Ann Lethbridge - More Than a Mistress

‘None at all, I believe,’ replied Merry, who always felt like a giant next to her friend. ‘Do not worry, the women can stay here for as long as is needed.’

She paced the length of the drawing room and came back to face Caro. ‘I’m so sorry I could not convince them.’

Caro gently touched her friend’s gloved hand. ‘It is not your fault. We will find another way.’

‘I wish I knew how.’

‘We will think of something. What is our visitor like?’

A generous change of topic given Caro’s disappointment. Merry filled her lungs with air. ‘Tonbridge? Handsome, I suppose. Rather disapproving of me, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s because he doesn’t know you.’

If he knew her, he’d be more disapproving than ever. She sat beside her friend. ‘I hope he doesn’t take too long. I’m starving.’ She looked at the clock. In one minute the hour would be up.

Tonbridge stepped through the door. He had shaved and changed from his driving clothes into a form-fitting blue evening coat, starched white cravat and ivory waistcoat. His tight buff pantaloons fitted like a second skin over muscle and bone. One would never guess from his languidly fashionable form he had recently heaved a wrecked carriage off the road single-handed.

He’d looked magnificent, like Atlas supporting the world.

‘Come in, Lord Tonbridge,’ Merry said. ‘Let me introduce you to my dear friend and companion, Mrs Caroline Falkner.’

‘I am pleased to meet you, Mrs Falkner.’ Tonbridge made his bows, gracious, elegant and formal. Coolly distant. The highborn nobleman meeting the unwashed masses. No wonder Caroline looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

‘I hope my unexpected arrival is not a dreadful inconvenience,’ he said, moving to stand beside the fire.

Polite blankness hid Caroline’s thoughts. She sounded calm enough when she spoke. ‘I am so grateful you were on hand to help Miss Draycott.’ She rose to her feet. ‘I hope the servants took good care of you?’ She went to the console on the far side of the room.

‘Excellent care,’ he said.

‘And your quarters are to your liking?’ Merry asked.

‘Indeed.’

A consummate liar. Merry hid her smile. Like the rest of the house, the green guest chamber was a nightmare of ostentation.

‘Let me pour you a libation to warm you after your ordeal,’ Caroline said. ‘Sherry for you, Merry?’ She turned to look at Tonbridge. ‘A brandy, my lord?’

Tonbridge was looking at Caroline with a frown of puzzlement. And no wonder. Caro’s ladylike airs and modest appearance would seem at odds with this house of gross opulence.

Oppressive scarlet velvet curtains, gilt scattered with abandon, garish fabrics on the floors and wildly patterned silk on the walls—she could almost see Tonbridge wince as he looked around.

Grandfather had wanted no one to underestimate his wealth.

‘Takes a lot of brass to fill a room like this,’ she said.

His gaze came back to her face. ‘Beauty needs no adornment.’ Mischief gleamed in his eyes. Not the reaction she’d expected. The man had a sense of humour lurking beneath that haughty lift of his deeply cleft chin.

Dash it. She did not want to like him. It would only lead to embarrassment. He was simply being polite. A gentleman. No doubt when he joined his friends, he would have a mocking tale to tell.

Oh, how she’d like to peel off the polite veneer and reveal his true nature. Prove she was right and stop her foolish heart’s flutters every time he sent that cool dark glance her way.

‘A pox on your sherry,’ Merry said with a quick laugh. ‘'Tis brandy for me. I vow I am still chilled to the bone. Perhaps you would prefer a dish of tea, my lord?’

As she’d expected, Tonbridge turned with a frown. Clearly she’d shocked him with her teasing. Blasted nobility. They thought everyone who didn’t conform to their idea of polite society to be beneath them. While they gambled away their fortunes, men like her grandfather accumulated great wealth by hard work. He could look down his nose all he liked, she wasn’t ashamed of her background.

A small smile curved his lips, a brief softening of his harsh features and her heart gave a lurch, the kind that hurt and felt good at the same time. Not a feeling to have around such a powerful man. If he sensed it, he would see it as weakness.

‘Brandy would be equally welcome to me, Miss Draycott,’ he said.

Did nothing put him out, or did he just never show it? Too well bred. Too reserved. ‘Call me Merry,’ she said, as she had on the moors, an inner wildness overcoming good sense. ‘Everyone does. I hate formality, don’t you?’

He looked more than a little startled at that, which gave her a moment of satisfaction.

He responded cheerfully enough. ‘As you wish, Merry.’ He didn’t offer his own first name. She guessed he’d already placed their relative stations in life and knew he was far above their touch.

Caroline poured the brandy. Merry took both glasses and handed one to Tonbridge. ‘To my knight in shining armour,’ she toasted boldly and tossed off the fiery liquid. It burned its way to her stomach.

She really didn’t need any more heat. The proximity of this man made her skin glow. She cocked a challenging brow.

He raised his glass, a smile curving his finely drawn mouth. ‘To a lovely maiden in distress.’

More devastating charm. He must practise in front of the mirror, the way the girls practised simpering before the glass at school.

He took a cautious sip and then nodded. ‘Excellent.’ He swallowed a mouthful.

‘My grandfather kept a very fine cellar,’ she said, not without a little pride. Grandfather might have lacked town bronze, as the ton called it, but he knew quality. Unfortunately, he had no sense of style. Hence the costly but dreadful décor.

Gribble opened the door. ‘Dinner is served, miss.’

Tonbridge held out both arms. ‘Ladies?’

Gribble’s grey brows shot up, wrinkling his forehead.

Speechless, Merry looked at Caroline, who lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. As usual her hazel eyes gave nothing away. Merry had found Caroline serving at an inn in York and had instantly seen her predicament. A well-bred lady brought low. She’d offered her the position of companion on the spot. But Caroline never talked about her past. And she rarely offered an opinion.

Not that Merry relied on anyone else’s judgement. Grandfather would never allow it. She made her own decisions.

She placed her hand on his right forearm and Caroline did the same on his left. As they walked, she glanced at his face and saw nothing but bland politeness. And that made her nervous. Because politeness hid lies and knives in the back.

She had a strategy for dealing with practised deceit, developed after years of misery. Frontal attack.

‘Is this your first visit to Yorkshire, my lord?’ Caroline asked when the food was served and the butler had withdrawn.

Tonbridge paused in his carving of the roast duck and smiled politely. ‘Not at all. I came here often in my youth with my family. It has been some years since my last visit, I must say.’

‘Lucky for me you chose today,’ Merry said, fluttering her eyelashes in a fair emulation of the girls she’d despised at school.

Caroline cast her a startled look.

Tonbridge continued carving. ‘It seems we were both lucky. I doubt I would have made it to Skepton in the snow and I would never have found hospitality on so grand a scale elsewhere in the wilds of the moors.’

Grand meaning horribly bourgeois, no doubt.

‘May I help you to some of this fine bird, Mrs Falkner?’ he asked.

‘Thank you,’ Caroline said.