Mistress (10 page)

Maryanne, a charming, warmhearted young lady, was exceedingly fond of Otis. She treated him as though he were a favored uncle. Otis doted on her.

After the death of her husband, Zoe had, in the manner of so many of Society’s widows, finally come into her own.

The first thing she had done was gather together what remained of her inheritance. She had invested the whole of it in Iphiginia’s first property speculation venture, Morning Rose Square.

When the initial income from that investment had been realized last year, Zoe had promptly settled a handsome portion on Maryanne. She and her daughter had both set about replacing all the drab, unstylish gowns in their wardrobes with new clothes fashioned by elegant modistes who possessed French accents. When all was in readiness, Maryanne was launched on Society. The offer from Sheffield had come shortly after Maryanne’s first ball.

Zoe’s mouth tightened as she studied the illustration of the combined library and statuary hall. “Otis says there very likely will be more demands, and soon. He claims blackmailers are like leeches. They usually return time and again until they have succeeded in bleeding their victims dry.”

Iphiginia shuddered. “What a ghastly analogy. From what I have heard, he is right.” She frowned over the illustration in the pattern book, her mind on her aunt’s problem. “It is unfortunate that Masters thinks the entire matter is merely an amusing jest.”

“Are you certain that he did not believe you?” Zoe asked.

“He made it quite clear that he thinks I invented the tale in order to explain my masquerade to him.”

Zoe groaned. “What a disastrous affair this is. I still cannot credit that he has actually agreed to allow you to continue posing as his paramour.”

“Well, he has agreed to it and we must be grateful. It will allow me to continue searching the studies and libraries of the suspects.”

“I’m beginning to think that it is all a waste of time,” Zoe said. “Thus far you have learned nothing.”

Iphiginia tapped one gloved finger lightly against the illustration. “I wouldn’t say that. I have eliminated both Darrow and Judson from the list of those who might be the blackmailers.”

Zoe sighed. “I don’t know. It all sounds so vague.”

“We have nothing better to go on at the moment.” Iphiginia broke off when she caught a flash of purple out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, hello, Mr. Hornby. We are still studying this illustration, as you can see.”

“Of course.” Hornby, unable to resist the temptation to encourage potential clients, sidled closer. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance?” He gave Iphiginia, Zoe, and Amelia an unctuous smile.

Iphiginia thought quickly. “This is a most unusual decoration above the fireplace in this design, Mr. Hornby.”

Hornby beamed. “It is an exact copy of an ancient sepulchral ruin, madam. It gives the library a serious, weighty sort of atmosphere, quite suited to the characteristic use of such a chamber.”

“I see,” Iphiginia said.

“Very interesting.” Zoe peered more closely at the illustration. “What on earth are those odd creatures that support the lamps?”

“Sphinxes, madam. All the rage at the moment, you
know. They go rather well with the Egyptian hieroglyphic wallpaper.”

“Yes, of course.”

Amelia frowned. “What is all this drapery hanging from the ceiling, Mr. Hornby?”

“Turkish tent hangings, madam. They provide an exotic air that will astound visitors.”

“It certainly will,” Iphiginia murmured. She surveyed the picture quite closely. “The room appears to contain a somewhat mixed collection of antique vases.”

“All are exact copies of antiques in the Etruscan style, madam. Exceedingly fashionable.”

Iphiginia elected not to point out that the vases were no more Etruscan in design than his paisley waistcoat. “Where do you plan to put the books?”

“The books?” Mr. Hornby looked baffled.

“It is a library, is it not?” Iphiginia said.

Hornby assumed a politely superior air. “Madam perhaps is not aware that few people of fashion actually use a library for the purpose of reading these days.”

Iphiginia concealed a smile. “Of course. I do not know what I was thinking to even mention books.”

“Quite all right, madam,” Hornby said. “It is precisely the wish to avoid such decorating mistakes that brings persons of taste to a firm such as Hornby and Smith.”

Amelia frowned. “Mr. Hornby, you are obviously not aware that Mrs. Bright is accounted an expert in matters of antique design.”

Hornby’s eyes widened. “Uh, no. No, I was not. Forgive me, madam. I had not realized.”

Iphiginia waved aside his stammered apology. “Quite all right.”

Her expertise in antiquities had been one of the most useful elements of her masquerade. Zoe had quickly fed the rumor mill with the news that the mysterious Mrs. Bright had a scholar’s knowledge of the antique style, the latest fashion in home decoration.

Iphiginia had been an immediate success at every ball, as there was no shortage of people who wanted to discuss their decorating schemes with her. Maintaining a fashionable home was as essential as being
au courant
in one’s dress.

Before Hornby could apologize further, the small bells over the shop door tinkled discreetly. A short round woman of middle years bustled into the showroom. She was a vision in several yards of flounced and ruffled white muslin.

Her gown was trimmed with a white spencer and she wore a massive white hat trimmed with huge white flowers. She carried a lacy white parasol and a snowy white reticule.

“Good grief,” Zoe muttered as she gazed in awe at the newcomer. “Lady Pettigrew looks like a giant snowball.”

“It is not my fault,” Iphiginia whispered.

Amelia raised a brow. “It certainly is. They are calling it the Lady Starlight fashion. Any number of ladies are determined to wear it.”

“Oh, Mrs. Bright,” Lady Pettigrew sang out. “I thought I saw your carriage in the street. How fortunate. I have been most anxious to speak to you. Do you have a moment?”

“Good morning, Lady Pettigrew.” Iphiginia had encountered the plump, vague, eccentric Lady Pettigrew at a number of social affairs. Although the woman’s husband was on Iphiginia’s list of potential blackmailers, Iphiginia was rather fond of Lady Pettigrew. “Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Lady Guthrie, and my cousin, Miss Farley.”

“Delighted.” Lady Pettigrew smiled benignly at Zoe and Amelia. “I assume you are seeking Mrs. Bright’s opinion on a matter of classical taste and fashion, Lady Guthrie? That is precisely what I wish to do.”

“As a matter of fact, I have asked Mrs. Bright to give
me her advice on how to use antique vases to the best effect in my town house,” Zoe said smoothly.

Lady Pettigrew beamed enthusiastically. “It is well known that Mrs. Bright is an authority on the archaeological style. I, myself, wish to consult with her about my Temple of Vesta.”

That piqued Iphiginia’s interest. “Are you constructing an antique temple, Lady Pettigrew?”

“Actually, I already possess one,” Lady Pettigrew said, not without a touch of pride. “It is a wonderful old ruin located in a charming grove on the grounds of our country house in Hampshire.”

“How old is it?” Iphiginia asked.

“It was built about thirty years ago by Pettigrew’s father. The thing is, I am not entirely certain it is accurate in every detail. I should very much like to restore it properly.”

In spite of her more pressing concerns, Iphiginia was captivated by the prospect of examining the Pettigrew ruin. “As it happens, I made careful measurements and sketches of the ruin of a genuine Temple of Vesta while I was in Italy. I would be happy to compare them with your ruin, Lady Pettigrew. I might be able to offer some suggestions on how to produce a more precise copy.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. I am giving a small house party next week. I shall send you an invitation. Our estate is only a day’s journey from London.”

“That is very kind of you. I should love to come.”

It was a perfect opportunity, Iphiginia thought jubilantly. The house party would give her a chance to search through Lord Pettigrew’s country house library to see if he had black sealing wax and a phoenix seal concealed there. At the same time she would be able to view the Temple of Vesta.
Two birds with one stone
.

The shop chimes banged suddenly and with such force that one tiny bell shuddered, bounced, and fell to the floor. It emitted a tiny, stricken clang and then fell silent.

Everyone turned toward the door as it opened.

Marcus strode into the showroom. He was dressed for riding in a black coat, breeches, and gleaming ebony Hessians. He was bareheaded and his dark hair was windblown.

His amber eyes fixed instantly on Iphiginia with an expression of chilling intent. He started toward her, moving like a raw, dangerous force of nature through the samples of dainty drawing room furniture and the displays of fashionable drapery.

A deep sense of unease snaked through Iphiginia. Something was decidedly wrong, she realized. This was not the indulgent, casually amused man who had kissed her last night.

It was Lady Pettigrew who broke the taut, tense silence that had settled on the shop the moment Marcus appeared. She fluttered cheerfully.

“Masters,” she exclaimed. “How good to see you. I was just chatting with your close friend, Mrs. Bright.”

“Were you, indeed?” Marcus did not take his eyes off Iphiginia. “I am about to have a chat with her myself.”

Iphiginia blinked at the tone of his voice. She saw Amelia’s eyes narrow.

Heedless of the undercurrents, Lady Pettigrew smiled brightly at Marcus and gave him a shrewd, knowing look. “I have invited her to attend a small gathering at my country house next week. Perhaps you would also care to visit? I know you are not overly fond of house parties—”

“No, I am not.”

“But you may be quite interested in this one, my lord.” Lady Pettigrew arched one brow. “I’m certain you and Mrs. Bright would thoroughly enjoy a stay in the country. So much
privacy
available, you know.”

It took Iphiginia a few seconds to comprehend Lady Pettigrew’s subtle emphasis on the word
privacy
. When she did, she felt herself turn pink. Lady Pettigrew was making it clear to Marcus that he and his mistress would
have ample opportunity for dalliance at her country house party.

Marcus’s eyes moved reluctantly from Iphiginia to Lady Pettigrew’s bouncy little snowball figure. “Very kind of you, Lady Pettigrew. I shall consider your invitation carefully.”

Lady Pettigrew glowed with triumph. “I am delighted to hear that, my lord. I am most anxious to have Mrs. Bright examine my Temple of Vesta, you see. I wish to obtain her opinion on the archaeological exactness of my ruin.”

Marcus gazed at Lady Pettigrew as though he had suddenly discovered that she were a rather curious archaeological object herself. “Temple of Vesta?”

“Surely you are acquainted with the style, my lord” Iphiginia murmured helpfully. “There is a very fine example in Tivoli. It is a lovely circular structure. The Vestal Virgins are said to have tended the sacred flame there.”

“Virgins,” Marcus said, “have never been a subject that was of much interest to me.”

I
WILL SEE
M
RS
. B
RIGHT HOME
,” M
ARCUS SAID AS HE
escorted Iphiginia, Zoe, and Amelia outside the premises of Hornby and Smith. “She and I have one or two matters to discuss in private.”

Zoe and Amelia glanced at each other and then looked at Iphiginia.

“Do not concern yourselves,” Iphiginia said quickly. “Take my carriage. I shall see you both later.”

“You’re quite certain?” Amelia gave Marcus a stony stare.

“Yes, Amelia.” Iphiginia did not care for the rough edge in Marcus’s voice any more than Amelia or Zoe did. She thought it best, however, not to make an issue out of it right there in the middle of Pall Mall.

“Very well.” Zoe gave Marcus one last uneasy look and then nodded at Amelia. “Let us be off.”

Marcus watched Amelia and Zoe walk toward Iphiginia’s small, delicate white carriage. The airy, graceful equipage was trimmed with gilt and horsed with two white mares. The animals’ braided manes were adorned with white plumes. The gleaming harness sparkled in the
spring sun. The coachman wore white livery trimmed with gold buttons.

“Your carriage, I presume?” Marcus said to Iphiginia.

“How did you guess?”

“It looks like something out of a bloody fairy tale.”

“I thought it appropriate. From the description I was given of your equipage, I understood it to look like something a wicked troll might drive. I wanted to provide a counterpoint.”

“A wicked troll, eh? What does that make you, my dear Mrs. Bright? A fairy princess?”

“I assure you, I am no fairy princess.”

“Thank God for that much.” Marcus tightened his grasp on Iphiginia’s arm. He started to stride swiftly along the broad promenade of the fashionable shopping street. “I have enough problems at the moment.”

Iphiginia dug in the heels of her white kid half boots. “If you wish to discuss your problems with me, which I presume is your intention, you’ll have to slow your pace, my lord. I do not intend to gallop the length of Pall Mall with you.”

Marcus scowled, but he shortened his stride. “Enough of this nonsense. Who are you and what the devil do you think you’re about?”

“I beg your pardon?” Iphiginia busied herself with the act of unfurling her lacy white parasol. “I do not comprehend your tone or your meaning, my lord. I explained everything to you last night.”

“Last night,” Marcus said, “I believed you to be playing some clever game in order to make a place for yourself in Society.”

“Yes, I know you did.”

“This morning it was forcibly brought to my attention that you are involved in something other than an amusing masquerade. I wish to know precisely what it is you are about.”

Iphiginia tried to be patient. “I told you, sir. I am attempting to discover the person who is blackmailing my
aunt. Nothing has changed. What has overset you so this morning?”