The Perfect Mistress Read online

Julia stared. “I don’t recall blackmail being mentioned nor would I consider such a thing.”

  “You should,” Veronica said, “although blackmail might be the wrong word as it implies something, well, wrong.”

  Julia’s brows drew together. “Probably because it is.”

  “What did I suggest?” Portia said.

  “You said some people have very long memories.” Veronica nodded at Julia. “There are no doubt any number of people who would prefer that past scandals stay in the past.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Julia waved away the comment. “You said it yourself. My great-grandmother’s adventures were half a century ago. No one cares about those scandals now but hopefully they are interesting to read. However, I shall allow you to judge for yourself.” She selected a section she had copied and handed it to Veronica. “This chapter is about a gentleman related to you.”

  “How delightful,” Veronica murmured, and paged idly through the pages.

  “Isn’t there anything in there about a relation of mine?” Portia craned her neck to peer at the manuscript.

  Julia shook her head. “Not that I’ve found thus far.”

  “We have never been a scandalous lot. Still …” Portia eyed the manuscript with barely concealed longing. “It would be advisable to look. Just to make certain, you understand. For no other reason than that.”

  “Of course not.” Veronica’s innocent tone belied the amusement in her eye.

  “Besides, who among us is better suited to assess just how scandalous the work is?” Portia said primly. “I know scandal when I see it.”

  “Then you should certainly read a chapter.” Julia selected another section she had copied, anticipating Portia’s request, and handed the pages to her friend.

  Portia frowned at the small number of pages. “Is that enough? To be able to ascertain the scandalous nature of the work, that is. Perhaps I should read more?”

  “I’m certain when you finish reading, Julia would be happy to provide you with more,” Veronica said smoothly. “For purposes of assessing the level of scandal, of course. Nothing more than that.”

  “My life is exceptionally dull,” Portia said under her breath, leafing through the pages. Her gaze jerked to her friends as if she were surprised by her own words. “Not that I am interested in this in any way other than to help my dear Julia.”

  Veronica smiled. “We never thought otherwise.”

  “Not for a moment,” Julia added, casting Portia a reassuring smile.

  It was indeed odd that this disparate trio had become friends but friends they were and, Julia suspected, friends they would be for the rest of their days. She sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward for these women, adding an additional prayer that the memoirs were indeed scandalous enough to provide true financial salvation even if that might not be the type of request the Almighty would be amenable to granting. Still, she would be most grateful if he would consider it.

  And perhaps, she cringed to herself at the absurd thought, she would have to thank her great-grandmother as well.

  Chapter Two

  “This is unacceptable.” Harrison Landingham, the Earl of Mountdale, glared at the pages laid out on the desk in front of him. “Completely unacceptable.”

  “If you think the first page is unacceptable …” Amusement gleamed in his sister-in-law’s eyes. “Wait until you read the rest.”

  “Good Lord,” Harrison muttered. What he’d read thus far was bad enough. He didn’t dare consider what the rest of these memoirs might contain. “This family has avoided scandal in the past and scandal will not touch us on my watch.”

  “More’s the pity,” Veronica murmured.

  He glanced up. “I do appreciate your bringing this to my attention, however.”

  She smiled pleasantly. “I thought you would find it interesting.”

  He raised a brow. “‘Interesting’ is the very least of what I find it.”

  Veronica shrugged. “I found it rather amusing as well.”

  “That comes as no surprise,” he said coolly. His late half brother’s wife was exactly the type of woman who would find something of this scandalous nature amusing.

  Seven years ago, when Charles had announced his intention to marry Veronica Wilton, Harrison had done his best to dissuade him. Not that she wasn’t lovely with her dark red hair and tall stature and, indeed, her family was more than acceptable, her father was a viscount after all. But there was something in the woman’s manner, as if she were far more intelligent than anyone else and found the rest of the world amusing in its stupidity, that he found most irritating. In his experience, intelligent women were prone to making their own decisions and never overly concerned with the propriety of those decisions. Still, he had to admit, in many ways he had been wrong about her. While he never did understand what his brother saw in her aside from her appearance, and certainly one required more in a wife than a pretty face, she had made Charles happy and they seemed to have truly cared for each other. Which somewhat redeemed her in Harrison’s eyes. In this world, could one ask for more?

  Veronica laughed. “Goodness, Harrison, Charles would have found it amusing as well.”

  “Charles found much amusing that I do not,” Harrison said in what struck even him as an overly stodgy manner. While they shared the same mother, the two brothers could not have been more dissimilar in temperament.

  Charles was nearly seventeen years of age when his widowed mother had married Harrison’s father and had promptly borne another son. Harrison had adored his older brother in spite of the disparity in their ages. But it wasn’t until he was an adult that they had become close even though the characters of the two men were decidedly different. While Charles was brilliant in all matters of finance, he had lived his life with a devil-may-care attitude and a passion for wine and sport and women—especially women. He was well past his fortieth year when he had at last decided to marry. No one was more surprised than Harrison by his brother’s decision and his choice. He had rather expected his brother to fall head over heels for an actress or another unsuitable sort rather than a woman who, in spite of Harrison’s initial concerns, was still a fitting match for the Earl of Smithson.

  In recent years Harrison had been searching for an appropriate wife of his own. He was well aware of his responsibilities and his duty to provide an heir, as his half brother had failed to do. Charles’s title had passed to a distant cousin upon his death. Harrison had no intention of allowing the same fate to befall his heritage. Indeed, he was currently considering several suitable candidates for the position of Countess of Mountdale, young ladies of good family and unblemished reputation. That he hadn’t selected a wife yet he attributed only to the fact that he had yet to find one he considered absolutely right and had nothing at all to do with the lack of particular affection he felt for any of them. Affection would come in time.

  “Even Charles would not be amused to see the infidelities of his father available at a bookseller’s for all the world to read.”

  Veronica raised a brow.

  “Well, perhaps he would.” His brother had always been amused by scandal. “But his father is dead and mine is very much alive. However this …” He cast a disgusted look at the pages in front of him. “The scandal this will cause will kill him.”

  Veronica laughed. “I very much doubt that.”

  Harrison drew his brows together. “My father is seventy-six years of age and—”

  “He is the youngest elderly gentleman I know.”

  “His constitution is not what it once was,” Harrison said staunchly.

  “How is your father’s health?”

  “Acceptable.” Harrison ignored the fact that his father’s physicians pronounced him the picture of health, save for stiffness in his knees. “Regardless, it is a risk I do not intend to take. Now, you say this friend of yours—”

  “You needn’t say friend as if it were an obscenity.” Veronica’s brows pulled together in disapproval. “She is a ve
ry nice woman and I am fortunate to count her among my friends.”

  “Very nice women do not publish the scandalous memoirs of their ancestors.”

  “Very nice women who have financial responsibilities do what they must to meet those responsibly. Goodness, Harrison, she’s not pandering in the streets.”

  “This is not substantially better,” he said. “What did you say her name was?”

  “I didn’t. It’s Lady Julia Winterset.”

  Harrison raised a brow. “The wife of Sir William Win-terset?”

  “The widow of Sir William Winterset.”

  “The barrister?”

  “I believe so. Did you know him?”

  “I knew of him. He had a fine legal mind and an excellent reputation. And he was of good family as well.” Harrison huffed. “No doubt this has him turning over in his grave.”

  “If he had provided adequately for his widow, if his good family had not abandoned any responsibility toward his wife upon his death, there would be no need to turn over in his grave and he could rest in peace,” Veronica said sharply.

  “Yes, I suppose.” Harrison drummed his fingers on his desk. “Obviously, I shall have to deal with this myself. I shall request a meeting with your friend and persuade her of the error of proceeding with this venture.”

  “Such persuasion to consist of nothing more than your gallant manner and charming disposition?” Veronica said mildly.

  Harrison glared at his sister-in-law. “I can be quite persuasive and most charming when the occasion calls for it.”

  “Harrison.” Veronica rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “Have you listened to a word I’ve said?”

  “Each and every one.”

  “Apparently not.” Veronica leaned forward and met his gaze. “Julia Winterset is badly in need of funds. If the state of her finances was acceptable, I daresay she would never think of selling her great-grandmother’s memoirs. She is very nearly as proper as you are.” Veronica shrugged. “Or at least she used to be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you have lost a husband, when without warning you find yourself completely dependent on your own resources, you have very few choices other than to take your life in your own hands. If you wish to survive.” She shook her head in a long-suffering manner, as if he were entirely too stupid to understand. “I met Lady Winterset two years ago. I have watched her since then. She has changed, grown if you will. She has become quite independent and discovered a strength of character I suspect she ever knew she had.”

  Harrison glared. “If you are trying to make a point, Veronica, you are not doing it well.”

  “My point is that while Lady Winterset is a woman of intellect and grace and any number of other sterling qualities, she is also desperate. Desperate women do what they must do and they do not easily succumb to fine words and charming manners.”

  “Still, if she is indeed intelligent, she shall surely be reasonable as well.” Even to his own ears, the assertion sounded absurd. Women, intelligent or not, were rarely reasonable. “I have no doubt that I can convince her that making this … this rubbish public will cause her and all involved irreparable damage.”

  “Talk alone will not suffice. As I see her financial circumstances, she has only two recourses open to her. As she is not averse to marriage, she can wed a man of substantial fortune—”

  “Excellent, then she should do so at once.”

  Veronica stared as if he had grown another head. “It’s not as easy as that. One simply doesn’t snap one’s finger and a suitable husband appears. Marriageable men with wealth and position, men like yourself, are not easy to come by.”

  Harrison gasped. “Surely, you’re not suggesting I marry her?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Veronica waved away the comment. “While I have no doubt Julia meets your absurdly high standards, and you could certainly do worse although she could certainly do better, you and she would never suit.”

  “Excellent, as desperate is not something I am seeking in a wife,” he snapped, ignoring an odd twinge of annoyance. “And her other recourse?”

  “She has no jewels to speak of, no property aside from her house, and nothing of any value whatsoever.” She shrugged. “Therefore there is nothing she can do but sell her great-grandmother’s memoirs. She already has one publisher interested.”

  “Who?”

  “A Mr. Cadwallender.”

  “Cadwallender? The name sounds vaguely familiar.”

  “Oh, if you had met Mr. Cadwallender you’d remember. Tall, blond hair, brownish eyes with a hint of green if I recall, most dashing in appearance.”

  He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I don’t care.”

  “I just thought it should be mentioned.” She shrugged. “You should know what’s involved. In terms of how much charm you need to expend.”

  “Very amusing.” He again drummed his fingers on the desk. “If I cannot convince her not to publish them perhaps I could offer her a reasonable sum to simply eliminate all references to my father.”

  “Reasonable?”

  “Outrageous then.” He thought for a moment. “Better yet, I could buy them myself.”

  “And they will never see the light of day?”

  “Never,” he said grimly. Indeed, once the memoirs were in his possession, they would be destroyed.

  Veronica narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know that she would like that.”

  “Nonetheless, once they were mine she would have no say in the matter.”

  “No, of course not.” Veronica sighed. “And I think her concern at the moment is more about her finances than preserving her ancestor’s adventures. That’s that then.” Veronica gathered her things, rose to her feet, and adjusted the tilt of her hat—a truly obnoxious concoction of indiscernible things that might have been alive at one time. Harrison stood to escort her to the door. “I have other matters to attend to today so I shall take my leave.”

  “Veronica.” He circled the desk. “I am most grateful to you for coming to me with this.”

  “Harrison, while our connection is tentative at best, you are still Charles’s brother and he was quite fond of you. And I am quite fond of your father. While I do think he would be rather amused by the public airing of an affair he had in his youth, I fear the outrage of his responsible son would cause him undue concern. I told you of this for him, not for you.”

  “Regardless of your motives, you still have my gratitude.”

  She studied him for a moment. “Will there ever come a day when you approve of me?”

  “I don’t disapprove of you.” And indeed he didn’t disapprove of Veronica, only her manner.

  “But you don’t like me.”

  “Nonsense.” He scoffed. “I don’t dislike you. You are my late brother’s wife and you made him happier than I had ever seen him.” He forced a smile. “How could I possibly dislike you?”

  “That is what I have always wondered. I am quite easy to like, you know.” She started for the door. “Many people do.”

  He chuckled. “I have no doubt of that.”

  She glanced back at him. “And now your smile is genuine. It’s a very nice smile, Harrison, when you mean it. You should mean it more often.”

  “Veronica.”

  She paused. “Yes?”

  “I am curious. I have wealth and position and I am not unattractive. Indeed, I am considered something of a catch. Why do you think Lady Winterset and I would not suit?”

  “Goodness, I thought it was obvious. While I suppose Julia might suit you—”

  He snorted.

  “—you would not suit her at all.” She shook her head. “You live in a world of right and wrong, proper and improper, black and white. There is no compromise in your life, no shades of gray if you will. Charles bemoaned that fact about you. He often said, ‘If Harry’”—Harrison winced at the name—“‘would try not to be so perfect all the time, perhaps he could find a little enjoyment in life.’”


  Harrison frowned. “I find a great deal of enjoyment in life.”

  She ignored him. “‘Perhaps he might even have a little fun.’”

  “I frequently have fun.”

  “‘Perhaps he might even find a wife. He is a handsome devil after all.’ Charles’s words, not mine,” she hastened to add.

  “I am looking for a wife.”

  “‘A wife,’ he would say, ‘who would bring joy to his days and not merely credit to his name.’” She cast him an overly sweet smile. “Like his brother did.”

  “I know precisely what I want in a wife and the appropriate candidate would be as different from you as night is from day.”

  “Would she?”

  “Yes. She would have a sense of propriety, of her place and position in the world. She would be conscious at all times of her position as my wife, as the Countess of Mountdale and future Marchioness of Kingsbury. She would be an excellent hostess, a model of decorum. Well bred, perfect manners, and while beauty is not necessary, I would prefer she not be unattractive.”

  “So you want a well-bred, well-trained monkey?” She shook her head. “You can’t choose a wife the same way you choose a financial investment.”

  “A wife is a financial investment.”

  Astonishment widened her eyes, then she laughed. “My God, you can be pompous, Harrison.”

  He blew a frustrated breath. “You, Lady Smithson, are the most annoying woman I have ever met.”

  “Thank you, Harry.” She grinned, no doubt amused by her use of his brother’s name for him. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “I do hope your friend is not as annoying as you are.”

  “Goodness, why on earth would I have a friend who wasn’t?” She nodded and, before he could respond, swept from the room.

  No doubt all of her friends were annoying. Annoying women probably found each other through some sort of magnetic attraction that bound them together to create havoc for sane, rational men like himself. Not that it mattered.

  Harrison was not about to allow a desperate, annoying woman—no matter how many sterling qualities Veronica alleged she had—to drag his family’s name through the muck and mud of scandal. If this Lady Winterset was indeed as desperate as Veronica had led him to believe, why, she would be putty in his hands. He had the finances to sway even the most stubborn negotiator. And regardless of Veronica’s assertions, he could indeed be quite charming and most persuasive. Any number of women he could name would agree. No, Lady Winterset had met her match. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind of his success.