Page 30 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
“I… I joke. He is, of course, not mine.” Why did she feel so flustered? By the question, by the answer. “Not really mine. We are traveling together in a scheme that will be mutually beneficial. Nothing more.” Nothing like, oh, planning to act as his mistress for the next fortnight. “And you? How did a woman come to be a secretary at an agency for educators?”
“I thought to be a governess. Lord Andrew recognized my many talents and kept them for himself. And when he realized expanding the agency required more discretion, he hired me to act the proprietress for him. He stepped out of the spotlight, and I entered it.”
“Do you like your work here?”
Mrs. Dart glanced at the closed door at her back briefly. “I do.”
“Very well. I shall not try to steal you away then.”
A quizzical look.
“I’m organizing a charitable art school, and you would be wonderful help. I can tell already. Are you sure I cannot steal you away?”
Another glance at the door. “No. Thank you. It sounds a wonderful project.” Mrs. Dart pushed into the room.
Cordelia followed.
Lord Andrew jumped to his feet. “You’ve returned. Excellent. I need the files on the woman we sent to Pentshire’s estate a year or so ago.”
Mrs. Dart bustled across the room, knelt behind the large desk, pulled open a drawer, and stood just as quick, file ready. She snapped it into her employer’s hand. “Here you are, my lord.”
“Excellent,” he mumbled, opening the file. “The governess’s name is Miss Sue Carter. She worked there until two and half months ago when she requested a change.” He peered over the papers, sliding a pair of spectacles resting in his hair onto the bridge of his nose. “She did not say why.”
Lord Theodore—Theo—leaned forward, attempting to view the documents.
His brother snapped the folder closed and held it out to Mrs. Dart who whipped it away and replaced it in the drawer. “Confidential.”
“Of course,” Theo grumbled.
“But I can contact her and see if she has any information on Pentshire she’s willing to share with you.” His lips thinned. “I don’t like it, though. I’ve not opened an agency to provide you with gossip.”
Theo rolled his eyes and stood, scratching his fingers through his hair and seeing Cordelia for the first time. “You look better.”
“Your compliments quite make me giddy, my lord.”
He grunted, and it almost sounded like a laugh. “I’ll clean up too, then we’ll be out of your hair, brother.”
Lord Andrew wrinkled his nose. “Please do. Clean up, that is. I can smell you from here. Once you’re less odiferous you may stay for a meal if you’d like.”
“No. We must be on our way.”
“The house party, yes.” Lord Andrew rounded his desk, sat once more, and Mrs. Dart took up a position that looked rather like her home behind him, a position she sank into with ease. “Be careful, brother. You’re good at keeping secrets, and revealing them, but you’ve never been very good at lying.” His gaze flashed to Cordelia, and he gave a tight nod.
Lying. Yes. She’d never been very good at it either. Withholding information, yes. Lying… Her stomach flipped and she took a steadying breath. She’d do what she must, though, to win her home back. Even walk into a world she used to think she’d live in, a painter, her future husband by her side. That future had never come to be, and she’d grown grateful for it. But she could no longer be aleechas Lord Andrew had called her. She would not let a few weeks and a few naughty noblemen keep her from shaping her future for herself, from becoming a woman who saved herself.
Eight
Theo always hoped for gossip, but this time none had come his way. Still, Drew had promised to contact Miss Sue Carter, and that could provide insight into Lord Pentshire and his family. If they were anything like Theo’s own family, there would be more than a few rumors to sift through.
He peered down at his notebook, open to a ripped page. He’d pulled an illustration from it just before they’d re-entered the coach in Manchester, given it to a flower girl selling wares on the street in front of Drew’s offices. None remained now. His well had dried up. His pencil rested above his ear, ready, as ever, but he could think of nothing, not even a tiny sketch to hand to a Manchester child when they next passed through.
He’d barely had an idea, barely drawn a single scene since his father’s death. Only a handful of satires drawn and published.
A problem soon to be quelled.
“Is that a moat?” Cordelia—why did he find it so easy to use her Christian name only?—kicked him in the shin with an outstretched leg. “Look, Theo, look. It’s a moat!” She’d changed into a lavender gown of some sort and had knotted her hair simply at the nape of her neck below her bonnet. She appeared young and innocent, and he was carting her into a den of iniquity to parade her as his mistress.
If he didn’t need this so much, he’d never do it. She had her own reasons for coming here, though. A reassurance, that.
