sprang down from his high-flyer and, with an instruction for his groom to handle the horses, made to cross the road. He’d barely taken two paces when a rickety vehicle pelted past, far too close. He fell back against his phaeton, aiming a voluble string of oaths at the cab driver’s head.

The jarvey seemed unaffected by being so eloquently damned and, with barely a look at his victim, continued blithely on his way. Obliquely it registered in Jason’s mind that a female passenger was within the contraption and that she seemed vaguely familiar. Suddenly she shifted closer to the window and from beneath a wide bonnet brim glared at him with large topaz eyes.

Helen sank back into the battered upholstery of the cab with her heart drumming wildly and a startled look on her face. She had not set eyes on Sir Jason Hunter for years, yet had recognised him instantly. Less than an hour ago the odious brute had snubbed her in an outrageous manner. He had allowed her into his house, then made her tarry in a cloakroom for an audience she was certain he had never intended bestowing. Hah! He’d been destined to see her after all! And be punished for treating her so abominably!

Now that the shock of the close shave had passed, she allowed a throaty chuckle. The Lord pays debts without money, her papa used to quote when some misfortune was visited on a deserving recipient. Sir Jason Hunter might have escaped being flattened by her conveyance, but he certainly looked as though his dignity had taken a knock.

On rare sightings in the past she had exchanged a nod with Jason Hunter. A feud might exist between him and her brother, he might now be rich and important, but he was gentleman enough to be polite. Or so she had previously thought when appreciating his good manners. Now she knew differently. He had become an arrogant boor since last they had acknowledged one another. It was a pity his uncouth character didn’t show in his appearance. She might have only had a brief look at him just now, but he was undeniably still a fine figure of a man. Suddenly a thought entered her head that made her squirm: she could understand why her sister-in-law was so smitten by him.