Claiming her master, p.1
Claiming Her Master, page 1
Copyright © Lynne Silver 2017
Originally published as Mistress in the Making in 2011
Edited by: Grace Bradley
Cover Design: Dar Albert of Wicked Smart Designs
Formatting: Champagne Formats
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Unworthy—Chapter One
About the Author
Other Books by Lynne
Acknowledgements
I gave a final stroke to the glittering brooch before placing it into Mr. Smyth’s waiting palm. “Will this be enough?”
The man who’d been my father’s solicitor shrugged. “Perhaps. Though I cannot guarantee the money will arrive before your cousin does.”
“Cousin?” Meggie and Anne asked in unison.
I leaned down to smile at my younger sisters. “Never you mind. Mr. Smyth will exchange Mama’s jewelry and we’ll head off to London as grand ladies.”
Meggie giggled. “Will we wear silk ball gowns?”
Elizabeth, the sister, closest to me in age, sailed down the front steps to the circular drive where we stood among the weeds in the fading summer sun. “Meg. You’re a child. If anyone is to wear ball gowns and waltz in London, it will be me.”
Mr. Smyth practically fell over as he swept a low and awkward bow. Have I mentioned my sister is beautiful? The kind of beauty to which sonnets are written and hasty marriages in Scotland are made. “Miss Elizabeth. I did not expect the delight of your company,” he said. He continued to leer at her in a way that made me want to push her behind a bush and send Mr. Smyth on his way.
“I didn’t expect to give it,” Elizabeth said in her haughtiest voice. I rolled my eyes, but didn’t let Meg and Anne see. Lizzie turned to me with blazing eyes. “Selling Mama’s only treasure? How dare you?”
I sighed and stepped toward her. “Lizzie. I’m sorry. A Season in London comes at a great expense. This is the only way I see forward. Mr. Smyth says we need to leave before Cousin Phillip arrives if we are to ever have a chance at marriage. He says our cousin is a military man who has no interested in sponsoring or living with young ladies.”
Understanding flickered briefly on her beautiful face before a petulant frown reappeared. “Surely we can find another way without selling our only beautiful item.”
“None that I can think of,” I said. “Not if we wish to continue to eat and have a home.” I swallowed under the pressure of three pairs of eyes anxiously watching me as if waiting for me to magically wave my hand and make the events of the past month disappear. If only I could perform a miracle. Then our father would still be alive and a distant cousin wouldn’t be arriving to likely oust us from our home. Not that things had been so great when Father was alive. We hadn’t been swimming in gold brooches then either.
“Mr. Smyth, if you hurry, you can make London by nightfall.” I turned to Meggie and Anne. “Run into the house and tell Netta that Mr. Smyth will not join us for supper.”
When the girls were safely out of earshot and the dust had settled from Mr. Smyth’s horse, I turned to Lizzie. “Our cousin is on his way.” Elizabeth’s sharp gaze met mine and for a brief moment, we shared an understanding.
“How soon?” she asked. As the sister closest in age to my twenty years, she understood the possible impact of a stranger’s assumption of the estate.
“Therein lies our one comfort. Mr. Smyth is unsure when our newly found cousin will arrive. He’s a military man, so they had to send letters to several different outposts. He was in Canada of all places.”
“Canada?” she exclaimed, as if I’d said he’d been on the moon. “I wonder what kind of man he is.” Elizabeth studied her fingernails for any imperfections.
“It doesn’t matter. We can’t risk staying and allowing him full control of our lives. He could marry us off to horrible men or worse, force us out into the world with no home.”
“Or he could hide us in the house forever never allowing us to marry.” Elizabeth shuddered, clearly unable to think of a worse fate than living without admiration for her beauty.
I strode toward the house. “Mr. Smyth will get us the money and we’ll be off to London.”
Once in the house, I made my way to my father’s study. I did my best thinking in the shabby, cozy room, perhaps because of the years of practice when Father called me in to discuss finances, the tenants or any of the millions of details required in running the estate as if I were his helpmate instead of his eldest daughter.
After Mother died, I’d been so proud at age fourteen to be called in and spoken to as an adult. Little did I realize then Father had set me up in a role fraught with pitfalls. After six years, I was well used to bearing the burden of playing mother to my sisters. Now it seemed I’d have to play father, too.
What did I know about England’s laws of inheritance? I walked to the arched window and looked out onto the rose garden. Or what used to be the garden. Now it was overrun with weeds and dead grass. Money had always been tight, even when Father was alive. We’d let our gardener go years before. Any efforts we put into gardening was in the vegetable garden so we could augment our meals.
I hoped my newly found cousin had the capital to restore the estate. Otherwise, the man was gaining a burdensome inheritance.
I leaned my forehead against the cool glass, noting the yellow, orange and fiery-red leaves dancing to the ground from the towering trees outside. A few weeks. That was all the time I had to scrape enough money to get Elizabeth to London. With Elizabeth’s beauty she’d make a grand match.
I would ensure it was to a kindly gentleman who would allow his new wife’s sisters a room in his home. I stepped back and sank into the comforting embrace of the desk chair. It was a sound plan with everything riding on the sale of Mama’s brooch. Without it, I’d never find enough coin to take Elizabeth to London and purchase the ball gowns and other fripperies required to debut in style.
Though the sound was muffled thanks to overgrown weeds on the gravel drive, I still heard the sound of carriage wheels rolling up to our home. Who could that be, I wondered. I rose to find out, but before I could, Netta, our last remaining servant, who acted more the role of doting grandmother than housekeeper, peered around the study door.
“Lady Charlotte, are you receiving visitors?”
I stiffened. Visitors? No one had been up to call at the estate since Father’s death. Everyone in the village knew of our dire straits and that it was only a matter of time before the Clifton Park sisters left the area.
“Who has come to call?”
Netta stepped into the doorway, pushing the heavy wood in front of me. “It appears Mr. Smyth has returned with a Mrs. Bella.”
He was back already? How could that be possible? I wasn’t expecting his return until tomorrow evening at the earliest. I craned my neck to see a woman in a pale-blue gown standing in the shadows behind Netta. Mr. Smyth leaned against the wall. “I’m receiving. Please send them in.”
“Will you require tea?” Netta asked, keeping up the pretense we could afford to serve guests with the elegance we wished.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Mrs. Bella declared and pushed past Netta to saunter into the room. “We won’t be staying long, and I know you can’t afford the leaves.”
“Oh?” I couldn’t think of what else to say. I’d never seen a lady of Mrs. Bella’s ilk before, except in my imaginings of duchesses at Almacks. I turned to Mr. Smyth. “Why are you back so soon?” My heart hammered. Something had gone wrong. There was no other explanation.
Smyth helped Madame Bella sit then stepped closer to me, holding something tightly in his fist. They both stared down as he slowly opened his fingers to reveal glittering shards almost dustlike.
“Is that…?”
He nodded gravely. “I stopped at The Crow’s Caw for ale before heading into the city. The brooch tumbled out when I went to pay. It shattered, Lady Charlotte. I’m so sorry. It was paste.”
He didn’t look sorry. He didn’t look the way I felt, as though the whole world were a spinning vortex with me at the center. “It was my luck to run into Mrs. Bella at the inn, or should I say it was your luck?”
“Oh?” I whispered, fighting off tears. All our dreams of a season were dashed if our cousin were the kind of man Mr. Smyth believed. We’d be stuck here living off his goodwill for the rest of our lives. Or worse.
“Mrs. Bella may be able to assist you, and I’d advise you to listen,” Mr. Smyth said.
“I am here to share a business proposition, and then I will be off. If I hurry, I can be back in London by midnight.” My female guest had settled herself into the least-shabby chair facing the desk and appraised me with a critical eye.
I shifted in my chair, feeling exposed and underdressed near the elegant creature. “What do you mean by ‘business proposition’? I am no businesswoman.”
Mrs. Bella smiled. “Ah, but I am, and you have a commodity I am after.”
I racked my brains to think of anything valuable they had left. Nothing came to mind. Father sold off nearly everything not entailed the year after mother’s death. And now that Mr. Smyth ha
“Before I share, why don’t I tell you a little about my business?”
“Please do.” I glanced at Mr. Smyth then back to Mrs. Bella.
She scooted forward on the chair. “I run a school of sorts.”
“A school?” Excitement built a tiny fire in my stomach. Perhaps this was the answer to my prayers. I could enroll Meggie and Ann at the woman’s school while Elizabeth took London by storm. Oh, bless Mr. Smyth for bringing this savior to us. “We couldn’t pay much in tuition, but my sisters are hard workers,” I said eagerly.
Mrs. Bella smiled almost gently. “As I said, it’s a school of sorts. While I do educate young women, it is not in the usual way or the expected curriculum.”
“I don’t understand.”
Mrs. Bella sighed. “No, of course you don’t. I had hoped to have this conversation with your father, the Baron, but as I understand from the villagers, he is recently deceased?”
I nodded stiffly. “One month ago yesterday.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Another stiff nod. Would it ever get easier to acknowledge my grief without bursting into sobs? To hide my pain, I focused on Mrs. Bella’s overly large reticule balanced on the wide skirts of her silky, blue dress.
“Shall I tell you more about my school?”
I shrugged. I had nothing but time in my account. “If you wish.”
“I’m not Mrs. Bella. Most men in London know me as Madame Bella.”
Excuse me? Had I heard her correctly? I stood and stepped around my father’s desk. “Thank you for your time. I fear I remember an appointment I must attend.” Fury burned in my chest. How dare a woman of ill repute waltz into my home as if she’d be welcome? I glared at Mr. Smyth. How dare he bring her into my home? He’d never dared if my father were alive.
Mrs., no, Madame Bella remained seated. “Please hear me out. I know this is a difficult time, and sometimes certain rules and beliefs we once maintained become a luxury when life throws hurdles in our path.”
Madame Bella was right about one thing. Already, my sisters and I had ceased sitting in the main dining room, electing to join Netta in the kitchen for a cozy meal en famille. I turned slowly and faced the older beautiful woman. “I’m listening.”
“My school teaches young women of fine families who’ve fallen on hard times to earn a living.”
“Doing what? Becoming whores?” I asked, suspicious.
“As mistresses to the wealthiest men of elevated titles,” Madame said smoothly.
“Is there a difference?”
Mr. Smyth cleared his throat. “Charlotte. You are out of options. The money is gone, and your cousin plans to kick you out of the home. You’ll end up on the streets of London. There is only one reliable source of income for women, and at least with Madame Bella, it will be safer. Cleaner. She only allows gentleman of the highest caliber to bid on her girls.”
I froze. Kicked out of our home?
Madame smiled and smoothed her elegant skirt, picking at an invisible piece of lint. “You are very naïve, are you not?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t believe so, no.” Oh, God, yes I was naïve.
“You are if you think there is such a difference between a mistress and a wife.”
I opened my mouth to protest every difference between the two, but Madame spoke over my objections.
“The difference is that a mistress earns a living and can change protectors. A wife is not compensated for her household drudgery, nor can she change lovers at ease. If her husband is a brute, the law demands she stays with him until death. A mistress can find a new lover.”
I stepped back to the desk chair, trailing a finger along the fading wood surface of the desk. Madame made an excellent point. I struggled to wrap my brain around an idea that warred with every notion of decency I’d been taught since birth. “What is your role?” I asked Madame Bella.
The woman smiled, seeing she had made inroads into changing my view. “Men want ladies in the ballroom and whores in the bedroom. The girls I train have been taught the lady role already. I teach them bedroom skills. How to pleasure a man…”
I held up an icy hand then pressed it to my hot cheek. Mr. Smyth gave us the courtesy of looking intently at the shabby, threadbare rug.
“I give a small fee to the families who loan me their daughters and in return, I expect the girl to share a percentage of her monthly stipend with me. I negotiate the contract between gentleman and mistress to ensure it is fair and generous to both parties.
“If I agree to attend your school, how long before my sisters receive their stipend and before I am partnered with a man?” A wave of desperation and shame rolled through me that I was even considering this wild plan.
“But it is not you I want,” Madame said. “It is your sister, the beautiful one.”
She wanted Elizabeth? I leapt to my feet and planted my palms on the table. “No! Absolutely not. My sister, Elizabeth, is to travel to London and make a great match, but we need funds. If anyone goes with you, it will be me.”
“You are too old,” Madame said.
“I’m twenty.”
“Too old.”
“Charlotte,” Mr. Smyth interrupted, “Elizabeth will fetch top dollar.” His demeanor was casual, but there was an intensity in his eyes that he couldn’t hide.
I stared at him, horrified, and then I realized, he intended to bid. He’d always wanted her, though when Papa had been alive, he’d masked his desire better.
I folded my arms across my chest. “If anyone goes, it will be me.” But then I fell silent, realizing the absurdity of it. I wasn’t actually considering becoming a whore, was I? Despite Madame’s prettily wrapped words, a mistress was a whore and could never be received in decent company again. I’d never marry. Never have a family of my own. And if I were discovered, I’d ruin my sister’s chances. The risk was too great.
“I’m afraid I will have to reject your generous offer. Should any of us become a mistress, we’d all be ruined,” I said, turning to look out the window where my two youngest sisters strolled with buckets in hand, no doubt to hunt for wild edible berries.
Madame Bella rose and placed a sheath of parchment on the desk. “Have you ever been to London before?”
I shook my head.
“Then we could hide your identity. No one in London would connect you with your sisters when they make their debuts. Seasons in London are very costly. Should you change your mind, my address is within.” She turned, showing a hint of lacy petticoat and exited, leaving Mr. Smyth who also rose.
He cleared his throat and made one last entreaty. “Consider it, Lady Charlotte. You have the opportunity to save your sisters.” He exited and I was left alone, shaking in my father’s office.
My fingers worried the papers Madame Bella had left. Faced with a choice between becoming homeless or selling my body to a stranger, I didn’t see a plethora of other options. I’d likely become a whore.
Three months later
“Tell me again why we’re back in London, this infernal dirty rat hole.”
I leaned on the ship’s railing, staring at the teeming docks below. “Quit your grousing, Bellamy. You know why we’re here.”
“You’re cracked if you think your twin killed your eldest brother. The letter mentioned no evidence of foul play.”
“He was thrown from his horse, Bell.”
“Exactly. Thrown from his horse and broke his neck. End of story. Sebastian, bastard though he is, couldn’t have planned it.”
“Why not?” I demanded. “A loose shoe, a stone under a saddle, there are a thousand ways to unseat an excellent rider.”
Bellamy frowned and drummed his fingers on the wood railing. “The earl was an excellent rider, but he was also a daring rider, perhaps too daring.”
I snorted and rose to my full height, turning to prepare for disembarking. The sour, salty smells of London’s docks assailed my nostrils and hammered home the realization I was back from my travels to a world where most believed me missing or dead. Seven years away and not much had changed. London still stank and Bellamy was still at my side.
