The Kiss of a Viscount (The Daughters of the Aristocracy) (22 page)

Chapter 20
Meeting a Mistress for the Very First Time

Suddenly nervous and wondering for at least the tenth time that day what she was thinking when she made the odd request of George Bennett-Jones, Elizabeth took a quick look in the cheval mirror. She might have been wearing a dinner gown, its peacock silk overskirt shimmering in the early evening light from the nearby window, but with only a pair of drawers and stocking and without a corset or even a chemise beneath, she felt almost naked.

Oh, what was I thinking
? she asked herself again. She could, of course, simply send a note of regret with whoever was in the coach when it came to fetch her. It was a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, after all. But what a coward she would seem to be if she backed out now! And she might be many things, but ‘coward’ was not on the list. What if George had had plans and suddenly changed them to accommodate her request? But, no,
he
had been the one to set the time and place. She had merely made the request, and implored him as a friend to consider it. But come to think on it some more, she hadn’t really
begged
. She’d merely told him what she wanted.

And not in her typical Elizabeth Carlington manner.

She’d been so nervous she could barely walk and breathe at the same time. That George had so readily agreed to her request had surprised her; she expected him to request some time to think on it before giving her an answer, and then, after an interminable two or three days, probably give her his regrets, saying he could not in good conscious do something so salacious to a lady of the
ton
.

And the biggest surprise of all – he intended to ask for her hand in marriage if she did not accept the earl’s suit! Did he say that out of a sense of honor? For what he planned to do to her went far beyond kissing – it would be considered ruination by almost anyone. He promised he would leave her a virgin, a condition she hadn’t even considered. She must have sounded like a wanton when she made her request! But, if he found her curiosity anything out of the ordinary, he did not indicate it in his response nor in how he behaved toward her the rest of the afternoon.

“Lady Charlotte’s town coach has arrived, miss,” Anna said from the doorway. “Looks to be fairly new.” She gave her mistress a quick look and added a hairpin where a curl threatened to come loose. “What will you take for a wrap? It may get a bit chilly later, and I think it’s about to rain.”

Anna always thought it was about to rain. Trouble was, she was usually right. This was England. And it rained more often than not.

Butterflies were circling inside Elizabeth as she considered what to wear over her gown. “My mantle with the hood,” she replied finally, knowing it would seem redundant to wear the peacock-feathered bonnet and her hood over it, but hiding her identity might prove more important at two o’clock in the morning than any fashion faux pax.

“Very good, my lady,” Anna said, coming out of the dressing room with the long wool cape. “Are you going to the theatre then?” she wondered as she helped drape the mantle around Elizabeth’s shoulders.

“That’s the plan, although with Lady Charlotte, who knows? We may end up spending the evening playing cards. No need to wait up. I can undress myself.”

With that comment better matching what she had written to Charlotte Bingham in her earlier correspondence, Elizabeth took her leave and boldly walked out to the waiting coach.

It was a beautiful town coach – unmarked, shiny and jet black with no evidence it had ever been used before this evening. A footman held the door open for her as she joined a woman she expected to be one of George’s maids. Instead she found a very attractive woman of about forty, dressed in an expensive carriage gown of green wool and sporting a very fashionable matching hat with green feathers. Elizabeth took the seat opposite the woman, in the direction of travel, settling herself into fine leather squabs and sighing as she realized the trip to George’s house would be very comfortable.

The woman’s expression was friendly as she regarded Elizabeth.

“Hello,” Elizabeth said a bit uncertainly, wondering at first if she was climbing into someone else’s coach. Then it dawned on her. As a member of the
ton
, Elizabeth would be expected to make the first introduction, even though the other woman was obviously older. “I am Elizabeth Carlington,” she said as she held out her right hand and gave the woman a tentative smile.

The woman took her hand and shook it, her eyes taking in Elizabeth without seeming to do so. “Lady Elizabeth,” she nodded in turn, her head cocking to one side. “Forgive me, but you are at least as beautiful as George described,” she said with a bit of awe in her voice. “I thought he was exaggerating.” She’d seen Elizabeth many times over the years, of course, but not like this. Not since her coming out. Not since she had changed from a girl fresh out of the schoolroom into a woman.

Elizabeth’s mouth formed that perfect little ‘o’ as she heard the words and realized the identity of the woman. “Are you ... Josephine, perhaps?” she ventured carefully, studying the elegant visage before her.

Shutting her eyes for an instant, Josephine hissed. “I apologize, my lady. I  have been so nervous about meeting you, I’ve gone and forgotten my manners. I am Josephine Wentworth,” she admitted with a nod, her air of confidence momentarily gone.

“Oh, please call me Elizabeth. George told me you are his best friend,” she insisted as she leaned forward a bit.
I’ve seen this woman before!
“Pardon me, but haven’t I seen you at the house? In conference with my father, perhaps?” she wondered, trying to remember the circumstances.
In the study
. She was dressed in widow’s weeds, saying something about an earl while her father sat behind his desk and drank brandy.
In the morning
.

A bit wary, Josephine regarded the younger woman. “George said that?” she asked in a quiet voice, deciding to address the comment about George saying she was his best friend before deciding how best to explain her visit to Elizabeth’s father. She tore her gaze from Elizabeth’s for a moment, not quite sure what to say. She’d expected the woman to be an uppity, spoiled rotten child, and instead, Elizabeth seemed friendly and approachable. “As to my visit with your father, I was simply there to warn him about a potential political opponent. Politics are a ... hobby of mine,” she added, not expecting Elizabeth to understand.

Elizabeth noted the woman’s sudden change in comportment, the way she worried the fabric of her gown between her gloved fingers, the way her eyes had trouble focusing on her.
Have I embarrassed her?
“George also mentioned your prior relationship with him,” she offered carefully, her voice as neutral as possible. She knew she shouldn’t share a coach with a woman of ill repute, but George had said he was no longer employing a mistress, which meant he was no longer employing
her
as a mistress. And the woman had been in her home, conversing with her father. Apparently not in the capacity of a mistress.
Politics are a hobby ...

All the air seemed to go out of Josephine just then, her beautiful features showing disappointment. Elizabeth thought the woman might cry. “I apologize. Perhaps I misunderstood ...”

“You did not,” Josephine hurried to interrupt her. Her head was shaking from side to side. “It is time for George to marry, and as much as I adore the man, and I do very much, I am far too old and set in my ways to consider him for a husband,” she explained, a brittle smile on her lips. “Perhaps you will allow me to continue as his friend ... that is, if you end up becoming his wife. I do hope you won’t banish me ...”

“Of course not,” Elizabeth interrupted, a bit surprised at the mention that she might become George’s wife.
George must have told her everything! Which means he is truly serious about asking for my hand if I do not accept the earl’s suit
! “He values you. Values your friendship and your opinions very much. I would hope we could ... be friends,” she added, wondering if her words sounded terribly naïve to the woman who was obviously far more worldly than Elizabeth. And whatever was she thinking to say they could be
friends
? Josephine Wentworth was a mistress! A lady couldn’t be seen hosting a lady of the evening! Perhaps she wasn’t well known as a mistress, though, Elizabeth considered. She certainly looked respectable, what with her beautiful carriage gown and bonnet and a pretty face that did not sport much in the way of cosmetics.

But now wasn’t the time to be thinking about the mistress. She needed to know more about George! “Might I ask a question about George?” Elizabeth wondered then, thinking that the woman before her probably knew more about the man than anyone else.

A wan smile appeared on Josephine’s face. “Of course. I expect you have dozens. George said you’d only just met a few nights ago.”

Elizabeth reeled at that. It
had
only been a few nights. Two balls at which the worst and most wonderful things had happened. “Did George tell you why I am visiting him at his house tonight?”

Sighing, Josephine caught a lower lip with a tooth. “He said you had a curiosity about pleasure and that you were coming for dinner.”

Elizabeth could feel her face heat up with embarrassment. “Oh, dear,” she replied, her eyes flitting nervously around the coach. “Do you ... think me wanton? For wondering about ... about pleasure, I mean?”

The former mistress smiled sadly. “No, my darling. I should be worried if you did not.”

Well, this was unexpected.
“And, does
George
think I am wanton?”

Josephine giggled, the musical sound of it at odds with her elegant manner. “I rather doubt it. One of the reasons he is so enamored with you is that you are not a frail, fraidy kitten. You apparently know what you want and are willing to go after it,” she added with an arched eyebrow, daring Elizabeth to counter the assessment.

“I assure you, I have
never
done anything like this before,” Elizabeth breathed, her nervousness returning. “I just ... I do not want to go through life wondering what might have been if I end up married to a man who kisses like a dog and employs multiple mistresses.”

Josephine sat up straighter, obviously surprised by the odd comment. Of course, she knew the identity of Elizabeth’s subject. “Oh, my. You’re not speaking of the Earl of Trenton by any chance, are you?” she wondered, her expression taking on a painful grimace.

Her own eyes widening, Elizabeth nodded. “Why, yes. There’s been talk he plans to ask for my hand. Although my father says he has not yet asked his permission to do so.”

Shaking her head in disgust, Josephine pretended to be interested in something outside the coach. “One of my friends is a mistress to Trenton. I would never put up with him myself, for I cannot tolerate lickers ...” She paused, and Elizabeth heard her quick inhalation of breath. “I apologize.”

“Please, do not. Tell me what you were about to say,” Elizabeth insisted. “I must know of his proclivities. I already know about his ... wet kisses,” she said with a hint of disgust.

Attempting to stifle a giggle, Josephine rolled her eyes. “There are times – and places on your body – where you will find it is ... appropriate for a man to ... lick you. Trenton does not seem to have those sorted just yet. Which is why his three mistresses tend to keep him talking as much as possible so there is little time for him to engage in kissing and such,” she added with a hint of delight. Oh, what tactics mistresses could employ to tolerate their protectors!

Her mouth forming a little ‘o’, Elizabeth stared at the older woman. “Oh, dear,” she finally breathed, a feeling of unease crawling through her. The coach suddenly stopped, and from the gentle bump she felt, she realized the driver had dismounted. She could hear the click of his heels on the cobbles as he walked to the door. Staring at Josephine, Elizabeth could feel her confidence waning even before the door opened.

Why was she suddenly nervous?
George is the one who is smitten with me
. She only thought to take advantage of his offer and learn as much as she could before agreeing to marry the Earl of Trenton. The fact that George Bennet-Jones wanted her as a wife did not figure in her reasons for seeing him this evening.

Josephine saw Elizabeth’s discomfort and leaned forward to take one of the younger woman’s hands in hers. “He will not hurt you. He will not take your virtue. He just wants to give you what you want. What you asked for,” she said in an urgent voice. “And I beg you, please, do not hurt him.”

Elizabeth had to force her mouth to close upon hearing Josephine’s last words.
Do not hurt him?

Whatever could I do to hurt him?

Chapter 21
A Dinner to Remember

The door to the coach opened. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth nodded to George’s best friend, pulled her mantle hood over her bonnet, and stepped out of the coach. She waited for Josephine to step out of the coach, but the driver was already closing the door. When Elizabeth turned around to face the house, she gazed up in astonishment. In the center, an arched portico was supported by two Grecian columns, their alabaster finish so bright and untouched by soot, Elizabeth thought they must be new or, at the very least, recently cleaned. Brass fittings on the forest green painted double doors were polished to a sheen, the lion head of the knocker reflecting the light from the gas lamps on either side of the doors. The sense of newness was pervasive, even the cut stone steps beneath her feet seemed as if a mason had placed them only last week and she was the first to step on them.

Had the house just been built?

She was sure she would have noticed its construction when on her carriage rides to Hyde Park. No, this house had been here all along, perhaps in a shabbier state, she thought at she regarded the potted topiary trees flanking the front doors. Even their spiral design was perfect in scale and trim, making her think a gardener had been on duty only moments ago. Everything about the exterior of the house suggested its owner came from wealth or had inherited an estate worth thousands.
George must be rich
. A quick look around the nearby homes confirmed she was on Park Lane. George Bennett-Jones was indeed rich if he could afford a townhouse here in Mayfair! Or, perhaps he merely let the property. Even so, the rent would be exorbitant!

Before she’d reached the wide landing at the top of the steps, she noticed the large pots of topiary trees were flanked by smaller pots of colorful flowers. Aware of the coach pulling out of the drive, she turned to watch it leave, suddenly wondering if the coach belonged to George or to Josephine. A town coach was expensive. Extremely expensive. And that one was so new, she was probably only one of a few to sit in its plush leather seats.

One of the double doors opened to reveal a brightly lit vestibule, it’s golden walls shimmering with candlelight. It wasn’t until she was over the threshold that she realized the man at the door was not a butler but George himself, dressed in dark superfine and sporting a cravat that was so perfectly tied, she was tempted to hook a finger into the knot and jerk it apart. The thought brought a smile to her face, one that George countered with his own.

She walked to him, glided by him as he stepped aside to give her room, and turned to curtsy when he shut the door and bowed.

“Welcome to my home, Lady Elizabeth,” he said quietly, closing the front door before he reached down to take her gloved hand and brush his lips over the bent knuckles. “May I take your mantle, my lady?” he asked then, watching Elizabeth as her eyes darted about the entry.

George was impeccably dressed, she decided, her gaze taking in the long dark blue satin dinner jacket over a silver waistcoat topped with a black silk cravat. His breeches matched the dinner jacket and ended where silver stockings began, their fabric straining due to his muscular calves. Aware of his gaze on her and not wanting him to think she was staring, she redirected her attention to the accoutrements of the well-appointed entry, occasionally glancing in his direction as if she did not believe what she saw.

George found her gaze amusing at first, her eyes so wide and innocent, but then he wondered if he’d grown horns and a tail ending in a trident.

He very nearly moved his hand to his head to check.

Elizabeth absently removed the catch from the frog at her throat. Lifting the hood from over her bonnet, she pulled the mantle from around one shoulder. “Yes, thank you. Could you please let Mr. Bennett-Jones know Lady Elizabeth has come to call?” she said lightly, hoping a bit of levity would help her retain a sense of control. She would need to cling to that little bit of control to get through the night.

Smiling in that way Elizabeth found made him look so handsome, George lifted her mantle from her other shoulder and had to close his eyes a moment. Her teal gown, the perfect contrast to her auburn hair, was cut low in the front to reveal her deep cleavage and was just as low cut in the back, its deep v ending in the middle of her back. The tiny matching bonnet, adorned with peacock feathers, was pinned at a fashionable angle in the mass of curls. He realized almost immediately that the bonnet was
the
bonnet – the one he had purchased on her behalf, he hoped without her knowledge. Or her father’s. “I would, my lady, but I have strict instructions to take you to the library for champagne,” he said with a hint of mischief.