Mistress

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

AT SEVEN O'CLOCK THAT EVENING MARCUS SAT AT THE worktable in his laboratory and pondered the dilemma of how to turn a mistress into a wife.

It was a problem he had never thought to encounter. By comparison, the construction of clockwork mechanisms, telescopes, and hydraulic reservoir pens seemed quite simple.

He pushed aside the leather-bound notebook he had opened a few minutes earlier, leaned back in his chair, and propped his booted feet on the cluttered table.

Glumly he contemplated the clockwork butler which he had constructed last year. It stood silent and still, a silver salver in one wooden hand. On a whim, Marcus had painted a proper black coat and a white shirt on the automaton. He had even made an attempt to capture Lovelace's air of aristocratic disdain in the cold eyes and unsmiling mouth.

Life had seemed so simple until Iphiginia had appeared in his carefully regulated universe, Marcus thought.

As though she were a shooting star flashing through.the dark night, she had lit up the sky. But if he did not find a way to catch hold of her, she would either disintegrate in a shower of sparks or fall to earth with a devastating thud.

A knock on the door of the laboratory brought Marcus out of his reverie. "Enter."

"Marcus?" Bennet stuck his head around the door. "Thought you might he in here. Are you working?"

"No. Come in." Bennet walked into the room with his new languid, world-weary stride, closed the door, and approached the worktable. Marcus glanced at him and winced. His brother was very much the stormy-eyed poet again today.

Bennet's dark hair was carefully brushed into a careless, windswept tangle. His shirt was open at his throat and he was not wearing a neckcloth or a waistcoat.

"I trust you intend to put on a cravat before you go out," Marcus muttered. "You'll not he allowed into any ball or soiree tonight if you show up looking as though you just got out of bed."

"I have not yet dressed for the evening." Bennet went to the window and slouched against the frame, ennui personified. He stood gazing out into the garden with a moody expression.

"Was there something you wanted?" Marcus finally prompted.

Bennet looked at him with hooded eyes. "I came here to tell you that I have made a decision."

"You're going on a tour of the Continent?" Marcus asked without much hope.

"I, am going to ask Dorchester for Juliana's hand in marriage.

"Bloody bell." "Marcus, I have got to do it now. For God's sake, don't you understand? If I wait until I return from a tour of the Continent, Dorchester will have married her off to someone else.»

"Only if you are extremely fortunate." "Damn it to hell." Bennet swung around, his expression passionate. "I know that you do not care for Dorchester, but why must you also condemn his daughter? She's not at all like him."

"You think not?"

"She's a true lady. An innocent beauty whose spirit is as pure and untarnished as… as-"

"New fallen snow, perhaps?"

"I warn you, I will not tolerate any of your poor jests about her, Marcus." Bennet clenched his fist. "I intend to ask for her hand, do you comprehend?"

"God save us."

"Do you know what your problem is?"

"I have no doubt but what you will tell me." "You're a bloody cynic, that's what you are. just be

cause you choose to indulge yourself with outrageous little adventuresses such as Mrs. Bright, don't presume to judge a genuine innocent."

Marcus was out of his chair before Bennet even realized what was happening.

He vaulted over the table and crossed the room in two strides. He caught hold of Bennet's shoulder, shoved him hard against the wall, and pinned him there.

"Don't call her an adventuress," Marcus said softly. "What the hell?" Bennet's eyes widened in stunned

amazement. "She's merely another one of your paramours, for God's sake. Everyone knows that."

"She is my very good f6end," Marcus said. "An insult to her is an insult to me. Do you comprehend my meaning, brother?"

"Hell and damnation, yes." Bennet eyed him warily. "Yes, of course I comprehend you. I had no notion you were so touchy on the subject."

Marcus held Bennet against the wall for a moment longer and then released him abruptly. "Perhaps you had better leave. I have work to do and you obviously have plans of your own."

Bennet straightened his rumpled lapels and adjusted the cuffs of his coat. "I apologize for any offense."

"Apology accepted. Now kindly take your leave." "You cannot blame me for mistaking the situation. Your sentiments concerning Mrs. Bright appear to he far stronger than the ones you generally entertain toward your lady friends," Bennet observed.

"You would do well to remove yourself from this chamber before I lose my patience entirely."

Bennet angled his chin. "I'm going to do it, you know. I am going to seek Juliana's hand in marriage."

Marcus shrugged. "You have made it plain that nothing I say will dissuade you."

"Will you wish me luck?" There was a tentative note in Bennet's voice.

"I regret that I cannot do so." Marcus stood looking down at the mechanical butler. "I do not believe that you will find any lasting happiness with Juliana Dorchester."

"What would you know about finding happiness with a woman?" Bennet asked bitterly. "You have made so many bloody rules for yourself that you can no longer find any joy in your life."

"Get out of here, Bennet." "So he it. I will not ask for your good wishes, then." Bennet stalked toward the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. "Do you know something, brother? I believe that I actually feel sorry for you."

"Don't waste your sympathy on me. You will need it for yourself if you go through with this marriage to Juliana Dorchester."

Bennet went out of the chamber without a word. He slammed the door so hard that the electricity machine shuddered on its bench.

Marcus reached down and snapped the switch that released the springs within the mechanical man. Wheels and gears clanked and whirred as the clockwork butler jerked into action.

The automaton lurched blindly forward, silver salver extended.

Marcus watched the progress of the soulless creature as it crossed the laboratory. How easy it was to be an automaton, guided only by a mechanical spring.

The artificial man stared straight ahead, looking neither to the right nor to the left, heedless of what lay before it or behind it. It had no past and no future. Its present was governed by the inflexible rules of a mechanical universe.

It did not know pain.

But neither did it know joy.

"There is a small item in the morning papers concerning the death of Mrs. Wycherly," Zoe said. "No mention of her being a blackmailer, of course. Good lord, who would believe it?" She flung herself back against the elegant curve of her red velvet Roman sofa. "It is utterly astounding."

"It is the only conclusion that Masters and I were able to reach." Iphiginia picked up her teacup.

"I can hardly credit it," Zoe said. "It is simply too fantastical."

Lord Otis's bushy brows drew together in a considering scowl. "Has a certain logic to it when you think about it."

"Yes, it does," Amelia said. "It explains why Iphiginia could not discover a clear link between Guthrie's circle of friends and that of Lord Masters. There wasn't one."

"So much for all my clandestine searches for black sealing wax and a seal engraved with a phoenix." Iphiginia heaved a small sigh of regret. "I was so certain that I was on to something there."

"How positively brilliant of Masters to hit upon the notion of making inquiries into the whereabouts of our former paid companions," Zoe said in tones of great admiration.

Iphiginia rolled her eyes. "His original hypothesis was not entirely correct, you know. Neither of the companions proved to be the blackmailer."

"No, but his theory led straight to the real blackmailer," Otis observed. "Man has an excellent intellect."

Iphiginia made a face. "Yes, and he is well aware of it."

Amelia gave her one of her infrequent smiles. "I do believe that you are somewhat jealous, Iphiginia."

"Well, I was quite partial to my own hypothesis," she admitted. "Masters's notion is fascinating, however. And Otis is right, it's very logical. just think, all those years Mrs. Wycherley was using certain governesses and companions to collect damning information about some of the best families.»

"I never really cared for Miss Todd," Zoe said. "She had eyes that reminded me of a small rat. I did not retain her for long."

"You should have let her go much earlier than you did," Amelia remarked. "She was obviously around long enough to conclude that Maryanne was not Guthrie's daughter.»

"Obviously." Zoe shook her head. "One wonders how many other victims the woman had. Is every house in London infested with spies?"

"I doubt it." Iphiginia pursed her lips. "From all indications, Mrs. Wycherley was very selective and quite cautious, at least until recently. She no doubt chose her victims carefully.»

"Hah." Otis's whiskers twitched. "She made a serious blunder when she undertook to expand her list of victims to include my Zoe and a good friend of the Earl of Masters, by God."

"Yes," Iphiginia said. "She did." "Well, it's over at last, thank heavens." Zoe helped herself to a small pink cake from the tea tray. "Now we can get on with the Season. I confess I have had some difficulty planning Maryanne's marriage, what with this blackmail business hanging over my head."

Otis gave Iphiginia a shrewd look. "Masters is certain this is the end of the matter?"

Iphiginia hesitated. "He seems quite satisfied that it is."

"Well, then, that's the end of it," Otis declared. "Yes." Iphiginia rose to her feet and picked up her white bonnet. "Amelia and I must he on our way. We have an appointment with our man of affairs. Perhaps we shall see you at the theater later this evening."

"Very likely," Zoe said cheerfully. "What a relief it will be to be able to sit in my box without wondering if a blackmailer's eyes are fastened upon me."

"There's just one more thing." Iphiginia fixed each of the other three in turn with a deliberate look. "I trust that you all realize that merely because the blackmail situation is finished, nothing else has changed."

Zoe looked blank.",Whatever are you talking about, Iphiginia?"

"For all intents and purposes, I am still Mrs. Bright so far as Society is concerned."

"Damnation," Otis exclaimed. "She's right. Cannot go changing her identity at this point. She'd be ruined."

"We agreed at the beginning of this affair that when the matter was resolved I would disappear discreetly from the scene," Iphiginia said. "But I have changed my mind."

Zoe eyed her with grave interest. "You're going to finish the Season as Masters's mistress?"

"Yes." Zoe exchanged uneasy glances with Amelia and Otis. Then she turned back to Iphiginia. "Masters has agreed to this plan?"

"More or less," Iphiginia said airily. There was no point in telling them that Marcus had actually insisted on marriage. She feared that they would all side with him.

And Iphiginia knew that she could not possibly marry Marcus unless she could find a way to make him fall in love with her.

Discovering the identity of the blackmailer had been a simple matter compared with her new problem.

She was confronted with the daunting task of persuading Marcus to change his own rules.

Iphiginia was aware of Amelia's deep silence as they walked down the front steps of Zoe's town house. Her companion said nothing until they had each been handed up into Iphiginia's white and got carriage.

"Out with it, Amelia." Iphiginia settled back against the white velvet cushions and arranged her skirts. "What is troubling you?"

Amelia watched her closely. "I sensed that you hesitated when you told your aunt and Lord Otis that you were certain the blackmail matter was concluded. Something is worrying you."

The little carriage started to roll forward. Iphiginia looked out the window. It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon. The street was filled with fashionable carriages en route to the park.

"What bothers me," she said slowly, "is that Masters and I searched Mrs. Wycherley's desk before we left yesterday."

"So?" "So we did not discover a seal engraved with a phoenix. Nor did we find any sign of black wax in her wax jack."

"I can promise you that Constance Wycherley was many things, but she was no fool. She must have lived in constant fear of discovery. She would not have left any obvious evidence of her guilt lying about."

"That's what Marcus said. But if she was so very clever-shrewd enough to get away with blackmail, in point of fact-why did she make the serious mistake of trying to blackmail a friend of Masters? She must have known that she ran the risk of drawing him into the business.

"Perhaps she had gotten away with blackmail for so long that she had grown quite bold," Amelia suggested.

"Or perhaps she got greedier. She may have needed more money to cover gaming debts or some such thing. Who can say?"

"I suppose we shall never have all the answers." "Come, Iphiginia. You have already admitted that

what is really disturbing you now is that Masters's hypothesis was the correct one."

"My own was really quite good, you know."

"It was. It just happened to be the wrong hypothesis. Now that the affair is over, what do you intend to do about your other problem?"

"What other problem?"

"I heard what you said in Aunt Zoe's drawing room, but we both know that you cannot continue to masquerade as Masters's mistress indefinitely."

"I can carry on with it until the end of the Season." Iphiginia cleared her throat delicately. "And you may as well know that it is not, strictly speaking, a masquerade."

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 he 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 coded 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 bands.

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 he 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 he 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 he off. I find that I am very busy these days. Marriage plans are a great nuisance, I have discovered."

"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 title 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 t 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 he in a rather foul temper, sir."

"I am." Marcus glanced toward the stage as the lights dimmed. "Perhaps Kean's performance would 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 he 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 beard 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.