Mistress by Amanda Quick
Amelia studied her with shadowed eyes. “I was very much afraid of that.”
Iphiginia gripped the strings of her white lace reticule. “Do not worry about me, Amelia.”
“You are not only my cousin, you are my dearest friend. I cannot help but worry about you.”
“Concern yourself with the financial arrangements for Bright Place. It will prove infinitely more profitable.”
“He will discard you without a qualm when he grows tired of you. You know that, do you not?”
“Perhaps I shall grow tired of him first,” Iphiginia said lightly.
“I wish I could believe that. I do not suppose there is anything I can say that will dissuade you from continuing on with this reckless business?”
“No. But you may take heart from knowing that when the Season ends, my association with Masters will likely end also.”
“What will you do then?”
“Oversee the construction of Bright Place. Devote myself to my plans for a pattern book of classical designs.” Iphiginia smiled wistfully. “There are any number of interesting projects ahead of me, Amelia. I assure you that I shall not fall into a complete decline when my liaison with Masters is over.”
“I am well aware of how strong you are, Iphiginia. Still, I do not want to see you hurt.”
“It is too late to save me. I am determined to enjoy this grand adventure, Amelia. There will not be another one remotely similar to it, you know. Masters is quite unique.”
Marcus inclined his head aloofly when he saw Hannah and her husband in the theater lobby that evening. Sands glowered at him, nodded stiffly in return, and then pointedly turned away to greet someone else. It was not quite the cut direct, but it was close.
Hannah gave Marcus a nervous smile. There was a look of near-desperation in her eyes.
The glittering throng of theatergoers acted as a hunting box blind. It allowed Marcus to get very close to Hannah for a few vital seconds without arousing Sands’s suspicions.
“It’s finished,” Marcus whispered as he brushed past Hannah. “The blackmailer was Mrs. Wycherley. She is dead.”
Hannah searched his face. “I saw the news in the morning papers and wondered what had happened.” Her eyes widened suddenly. “Marcus, you did not—”
“No. I believe one of her victims did the deed.”
“Good heavens.”
“Come, my dear.” Sands took her arm. His eyes narrowed when he saw Marcus gliding on past his wife into the crowd. “I shall fetch you a glass of lemonade.”
Marcus pretended not to notice as Hannah was whisked away through the throng. He regretted the animosity that Sands felt toward him, but in truth he could not blame the man for his wary, watchful attitude. Marcus recognized that he experienced a similar sense of possessiveness toward Iphiginia these days.
He made his way through the lobby and went up the red-carpeted staircase. It was intermission. The corridor behind the first tier of boxes was nearly as crowded as the lobby.
Gentlemen bustled back and forth, fetching refreshments for their ladies. Others ambled out into the hall to exchange gossip with their cronies or visit those in neighboring boxes. A handful of young bucks brushed past Marcus. They were obviously on their way to call upon the elegant courtesans who displayed their wares in some of the most expensive boxes.
Marcus nodded to a few acquaintances as he walked along the curved corridor. When he reached the box on the end, he pushed aside the heavy curtain and stepped inside.
Dorchester, his sharp-eyed wife, and the lovely Juliana turned to stare in astonishment.
“Good evening,” Marcus said. “Enjoying the performance?”
Dorchester’s start of surprise became an expression of great caution. “Masters. Didn’t know you were attending tonight’s performance.”
“My lord. How nice to see you.” Beatrice Dorchester was clearly as stunned by Marcus’s appearance in the box as she would have been by the appearance of a ghost. “Juliana, make your curtsy to his lordship.”
Juliana leaped to her feet as though she had been jolted by a spark from an electricity machine. “My lord.”
“Mrs. Dorchester. Miss Juliana.” Marcus surveyed them both briefly. “You’re both looking very fine this evening.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Mrs. Dorchester was almost painfully relieved by his civility. “Won’t you sit down for a few moments? Pray, take the seat next to Juliana.”
“Thank you. I believe I will.”
He sat down carefully on one of the spindly little chairs. It groaned in protest, but it did not crumple beneath his weight. “I understand Kean is in excellent form tonight.”
“Yes, indeed. The man can certainly act even when he’s in his cups,” Dorchester said with an air of hearty good humor.
“Just as well, as he is as drunk as a wheelbarrow most of the time, from all accounts,” Marcus said.
“Yes, well, you know how it is with these actors,” Dorchester murmured. “Very unstable lot.”
“They’re not the only ones who are unstable.” Marcus surveyed the vast theater. He ignored the crowded pit and the galleries and concentrated on the tiers of boxes. He spotted Iphiginia immediately.
She glowed in a classically simple white gown. White plumes wafted gracefully from her hair, which was parted in the middle and neatly coiled over her ears. A crystal necklace sparkled around her throat.
She was not alone in the box. Amelia sat on her left. As Marcus watched, the curtains behind the two women parted. Herbert Hoyt entered, dapper as always in a blue coat, paisley waistcoat, and pleated trousers. He held a glass of lemonade in each of his gloved hands.
Mrs. Dorchester lurched into conversation with the awkwardness of a clockwork toy. “Lovely weather we’re having, is it not, my lord?”
“Yes,” Marcus said.
“Juliana and I took a turn about the park this afternoon, didn’t we, Juliana?” Mrs. Dorchester continued with dogged determination.
“Yes, Mama.” Juliana clutched her fan as though she feared Marcus might reach out and snatch it from her. “It was quite pleasant.” She brightened. “We saw your brother, sir.”
“Did you?”
Juliana flinched at Marcus’s tone. Mrs. Dorchester gave her husband an urgent look.
Dorchester manfully attempted to carry his share of the burden of conversation. “I trust you are well, sir?”
“Very,” Marcus said.
“Excellent, excellent,” Dorchester said with artificial enthusiasm. “Glad to hear it.”
Marcus watched Iphiginia take a sip from the glass Hoyt had handed to her. “I am feeling in such remarkably good health, in fact, that I have decided to marry.”
A stunned silence greeted that remark.
Dorchester gaped. It took him several seconds to get his jaws closed. “Thought you’d determined not to remarry, sir. Thought you had a rule about it or some such thing.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Marcus said. “A friend of mine has convinced me that some rules are made to be broken.”
“I see.” Dorchester collected himself. “Well, then. My heartiest congratulations. I say, this news will certainly cause a stir.”
Juliana glanced at her father and mother and then smiled tremulously at Marcus. “I wish you every happiness in your marriage, sir.”
Marcus raised one brow. “Thank you, Miss Dorchester.”
Mrs. Dorchester narrowed her beady eyes. “Will you be announcing the betrothal in the near future, my lord?”
“In the very near future,” Marcus assured her.
Dorchester scowled. “Who is the lucky young lady, if I may be so bold?”
“I am not at liberty to announce that yet. There are still a number of details to arrange. Settlements and the like. You understand, I’m certain.”
“Of course,” Dorchester said weakly. “Settlements. Very important.”
“Quite.” Marcus got to his feet. “Pray excuse me. I must be off. I find that I am
“They are?” Mrs. Dorchester narrowed her eyes.
“Yes, indeed,” Marcus said. “One must completely redo one’s will, for example, in order to provide for one’s future wife and potential offspring.”
“Offspring?” Mrs. Dorchester repeated in a numb tone.
“One must do one’s duty when there is a tide involved,” Marcus reminded her. “And then there is the matter of adjusting the incomes of the other members of one’s family.”
“Adjusting them in what way?” Mrs. Dorchester asked swiftly.
“Downward, naturally,” Marcus said. “The family fortune must be concentrated in the hands of my heir in order to preserve and protect it.”
“I thought your brother was your heir, sir,” Dorchester said.
“Yes, well, that will change now that I’m going to marry, won’t it? With any luck I shall have a son of my own to inherit the title and the fortune.”
Mrs. Dorchester appeared shaken. “I see.”
“My brother will continue to receive a reasonable allowance, naturally. Just as he always has.” Marcus pushed aside the curtain and stepped out of the box. He turned back to smile at the three Dorchesters. “Unless, of course, he marries without my approval.”
“Beg pardon?” Dorchester looked stricken.
“I feel quite strongly that, for the sake of his future, Bennet must find himself an heiress. After all, he will have the future of his own offspring to consider.”
“Offspring?” Dorchester was clearly dazed.
“It always comes down to that, does it not?” Marcus went out into the corridor. The heavy curtains fell closed behind him.
He followed the curving corridor to the far side of the theater where Iphiginia’s box was located.
Herbert Hoyt stepped into the hall just as Marcus reached out to take hold of the curtain.
“I say. Beg pardon.” Hoyt hastily got out of the way. “Good evening, Masters. Didn’t mean to nearly run you down. Damn crowded out here in the corridor, is it not?”
“Yes.” Marcus went into the box and let the curtain fall.
“Good evening, Iphiginia. Miss Farley.” Marcus took one of the small chairs without waiting to be asked.
“My lord,” Amelia murmured politely. She turned away to watch the activity in the pit.
It occurred to Marcus that Amelia cut him in the same subtle manner that Sands often used. He was not a very popular person these days.
Iphiginia smiled with welcome. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Good evening, my lord. I thought I saw you sitting in the Dorchester box a few minutes ago.”
“I had a few words with Dorchester.” Marcus extended his legs and scowled briefly. “Why the devil is it that I find myself forever tripping over Hoyt? He seems to spend a great deal of time in your vicinity.”
Iphiginia gave a dainty shrug. The crystals around her throat glittered with colorless fire. “Mr. Hoyt is a friend. And he is quite harmless. You know that, my lord.”
“He’s a damned nuisance.”
Iphiginia’s brows rose. “You appear to be in a rather foul temper, sir.”
“I am.” Marcus glanced toward the stage as the lights dimmed. “Perhaps Kean’s performance will put me in a more cheerful frame of mind.”
“Let us hope so.” Iphiginia gave him a quizzical glance before she turned to look down at the stage.
Kean was in excellent form in the role of Macbeth, but even his riveting skill could not shake Marcus’s dark mood.
What he really wanted to do, Marcus realized, was talk to Iphiginia. He wanted to tell her about Bennet’s stubborn determination to marry Juliana Dorchester.
He needed to confide his uneasiness to her, get her opinion, ask her if she thought he had done the right thing by trying to discourage Dorchester tonight.
But the ability to share his problems with another person was a skill that had gone to rust years ago. It had been so long since he had asked for advice or confessed uncertainty or simply requested another’s opinion that he did not even know how to go about it.
In any event, his rules did not allow him to exhibit weakness.
In the middle of the last scene of Macbeth the curtain of the box was jerked abruptly aside. Bennet stalked into the small sitting area. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. His face was a mask of fury.
“Damn you, Marcus. I shall never forgive you for this. Never. I know what you are about and it will not work. Do you hear me? You cannot stop me from marrying Juliana.”
Marcus turned slowly, aware of Iphiginia’s and Amelia’s astonishment.
“You appear to have forgotten your manners,” Marcus said mildly. “Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Bright and Miss Farley.”
Bennet cast a scathing glance at Iphiginia. “Why should I bother with good manners in the presence of your mistress when you cannot be bothered to exercise them in front of my future wife and the members of her family?”
“Enough.” Marcus got to his feet. “I have warned you, Bennet. We will discuss this later.”
“There is nothing to discuss. I should have known that you would try your damnedest to ruin my happiness? But oddly enough, it did not occur to me that you would go to these lengths. I understand that you plan to disinherit me.”
“We will deal with this when we can be private,” Marcus said very evenly.
“Do you think I give a bloody damn whether or not you cut me off? I can make my own way in the world. And Juliana knows it. She has faith in me, even if you and her father do not.”
“If you are determined to make a scene, then we shall adjourn to the street.”
“There is no need. I’m leaving now.” Bennet’s mouth curved in an angry sneer. “By the bye, allow me to congratulate you, brother. I comprehend that you are soon to announce your own betrothal.”
Marcus heard Iphiginia’s small, shocked gasp. He did not look at her. His entire attention was fixed on his brother. “That is correct.”
“The entire theater is already abuzz with the news. You must have been truly desperate to halt my plans for marriage if you have gone so far as to break your most firmly established rule.”
“Bennet, that is enough.”
“But that part of your plan won’t work, either. Juliana will marry me regardless of whether or not I stand to inherit your damned title. You’ll see. She loves me, not the bloody earldom. Which is more than you’ll be able to say about your future wife, whoever she is.”
Bennet whirled around and stormed out of the box.
FOURTEEN
IPHIGINIA SAT VERY STILL ON THE BLACK SQUABS OF MARcus’s ebony carriage. The interior lamps were unlit. Marcus filled most of the opposite seat with his large frame. He had one long leg stretched out along the cushion. The other boot was planted on the floor. There was a dangerous, morose quality about him.
He had said no more than a dozen words since they had left the theater a few minutes earlier. Most of those had been primarily commands to Dinks.
Iphiginia had not been allowed to see the end of Kean’s performance. Marcus had muttered something about avoiding the crush of theater traffic, but Iphiginia knew that was not the primary reason he wished to leave early.
When he had brusquely ordered her to accompany him, she had seen the doubt and disapproval in Amelia’s eyes. But Iphiginia had quietly agreed. Amelia had remained behind in Zoe and Otis’s box. They would see her home.
There had been a thousand questions in Zoe’s eyes when Iphiginia and Marcus had escorted Amelia to the box. Iphiginia had ignored them. She knew her aunt had already heard the rumors of Marcus’s betrothal, but she had no explanations or answers to give her.
When the carriage moved into the street, Marcus finally broke the thick silence.
“I regret that you were subjected to that unfortunate scene in your theater box.” He gazed out into the night. “My brother appears to be immersed in a rat
“Marcus, I think you owe me an explanation.”
“Mmm.”
Iphiginia waited for a few seconds. Marcus said nothing.
“Well?” she finally prompted.
“Well, what?” Marcus did not look away from the window.
Iphiginia made a heroic effort to compose herself in patience. “Well, what is the explanation for that scene in my theater box?”
Marcus hesitated, as though about to tread on uncertain ground.
“I am aware of the fact that you have a rule against explaining your actions to anyone,” Iphiginia said. “But I really think that in this instance—”
“Bennet believes himself to be passionately in love with Juliana Dorchester.”
“And you do not approve of the match?”
Marcus finally glanced at her. “How did you guess?”
“It wasn’t difficult.”
“It’s Dorchester’s fondest wish to shore up the family’s flagging fortunes by marrying his daughter into money. Mrs. Dorchester’s primary goal is to get a title into the family. Together they have contrived to hurl Juliana at every wealthy, titled gentleman in the ton for the past two Seasons.”
“Including you?”
“Last Season I was a target for a short period.” Light from a passing coach glinted briefly on the starkly etched planes of Marcus’s grim features. “Dorchester went so far as to attempt to force me into a compromising position with his own daughter.”
“Good grief. What happened?”
“I won’t go into details. It was a shabby little plot, ill-conceived and extremely transparent. Suffice it to say, the attempt failed.”
“I see.” There was a distinct chill in the air. Iphiginia pulled her white lace shawl a little more securely around her bare shoulders. “I collect that you escaped unscathed.”
“Yes.”
“Unlike the other night in the Pettigrews’ Temple of Vesta when you did not discover the truth until too late.”
There was a short, brittle pause. Marcus eventually stirred in the manner of a large beast of prey seeking a more comfortable position. He leaned his head back against the cushion, narrowed his eyes, and folded his arms across his chest.