Page 41 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
Mrs. Bexford’s cheeks glowed pink. “Thank you. I am rather proud of that run. Though you mustn’t call that play by its name in my presence.”
“What shall I call it, then?” Cordelia asked.
“The Scottish play. Old superstition.”
“I’ll abide by your wishes.”
Mrs. Bexford narrowed her eyes at Cordelia. “Will you run away if I tell you, my lady, that we were all talking about you last night?”
“I shan’t run. What were you saying?”
“That”—she leaned in close and looked about the garden—“Mr. Bradley told us about his friend, Mr. Simon Oakley, your former betrothed. Quite the scandal.” She spoke in a whisper with quick glances thrown over her shoulder toward another group of artists, Mr. Bradley at their center.
“I would appreciate it if all of you minded your own damn business,” Theo growled. “Particularly Mr. Bradley.”
Cordelia reached a hand out to him. “No, Theo, it’s of no matter. Better to be out with it. Yes, Mrs. Bexford, it was scandalous.”
“The way he treated you is the scandal,” Theo muttered.
“Mr. Bradley,” Lord Armquist said, “had ungentlemanly words to say about the matter. But I don’t believe them.”
“That’s right, dear.” Mrs. Bexford beamed at her paramour. “We cannot judge when we are not perfect ourselves. It’s why we’ve settled our easels over here with Pentshire and the Castles. Bradley’s a good artist but not the kind of man we associate with. Our scandal is miles above your own, as I’m sure you’ve heard, Lady Cordelia.”
Cordelia shook her head. “No, I’ve not heard. I’m rather… isolated… socially. I’ve acquaintances but no true friends to gossip with. Ah, er, but for Lord Theodore, of course, and he does not gossip a bit.”
Theo snorted. The vixen. Of course he gossiped, but he did so with ink and paper and for a reason.
“You don’t know?” Mrs. Bexford asked. “Shall we tell her, Ronny?” She blinked at Lord Armquist.
He shrugged. “As it pleases you.”
“Should you wish to know?” Mrs. Bexford asked Cordelia.
She grinned. “I shall take Lord Armquist’s strategy and say as it pleases you.”
The actress beamed. “The baroness introduced us.”
Theo slung his head around to look at her. “There are many. Which one?”
“LadyArmquist.”
“H-his wife?” Cordelia tried not to look shocked, but the growing circumference of her eyes gave it away. “Or his mother?”
“Wife.” Mrs. Bexford’s head bobbed like an apple in a bucket of water. “Theirs had been a union of convenience, and she and I were girlhood friends. She thought we would suit, and she wanted to see the both of us happy. I suppose we are now. In our own unconventional way.”
Theo picked up a new piece of charcoal. “You’re saying you have his wife’s blessing?”
Mrs. Bexford made a purring sound, a hand brushing the bare skin above her bodice. “Oh my, yes. I tell you only because it’s a very well-known secret already.”
Lord Armquist stepped back from his painting and tilted his head, studying it. “Elsie—my wife, that is—travels with apersonal footman.A fellow she’s known for a decade.”
“And I travel with Ronny here,” Mrs. Bexford added, “and but for small, occasional visits in London, we live our separate lives. You did not know? You had not heard the whispers?”
Hell. He hadn’t. The charcoal became dust in his fist. “What about children?” Theo demanded. To put them into such a situation—
“We don’t have any,” the baron replied, “and never will. Any of us.”
“But your estates—”
