Susan Johnson - Gorgeous As Sin

Musical beds was not only common but also habitual in the aristocracy. Once a wife had done her duty by providing her husband an heir, she was allowed her pleasures. And while everyone knew who was sleeping with whom, as long as wives and husbands discreetly ignored the details as it pertained to them, conjugal harmony was maintained.

“I’ll be out this afternoon,” Fitz declared, fending off further questions by changing the subject. “Hutchinson might have some new information for me as it relates to this bookstore. Are you dining at home tonight or are you going out?”

“We’ve been invited to Bunny’s.”

He didn’t have to ask who she meant by we. “In that case, I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow. Have you met my new secretary Stanley?”

“I have indeed. A most lovely young man. Do you like him?”

He smiled. “How could I not since you arranged for him to enter my employ.”

“Dear Abigail is in such straits I knew you wouldn’t mind helping her son. A shame she has a husband so bloody poor at cards.”

Fitz instantly thought of Edward St. Vincent and his wife-particularly his wife-when he shouldn’t. It took him a fleeting moment to shake off Rosalind’s image, and when he spoke his voice was unexpectedly husky. “Don’t worry about Stanley.” Quickly clearing his throat, he went on in a normal tone. “I’ll see that he is well compensated, and if the boy wishes to move on to larger endeavors at some point I promise to see him properly placed.”

“Thank you. You’re a darling. You’re my darling,” she softly said, wondering who he’d been thinking of a moment ago when his voice had gone soft. Her son was not a man of sentiment, other than in their relationship, where he was most tender. She’d have to speak to Sarah. Darby never gave up a clue when it came to her son, but she and Sarah had been close for years. Hadn’t they both been mother to Fitz? “Have you eaten, sweetheart?” she politely asked, intent on putting her son at ease, purposely not commenting as he held his empty glass out for a refill. “I believe all your favorites are on the sideboard.”

“I’ll eat later.” He handed a flunkey his glass and said, “To the rim.” He was finding it difficult to ignore the images of Rosalind that had come to mind when his mother had unfortunately mentioned gambling. The kaleidoscope of graphic, sexually explicit scenes was deeply unwelcome. Swivelling around, he searched for the flunkey. Where the fuck was his drink?

Julia wasn’t particularly concerned that Fitz was drinking his breakfast. That wasn’t uncommon for men of his class. But she’d not seen that shuttered look in his eyes in years. Having survived all the bad times with the former duke, she and Fitz were extremely close. She knew when he was unsettled. “Tell me about the design of your new development, darling,” she interposed, hoping to assuage his moodiness with something of interest to him. As one of the largest property owners in Mayfair, Fitz usually enjoyed discussing his urban projects.

“Later, Mother. Once things are resolved.” And having received his brandy, he lifted the glass to his mouth and drained it.

“Did you get my letters from Antibes?” she brightly queried. “You must come with us sometime. You’d love the sailing, and the weather is lovely beyond words even in the summer.” Antibes was fashionable in the spring.

“Yes, thank you, your letters came. Kemal’s villa sounds very… like those on the Bosporus,” Fitz finished in lieu of the phrase a benighted pile of gilded domes and flamboyant ornament that had come to mind.

“I know it looks like a frosted wedding cake,” Julia noted, recognizing her son’s tactfulness, “but it represents the comforts of home to Kemal.”

Does it remind him of his many wives as well? While Fitz liked Kemal, he was protective of his mother.

“I will never marry again,” she flatly said, “so you needn’t scowl at me like that. I don’t require your protection.”

“I know, Mother. It’s a reflex.”

“Furthermore, you’re not in a position to even think of chiding me about nuptial ties when you’re the third party in any number of marriages,” she crisply noted.

“You’re quite right, Mother. I stand corrected. And I like Kemal. Who wouldn’t? He’s intelligent, affable, and damned good at baccarat.”

Julia held her son’s gaze for a telling moment, then smiled. “Forgive my temper. I just don’t need you to take on the role of knight errant for me.”

Fitz laughed. “You’re years too late. Knight-errant types have peach fuzz on their cheeks and a rosy optimism. I’m a cynic.”

“You certainly are not.”

“I am. But there’s advantages in seeing the world with unclouded eyes. You needn’t worry, Mother. I’m quite content.”

“You don’t look content.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Then be sensible. Go upstairs to bed.”

“I might.” Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. All for a good cause, though, he decided, no longer even trying to dismiss the carnal memories of the lovely Mrs. St. Vincent that were racing through his brain. “Wake me if you need anything,” he politely remarked as he came to his feet. “It’s nice to have you back, Mother,” he added with a warm smile. “The house seems lived in again.”

The dowager duchess watched her son as he walked away, a faint frown on her face. Something was amiss. It might just be the Monckton Row project that was in peril, although she rather thought it was another matter. Fitz didn’t as a rule concern himself overmuch with business affairs. While he kept abreast of his various pursuits, by and large, Hutchinson took care of the day-to-day issues.

As the doors shut behind her son, she said, “Come, Pansy, let’s find Sarah. She’ll know what’s bothering Georgie.”

Pansy wagged her tail, and barked yip, yip as if she understood.

And maybe she did.

WHILE FITZ WAS leaving a trail of clothes behind him and Darby was busy closing the bedroom drapes, the dowager duchess was making her way toward Sarah’s apartment.

Due to their special position in the household, Sarah and Darby had their own cozy apartment overlooking the kitchen garden. They had accompanied Julia from home on her marriage, and their loyalties were unequivocal and unwavering. At Fitz’s birth, Julia had placed her son under their care, confident they would protect him as if he were their own.

As a duke’s daughter, Julia’s world had changed little with marriage other than having to contend with a husband who was a monster. Not that other aristocratic marriages were necessarily ideal. She was not alone.

So she coped as did so many other beautiful young ladies married off by their families for reasons other than love. She avoided her husband whenever possible and filled her days with the amusements the beau monde substituted for happiness. While the fashionable set never changed, the locales for their amusements did: London in the Season, Scotland for fishing, the hunt country or Paris in winter, Monte Carlo or Biarritz in early spring, and then back to London again.

Within this whirlwind of travel and entertainments, Sarah and Darby saw that Fitz’s life was relatively tranquil and unafflicted. When the duke was in residence, however, particularly when he was drinking, tranquility was beyond the capabilities of mere mortals. Complete anarchy ruled; the duke’s temper was an explosive force, unaided by judgment, to paraphrase Horace. In those violent times, Sarah and Darby had orders to keep Fitz out of sight of his father if possible.

And it wasn’t always possible.

Since the women were old, dear friends, the moment Julia walked into Sarah’s kitchen, Sarah said, “Sit. I’ll get us tea. I expect you’re wondering about that woman.”

“Is that why Fitz is drinking this morning?”

Sarah turned from the stove where the kettle was steaming. “I don’t know for certain about the drinking, but I know he come from her place this morning.”

Julia’s brows lifted. “I thought it might be a woman.” Taking a seat at the table, she settled Pansy in her lap. “He’s come trailing into breakfast in his evening clothes before, but he was different today.”

“Young Stanley’s the one what seen her first, and he says she’s a real beauty. A Venus, he says. The bookstore lady,” Sarah added at Julia’s questioning look. “That’s where he were last night.”

“Ah. That’s why he didn’t want to tell me where he’d been. Interesting,” Julia murmured. “Now I know why he didn’t want to talk about the bookstore. I asked him about it just to make conversation and he cut me off.”

“Trouble in paradise,” Sarah pronounced, spooning tea into the pot. “That bookstore lady’s been tellin’ him no, and he don’t take to no real well like.”

“Indeed,” his mother concurred. “I blame myself for being too indulgent.”

“It ain’t your fault,” Sarah replied. “The boy’s always wanted what he’s wanted and that’s that.” She could have said like you, but she didn’t.

“Tell me everything you know about this woman. Although, I expect she’s a bold little piece planning on lining her pockets with Fitz’s help,” Julia added with a little sniff of disapproval. “He says she won’t sell even though she’s been offered a considerable sum.”

Carrying over two cups of tea, Sarah set them on the table. “First off, I don’t know naught about the lady other than she’s a looker. As if that ain’t enough for Fitz,” she sardonically added, taking a seat across from the duchess. “Anyways, I sent Darby after the boy, thinkin’ we’d best know where he was spendin’ the night efen’ we had to drag him home what with you arrivin’.”

Julia smiled. “He’d be incensed if he knew.”

“Well, he don’t and he won’t. If you hadn’t been comin’ into town, he could’ve slept with the devil for all I cared. But you were comin’. A mite early as it turned out,” Sarah noted with a dip of her head. “James had orders to fetch Fitz at half past ten.”

“Still,” Julia mused, “how is it possible for this woman, no matter how Venus-like, to have such an effect on him? He was moody at breakfast. Are you sure he hasn’t been ruining himself at cards? Or losing at the races?”

“Does the boy ever lose at cards or the races for that matter with his stable of prime bloodstock?” Sarah shrugged. “Could be he’s jes a mite tired and we’re makin’ a whole lot outta nothin’.”

“You could be right. Yes, I’m sure you are.” Julia preferred to ignore problems. If they couldn’t be ignored, she generally handed them over to someone else to solve-a not untypical reaction of those in her privileged class who had been waited on from the cradle. “On the other hand,” Julia murmured, her motherly instincts overcoming even her own creature comforts, “maybe it wouldn’t hurt for us to pay a little visit to this bookstore and see this woman for ourselves.”

Sarah grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The two women exchanged a look of understanding.

“I ain’t goin’ to mention it to Darby,” Sarah noted.

“I certainly don’t plan on telling Fitz,” Julia cheerfully returned. “When shall we go?”

“You decide,” Sarah said, already knowing the answer.

“Fitz is sleeping,” Julia offered with a conspiratorial wink.

“Perfect.”

Julia came to her feet. “Meet me in the entrance hall in ten minutes. I just have to fetch my bonnet.”

ROSALIND FELT THE hairs on the back of her neck rise when the two women walked into the store. One was obviously a servant or companion, the other vaguely familiar. She tried to place the face of the woman in the yellow silk muslin couturier gown who occasioned such a feeling of unease. But whatever was prompting her disquiet remained locked away.

The store happened to be busy at the time, so a lengthy interval lapsed before Rosalind took notice of the women again. Or rather her attention was dramatically directed to them at the entrance of Lady Tweedsdale. “Hail and welcome, Julia, my love!” she trilled in a high falsetto. “You’re back! I saw Groveland yesterday and the rascal didn’t say a word!”

A chill ran down Rosalind’s spine. Were these women Groveland’s spies? What was he up to? Not that it mattered, she reflected, shock quickly supplanted by anger. She would not be harassed or spied on. Just as soon as Lady Tweedsdale left, she’d send the two women on their way!

Lady Tweedsdale was too good a customer to offend, nor could Rosalind afford any whiff of scandal in the event Groveland’s name come up. The fact that these women were here so early in the morning gave her pause on that score.

She couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, especially Lady Tweedsdale, who spoke in a tone more appropriate to the back benches of Parliament. Discoursing at great length, she described her social schedule in detail, the litany of her entertainments at various country house parties prodigious. She particularly bemoaned her fate in having suffered a week in the Highlands with her husband, who was shooting grouse. “Not to mention we were obliged to pay our addresses to Wales’s newest hussy,” she finished with a disparaging sniff.