He raised an ironic brow. “And yet, from what I heard, you handled my mother brilliantly. And in a superbly ladylike manner.”
“Oh.” A blush rose to her cheek. “You heard about that?”
“I did. And in the diplomatic service, brains, charm and the ability to think on your feet are just as important as society connections—maybe even more important.”
She pulled a skeptical face. “Which is why most diplomats are titled.”
“If you married me, you’d be titled, too. Now, let us continue this discussion after we reach Grandmama’s. She’s expecting us, and if we don’t arrive before dark, she’ll worry.”
Frowning, she twisted the grass stalk into a knot, then tossed it away. “All right, I’ll go to your grandmother’s. But I warn you, I’m going to tell her everything.”
Chapter Sixteen
Alice’s idyll was over: it was time to go home. They’d spent four days in the little cottage, eating, talking and making love. Alice had never passed such a blissful time in her life. Truth be told, she never wanted to leave.
It was difficult being a mistress, she thought as she packed. Glorious, but also tough on the emotions. Once they were back in their normal lives, it would all be different. They’d have to be discreet. They couldn’t see each other whenever they wanted. They wouldn’t wake up together, wouldn’t make love in the middle of the night and again in the morning. Wouldn’t eat breakfast together—in bed—in such a delightfully decadent fashion as they had. No more evening strolls in the twilight, coming home to a cozy fire, a simple dinner and a glass of wine. And bed.
She’d learned so much about her body—and his—in the last four days. She was saturated with pleasure—more than pleasure. The last few days had given her a new understanding of herself. And not just in bed—though that had been glorious, and eye-opening.
When the weather had allowed, they’d gone for long walks. And in bed or out of it, they’d talked and talked and talked—of everything: stories of their past, thoughts about the world, even favorite books, because James was a reader. Alice couldn’t have imagined a more perfect time. But now it was over.
“This has been the happiest four days—and nights—of my life,” she told James as they waited for the carriage to collect them.
“I’m glad.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, a long, passionate kiss.
“Can we do it again sometime?” The chaise arrived as she spoke.
“What? Come here, do you mean? Why not? I paid the rent for a couple of months.” He grinned down at her and opened the front door. “It can be our secret getaway place.”
They traveled back to London in relative silence. Alice, with James’s arm wrapped around her, felt a little blue. James appeared to be lost in thought. It hardly seemed to take any time at all before they were pulling up outside Bellaire Gardens.
Too public a place for one last kiss, so James simply pulled out her valise and handed it to Tweed, then said a polite goodbye—his eyes said more—and left.
“How is your friend, m’lady?” Tweed asked.
Alice blinked and then remembered. “All better now, thank you.”
She pulled herself together and walked up the stairs. James had made no attempt to speak of marriage again. Not this time, not anymore. She was his mistress now, and mistresses didn’t get asked to be married.
Ironic that now she was ready to take the plunge, he’d changed his mind.
It was her own fault. Had she had more courage, she might have had it all: marriage to James and the glory of going to bed with him. But she’d chosen to become his mistress instead, and now she had to live with her choice. And she would, according to her new principle to live by: no regrets.
She’d had four glorious days and nights in James’s arms. And she didn’t regret them in the least.
* * *
* * *
Gerald’s grandmother, Lady Stornaway, was a bit of a surprise. She’d obviously been a beauty in her day, and was still very good-looking in a plump-old-lady way. Her silver hair was swept up in a stylish arrangement, and she was simply but fashionably dressed.
She welcomed them warmly and, once they’d refreshed themselves after the journey, settled them down in a comfortable, elegantly appointed sitting room with sherry and biscuits.
“Congratulations on your betrothal, dear boy,” she said to Gerald. “I suppose Almeria is delighted.”
“Not exactly,” he admitted.
“Not at all,” Lucy said.
The old lady turned to Lucy with a faint frown. “My daughter doesn’t approve of you?”
Lucy grimaced. “Your daughter despises me.”
Lady Stornaway brightened. “Really?”
“Yes, really. And also, Gerald and I are not betrothed, not really,” Lucy said, making a clean breast of it.
“We are betrothed,” Gerald insisted. “And it’s still official as far as society is concerned.”
Lady Stornaway gave them a shrewd look. “Quarreled, have you?”
“No,” Lucy said. “It was never a proper betrothal in the first place. It was a . . . a stratagem. And I didn’t want to lie to you about it.”
The old lady sipped her sherry. “Fascinating. Tell me more.”
So Lucy explained. She didn’t leave anything out, not her lack of family, her irregular upbringing, her many schools and her time as pupil/maidservant to Frau Steiner and the comtesse. From time to time, Gerald interrupted to add something, but for the most part he let her tell her own story.
She’d just reached the part about her father’s blackmail of Alice and her consequent entry into the ton, when the butler announced dinner. With the old lady’s encouragement, she related that little episode over the soup.
“And you say my daughter dislikes you,” Lady Stornaway said when Lucy had finished.
Lucy nodded. She didn’t like to stress how much.
“Most edifying,” the old lady said. She turned to her grandson, “Now, Gerald, you mentioned in your letter that you had decided to enter the diplomatic corps. How is that going?”
While Gerald explained, Lucy ate her dinner. She was rather taken aback. The old lady had barely reacted to Lucy’s confession and had simply moved on to the next topic of conversation as if it were perfectly normal to hear about blackmail and deception.
Bemused, Lucy caught Gerald’s eye and raised her brows in a silent question. He simply shrugged and went on telling his grandmother about his plans for his future career. And then he filled her in on the news of various acquaintances she had in London.