Page 8 of Three Weeks with a Princess
Jack had always believed Lia was the true reason Rebecca had finally been accepted by the estate staff and the locals. Setting up one’s mistress in the backyard wasn’t generally the done thing, but with Lia’s unwitting help, his uncle had pulled it off.
He rapped on the front door. After waiting a few minutes, he hammered again. One of the mullioned windows of the drawing room, to the right of the door, pushed open. Rebecca, her beautifully coiffed, salt-and-pepper hair, topped by a snowy white cap, leaned out.
“Ah, my dear Lord Lendale,” she said in an affectionate voice. “I haven’t a clue where Sarah is, or Lia, for that matter, and the maid has run down to the village to fetch some headache powders. But the door is open, so do let yourself in.”
She retreated with consummate dignity, shutting the window.
Jack couldn’t hold back a grin. Leave it to Rebecca to tell the new marquess to walk right in rather than condescend to answer the door herself. Her present position might be precarious but she had been the longtime lover of the Marquess of Lendale and once had been the most sought-after courtesan in London. Although a truly kind and charming woman, she never let the world forget who she was, nor who she once had been.
Not that he blamed her. She didn’t have anything else to hang on to now that the man she’d loved for so many years—the man for whom she’d given up so much—was dead.
Jack let himself into the low-ceilinged corridor that ran from the front of the house to the back. A narrow staircase halfway down the hall climbed up to the first floor, with its bedrooms and a private sitting room. It was a lovely old house, with intricate woodwork and paneling, as well as some truly fine plasterwork.
But it was in dire need of repair, especially the roof and chimneys.
He knocked briefly on the drawing room door, which was rather silly because Rebecca was expecting him. But she drew comfort from the formalities, and Jack wished her to know that she still had his respect and friendship, even if she had lost all else.
She moved to greet him. Now in her early sixties, she remained an extremely handsome woman, with a plump, comfortable figure and a welcoming manner. But despite her genuinely pleased smile, he saw sadness in her gaze and weariness in the faint web of wrinkles fanning out from her blue eyes. It had been over three months since his uncle’s passing, but Rebecca clearly still grieved. The poor woman had been, for all intents and purposes, the man’s wife. And yet she’d been denied even the solace of attending the church services or receiving the sympathy of family and friends.
“Aunt Rebecca, it’s good to see you,” Jack said, bending to brush a kiss against her cheek. He’d referred to her that way in private for years, which had always pleased his uncle.
“Dear boy, it is so good of you to call,” she said, waving him to the settee across from her high-backed chair. “Lia and I were beginning to quite despair of seeing you.”
“I apologize for not coming down yesterday. I find myself swamped in paperwork and an endless stream of... business.” He’d been about to saydisasters.
“I’m sure you have a great deal of work to attend to, settling the estate and becoming familiar with your new responsibilities. If you need help, you must be sure to ask Lia. Sometimes I think she knows Stonefell as well as Mr. Lindsey.”
“She does,” he said with a smile. “By the by, where is she?”
Rebecca glanced at the watch pinned to her waist. “I’m surprised you didn’t run into her in the lane; she said she’d be home by now. She ran up to the stables to speak to the stableman about her mare. I think Dorcas may be in need of new shoes.” She hesitated. “If it’s not too much of a bother, that is.”
Jack’s uncle had always let Lia ride any horse she chose, even picking one out for her special use.
“You needn’t even ask.”
“Thank you,” she said, sounding relieved. “We hate to impose, but you know Lia wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.” “Please don’t worry, Aunt Rebecca. Now, tell me how you’ve been. I hope you’re well.”
As they chatted for a few minutes about the usual mundane things like the weather, Rebecca was clearly making an effort to be cheerful. But Jack could tell it was a strain. His uncle had been the touchstone of her increasingly narrow and circumscribed life. Without him, she must feel her future uncertain.
“And how was your trip to Lincolnshire?” she asked. “I presume the Duke of Leverton’s wedding went off without a hitch.” Her carefully neutral tone didn’t fool Jack in the slightest.
“It was a small, private affair but very happy nonetheless. And I’m glad Lia’s not back yet because I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“Yes, I expect you do,” she said with a rueful smile. “You want to know whether you should tell Lia that Gillian Dryden—the new Duchess of Leverton—is her cousin.”
He’d been struggling with that question for some weeks. Leverton was his closest friend, which meant Gillian would now be part of Jack’s life. She was the illegitimate daughter of the Duke of Cumberland, the fifth son of King George and brother to the Prince Regent. Because Lia was the illegitimate daughter of the Duke of York, the second son of the king, she and Gillian were cousins.
“Yes,” he said. “Naturally I knew I had to discuss the situation with you first. But you must understand there may come a point when Leverton and his duchess will visit Stonefell.”
Though dismay flashed across Rebecca’s features, her impressive discipline soon reasserted itself. “That’s to be expected, naturally. As you know, your uncle rarely entertained due to his health.” She forced a smile. “But such will not be the case with you, I’m sure. You will wish to entertain friends, as well as your mother and sister.”
Best to leave aside the issue of his family for the moment. “I’m not planning on rounds of large house parties.” Especially given how bloody expensive they were. “But we must at least anticipate the possibility.”
“I understand. And to set your mind at ease, Liaisaware that the royal dukes dispensed their favors rather widely.”
Jack almost laughed at the vagueness of her metaphor. Despite being a noted courtesan, Rebecca had always displayed a delicate attitude when it came to discussing scandalous behavior. In fact, she and his uncle had always reminded him of a rather fussy couple who’d been married forever. Emotionally, they certainly had been. Unfortunately, their steadfast devotion had counted for little in the eyes of the world and nothing in the eyes of the law.
For all his kindness, Uncle Arthur had done Rebecca a great disservice. He either should have married her long ago or said farewell, so she could have pursued wealthier patrons. Rebecca could have become a wealthy woman if she’d remained in London, selecting lovers who would have rewarded her with small fortunes. But his uncle had been too selfish to let her go and too weak to fight against his family’s opposition to their marriage.
