Page 20 of Doxy for the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #7)

M imi stared at the mirror, watching her maid’s reflection as she styled her hair into ringlets and weaved in an array of pearls. Then she shifted her gaze to her own reflection.

The woman who stared back at her bore an expression of regret, and hope. She steeled herself and shifted her expression until the woman in the mirror was, once more, the elegant Lady Rex.

“Is your hair not to your satisfaction, your ladyship?”

“It’s beautiful as usual, Gracie.”

“The duke will be even more in love when he sees you tonight,” the maid said.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Gracie,” Mimi replied, as her cheeks flushed pink in her reflection.

“But ma’am…”

Mimi reached up and took her maid’s hand. “Gracie, your words are kindly meant, but I cannot afford to think of love.”

The maid resumed working on her hair.

When pleasure risked her downfall, what might love do to her soul, other than destroy it?

Mimi forced a smile and nodded encouragement to her maid to continue.

She had come close to pleasure when he’d last visited—the feel of him inside her, filling her completely, and the expression in his eyes as he came to pure bliss. And when he cried her name, his voice deep and soulful…she had almost succumbed. It had taken every last drop of resolve to stem the swell of pleasure that had ignited deep inside her body, flaring with each touch of his hands and mouth.

That had been almost a sennight ago, and he hadn’t visited her since. But perhaps that was for the best. His absence had given her leave to visit Mrs. Briggs and console herself in honest, hard work. And she had summoned the courage to take a walk in the park alone, holding her head high, as befitted the respectable widow of a knight. The excursion had not been without its pleasures, as she encountered Eleanor taking the air with her sister and brother-in-law, Lord and Lady Radham. But when Lord Radham had let slip that he was a vicar, Mimi was reminded of just how far beneath these people she existed.

She closed her eyes, recalling the last vicar she’d encountered in her former life: a man caught up in his own piety, who referenced his sermons when casting judgment on her while demanding she service his body—a man who believed himself above the messages he preached, including the basic principle of kindness to others. Would Lord Radham, civil as he was when he believed her to be a knight’s widow, treat her with contempt and cruelty if he knew she was a whore?

No—Society would spit on her if they knew the truth. She may have belonged in this world years ago, but that was another life.

A life she had forgotten, until he had blundered into her world, setting her pulse racing and her heart aching. He had made her feel again, when feelings were a luxury she couldn’t afford, not even for two thousand guineas.

Alexander…

Her maid’s eyes widened, and Mimi cursed herself for voicing his name. Did Gracie know that Mimi whispered his name as she brought herself to pleasure in her cold, empty bed? But the craving that had grown in her soul was no longer satisfied by her own hand, the release all too brief, leaving her hollow.

And now, she was on the brink of seeing him again. Tonight would call upon her resolve.

She caught a flash out of the corner of her eye as her maid held up the necklace that had arrived yesterday, along with a brief note telling her to be ready to receive him tonight at six. As Gracie placed it about her throat and secured the clasp, Mimi ran her fingertips over the stones—five diamonds of increasing size, either side of a single amethyst.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, ma’am,” the maid said. “It’s perfect for you. The color matches the embroidery on your gown and emphasizes the color of your eyes. The duke is to be admired for his taste.”

“Doubtless there was little thought put into the gift, Gracie,” Mimi said. “A man of his means can pay others to acquire gifts on his behalf.”

“If you say so, ma’am.”

A clock struck six in the distance, and Mimi’s heart leaped with anticipation.

No—I must not descend into such girlish nonsense!

Mimi rose and let her maid place her cloak about her shoulders. Her heart fluttered at the memory of a similar act, when Alexander had placed the bedsheet about her naked form with a tender reverence that threatened to breach her defenses.

She heard a knock on the main doors and made her way to the top of the stairs, where she saw Charles cross the hallway floor below.

“If I may be so bold, ma’am,” the maid said, “may I make a request?”

“Anything, Gracie.”

“Enjoy your evening. And take friendship where it’s offered.”

Mimi patted her maid’s hand. “I will.”

Then she descended the stairs.

Alexander stood by the front door talking to Charles, his broad back to her. Then he turned to face her.

His eyes, the color of sapphires, darkened as she approached, and he stepped forward and held out his hand. Before she could stop herself, she drifted to his side, slipping her hand through his—a falcon returning to her master.

“You look…” he said, then shook his head. “Forgive me, I know you’re not fond of flattery.” He nodded to the necklace. “Do you like it?”

His voice wavered and she saw uncertainty in his eyes, as if he were a male bird having brought an offering to his mate and now awaited her verdict.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.”

“I saw several necklaces, but none were the right color—I wanted it to complement your eyes.”

“My eyes are brown , Your Grace.”

“Y-yes,” he said, “but I recalled at the ball how the color of your gown seemed to emphasize your eyes, and I wanted a necklace to suit.”

“Then I thank you for your consideration, Your Grace.”

“Might you call me by my given name while we’re alone?”

She glanced across the hallway to the footman, who stared straight ahead, making a pretense, with little success, of nonchalance.

“Thank you…Alexander.”

He smiled and his eyes sparkled with pleasure, the color intensifying to that of a deep ocean into which she yearned to dive. Then she broke their gaze and gestured toward the door.

“Perhaps we should go,” she said. “It’s past six, and you’ve yet to say where you’re taking me.”

He steered her outside, where his carriage stood waiting. Then he helped her inside, climbed after her, and rapped on the side. They set off with a lurch and she almost lost her seat, but he caught her and she was beset by the aroma of wood and soft spices—the scent of a man.

She sat back, fixing her gaze on the window while he spoke about his day, as if they were a courting couple venturing out for the evening. But despite the urge to look at him again, she refrained, for fear that she would see, once again, the expression in his eyes when she’d spoken his name—the spark of joy, and of love.

At length, the carriage passed between a pair of iron gates, entering a drive that led to an enormous building emblazoned with light. A row of torches flanked a wide set of steps that led to a doorway guarded by two liveried footmen.

The carriage rolled to a halt at the foot of the steps, amid a number of other carriages, and excited chatter filled the air as the occupants climbed out and ascended the steps—mostly couples, but the occasional lone gentleman, and Mimi spotted a family of six, a husband and wife and four young women, their feathered headdresses nodding as they chatted animatedly to each other.

Mimi had never seen so many people in one gathering. A private ball she could weather, but a large public event such as this…

She was bound to be discovered—if not due to the nonexistence of Sir John Rex, then as herself. What if a former customer were among the party?

Or worse…

Her gut twisted with fear, and she drew in a sharp breath to temper the nausea.

Then a large hand took hers, and she turned to see a pair of blue eyes focused on her.

“You’ve nothing to fear tonight, Mimi,” he said. “I’m certain you’ll have an enjoyable evening. But I promise that if you wish to go at any time, I’ll take you home. I merely ask that you come inside, if only for a moment.”

“What is this?” she asked, nodding toward the building.

“It’s a surprise,” he said. “One I hope you’ll like. I won’t ask you to trust me—I’ve no right—but I ask that you give me a chance.”

The plea in his voice spoke of sincerity.

“Very well,” she said.

He smiled and gave a little growl of pleasure, then he pushed open the carriage door and climbed out, helping her after him. He steered her toward the steps and led her inside.

The hallway was enormous—a marble cavern, all pale floors and walls, and a chandelier ablaze with light. Mimi’s feet echoed on the stone floor as her companion led her toward a set of double doors, beyond which a small crowd milled about. Strains of music competed with excited voices.

Perhaps it was a ball—but with considerably more guests than Lady Walton’s.

“Let me introduce you to our hosts,” Alexander said, steering her toward a couple who stood beside the doors, next to a young man she recognized. “The Duke and Duchess of Westbury.”

The duke, a tall man with black hair and clear blue eyes, fixed his gaze on Mimi. He towered over the duchess, who regarded Mimi with interest.

“So this is the famous Lady Rex,” she said. Mimi glanced toward Alexander, who gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m afraid Lady Rex is not fond of compliments, Your Grace,” he said. “She is unused to them.”

“A travesty that must be rectified if my stepson’s account of you is true, Lady Rex,” the duchess said. “Is that not so, Edward?”

The young man offered his hand. Mimi took it, and he lifted her hand to his lips.

“Lady Rex,” he said, casting a glance toward her companion. “A-and Sawbridge, Your Grace.”

“Mr. Drayton, a pleasure to see you again,” Alexander said before Mimi could reply. “I fear I was most uncivil when we last we met, for which I apologize.”

The young man blushed, and the duchess gave him an indulgent smile before resuming her attention on Mimi. “Lady Rex, I hear you’re fond of Bach.”

“Bach?” Mimi said.

“Is that not why Sawbridge asked that we extend our invitation to you? Of course, your kindness toward Edward ensures you a welcome in our home at any time.”

“Jeanette, my love,” the duke said, “we mustn’t keep our guests waiting.”

The duchess rolled her eyes, though she exchanged a look of adoration with her husband. “I consider myself admonished, Henry,” she said. “Lady Rex, I trust you’ll enjoy the concert. Please—do go in.”

She gestured toward the doors, and Alexander led Mimi through them, into an enormous ballroom, paneled with mirrors along one side, filled with chairs set out in rows. At the far end, a quartet of musicians sat, tuning their instruments, beside a grand pianoforte.

“You’ve brought me to a concert?” Mimi asked.

He smiled and drew her arm through his. “The duchess opens her concerts up to everyone in Society. For a price, of course—to support her various philanthropic ventures. In fact, when she heard of your charitable efforts, she promised to pass a share of the proceeds to you. She’s particularly interested in easing the plight of disadvantaged women.”

“You shouldn’t have asked,” Mimi said.

“But if a man doesn’t ask, he’s in danger of never having his wish fulfilled.”

Desire flared in his eyes, and she turned away, casting her gaze over the crowd.

“Ah! There we are,” he said, picking through the crowd toward a pair of empty seats. Mimi’s apprehension lessened as she recognized Eleanor and her sister Lady Radham, together with Eleanor’s husband. Of Lord Radham there was no sign.

“Ah, Lady Rex, there you are,” Lady Radham said. “I was beginning to fear Sawbridge had frightened you off.”

Alexander stiffened at the sneer in her voice, but he steered Mimi toward the seats. “Lady Radham, Duchess—a pleasure, as always,” he said.

“Oh, I doubt that,” Lady Radham said. “I—”

“Juliette, remind us what you are to sing tonight,” Eleanor said.

Lady Radham let out a sigh. “ Jesus Bleibet Meine Freude .”

“How fitting,” Mimi said, “given that Advent is almost upon us.”

Lady Radham smiled, her clear blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight. She really was the most exquisitely beautiful creature, but she lacked the vanity that generally came hand in hand with such beauty. She leaned across and took Mimi’s hand.

“How gratifying to find someone with a true appreciation of Bach,” she said. “I only trust I’ll not disappoint you with my lack of prowess. Perhaps you should play for the company tonight. Tell me—have you tried any of the pieces from The Well-Tempered Clavier yet?”

“Not to any degree of proficiency,” Mimi said.

“Few people in this room, save our hostess, would be able to distinguish between a beautifully played Bach piece and my daughter’s screams when she’s demanding her supper,” Lady Radham said.

“That’s very true,” Eleanor said. “I have no ear at all.”

“Ah, but your talent lies in your pencil,” her husband said.

“Montague, my love, I’ve told you before not to flatter me.”

“But your husband is right to do so in this instance,” Lady Radham said. “I saw your latest portrait of Lady Rex. It’s exquisite.”

“Portrait?” Alexander asked. “What portrait?”

“It was drawn in your absence, Your Grace,” Lady Radham said. “Believe it or not, some women can function perfectly well without any gentlemen present.”

“Juliette,” Eleanor said, her voice a harsh whisper, and Mimi suppressed a smile at the stricken expression in Alexander’s eyes.

The guests quieted as their host and hostess entered the room. Westbury and his son took their places on the front row, while the duchess stood beside the musicians to welcome the company, before she sat at the pianoforte and the music began.

The guests stilled as the gentle melody of Bach’s aria filled the air, elegant in its simplicity. Then the duchess began to play the variations, toying with the melody, adding richness and flavor to the music.

“She’s a true proficient, is she not?” Eleanor whispered. “An excellent choice to change the program for tonight.”

“The duchess did not intend to play the Bach?” Mimi asked.

“Her favored piece is a Mozart sonata. But I understand her husband asked her to make a change, on the insistence of a friend.” She gestured toward Alexander.

Mimi glanced at the man next to her, whose eyes sparkled with delight.

“ You? ” she asked.

He nodded, and a slight hint of pink colored his cheeks. Surely he wasn’t blushing?

“I promised you’d enjoy tonight,” he whispered, “and I’ve no wish to break any promise I make to you.”

“Alexander, I—”

“Hush,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “Much as I enjoy hearing my name on your lips, I wouldn’t want you to miss the music.” He reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers.

Mimi relaxed into her seat as the music filled her senses, letting her gaze wander about the room. Almost every guest was rapt in concentration, except one couple where the husband seemed to be struggling to keep awake. He’d stare toward the front, wide-eyed, then his eyelids would droop until they closed, and his head would nod forward onto his chest. Then the woman next to him would poke his ribs, issue a sharp word in his ear, and the process would repeat.

Clearly not everyone was a lover of music.

Smiling to herself, Mimi glanced about the rest of the guests, until her gaze fell upon a man who looked familiar.

The woman at his side, whom Mimi recognized as Lady Elizabeth De Witt, stared straight ahead, a bored expression on her face. Then she curled her lip in a sneer and leaned toward him to speak. He turned to respond, and Mimi’s gut twisted in revulsion.

It was Ralph—Earl Mayhew.

She suppressed a cry as his pale-gray eyes met her gaze. The music faded into nothingness, replaced by that familiar hated voice, declaring her a whore and issuing the order to toss her out onto the street. Cold fingers clawed at her insides.

“Lady Rex?”

She startled at the voice, and looked up to see Lady Radham standing before her.

“Forgive me, do you mind?” The woman held a sheet of music to her breast.

Mimi glanced about. Most of the guests were staring at her—what had she done?

“Mimi?” Alexander said. “Are you well? Is something amiss?”

She shook her head.

He squeezed her hand. “It’s Lady Radham’s turn to sing. Here, allow me.”

Taking her elbow, he helped Mimi to stand. Lady Radham nodded her thanks and slipped along the row of guests, who each stood to make room, until she reached the end, then she made her way toward the pianoforte.

Only after Lady Radham had started to sing did Mimi summon the courage to glance across the room once more. But Earl Mayhew was absorbed in a discussion with his companion, and he did not look in her direction again.

I must be much changed.

Yes—she had changed. The na?ve young girl who’d believed in honor had been destroyed five years ago, her joy replaced by sorrow, her faith by cynicism, and her capacity to love…

Mimi glanced down at Alexander’s hand, which held hers. Though he was absorbed in the music and Lady Radham’s exquisite voice, he caressed her hand with his fingertips absent-mindedly, as if it came naturally to him. She had long since learned that grand gestures and professions of love were more to satisfy the proclaimer’s vanity than a true expression of feeling. But the small gestures—asking the hostess to change the recital to include Mimi’s favorite composer, a delicate touch of the hand…

They were the true declarations of love.

Stop being such a fool!

He didn’t love her. He couldn’t .

A man in his position could never feel anything more for a doxy than physical attraction. But while she sat next to him at a Society concert, almost as if she belonged there, she could indulge in the dream for a little while.

When Lady Radham’s song concluded, the room erupted with applause. Their hostess announced the interval and directed the guests to a buffet in the adjoining room, and footmen appeared with trays of champagne.

“Shall I fetch you something to eat?” Alexander asked. Mimi nodded. “Come, Whitcombe,” he said. “Duty calls.”

“It’s a pleasure, not a duty, to serve my wife,” Whitcombe said. He exchanged a glance with Eleanor, and Mimi’s heart ached at the love in their eyes. “Eleanor, my love, you stay here with Lady Rex.”

Eleanor nodded, and the men left, picking their way through the crowd. The noise and chatter increased, and laughter filled the air. Eleanor seemed to shrink under the weight of the clamor of voices, and she closed her eyes and began to pick at her sleeve and toy with the bracelet about her wrist.

“Eleanor, are you well?” Mimi asked.

The duchess opened her eyes and shook her head. “I-I cannot hear you. The noise…”

“You’re not fond of crowds, are you?” Mimi said.

“I’ll be all right.”

A group of young men walked past, roaring with laughter, and Eleanor flinched. She hid her distress well, but the advantage of Mimi’s profession was that she had learned to understand people. Eleanor’s distress was evident with careful observation—the slight shake of her hand as she continued to twirl her bracelet, the measured rhythm of her breathing, which suggested a deliberate attempt to control her apprehension, and the spark of longing in her eyes as she glanced toward the doors.

Mimi rose, fanning herself.

“Oh dear,” she said, “I’ve come over a little hot. Duchess, would you mind helping me outside? I’m in need of fresh air.”

Eleanor blinked and lifted her gaze to Mimi, who offered her elbow.

“Forgive me for making such an imposition, but I’d be most grateful.”

Eleanor stared at Mimi’s arm for a moment, then she stood and took it. Mimi steered them along the row and toward the doors at the rear of the room, while Eleanor clung to her.

“I dislike crowds myself,” she said brightly as they passed the young men. “I’m of the opinion that if one has nothing sensible to say, then it’s best to remain silent—in which case, most of the guests here would be required to say nothing for the rest of the evening.”

Eleanor giggled, then let out a cry as they collided with a young woman, and Mimi suppressed a curse. Of all the women to encounter, it had to be Sarah Francis.

“Oh! Forgive me, Miss Francis,” Eleanor said.

Sarah arched an eyebrow and stared at Eleanor.

“Duchess,” she said, in a tone clearly intended to convey the least amount of respect possible. Then she creased her upper lip as if encountering a particularly bad smell. “Lady Rex,” she said. “You are moving up in the world. I applaud your tenacity.”

“You’re too kind,” Mimi replied.

“I should warn you, as a friend, to take care with whom you associate,” Miss Francis said. “A title always carries more value when it is inherited, rather than married into—wouldn’t you agree, Duchess Whitcombe?”

Eleanor stiffened.

Mimi suppressed the urge to slam her fist into Miss Francis’s sneering face. Instead, she returned the smile.

“You’re always so considerate, Miss Francis,” she said. “And generous with your advice. Is she not generous, Duchess?”

Eleanor nodded.

“Such consideration cannot go unrewarded,” Mimi continued. “Permit me, Miss Francis, to express my gratitude for your generosity by sharing a little advice of my own.”

Miss Francis nodded, in the manner of a monarch receiving her subject. Mimi leaned toward her and lowered her voice.

“Why don’t you fuck yourself with a broom handle, Miss Francis?”

Wearing the sweetest of smiles, Mimi stepped back.

Miss Francis paled, opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again.

“I-I beg your pardon?” she said.

“It’s not something I’d recommend on a constant basis,” Mimi continued, “but it does wonders for the complexion if undertaken at least twice a day before meals.”

Eleanor suppressed a snort, and Miss Francis stared at her, her eyes glittering with hatred.

“I’ve heard such a practice is employed frequently by young women who find it difficult to secure a suitor,” Mimi continued. “And, of course, there’s the benefit of being able to sweep the floor afterward.”

Miss Francis let out a squeak, and Eleanor burst into laughter, shaking with mirth, which culminated in a volley of coughs.

“Quite right, Duchess,” Mimi said. “The air is a little stifling in here. Let us take a turn outside.” She led Eleanor into the hallway. “Would you like to walk outside, Eleanor? I could ask someone to fetch your cloak.”

“No, I’ll be all right here,” Eleanor replied. “Forgive me, I-I’m not fond of crowds. And Miss Francis always unnerves me. I’m a little afraid of her—at least when Montague’s not with me.”

“Why, because she thinks herself superior?”

“She always seems to know what to do, and say, at parties and social gatherings. Whereas I…”

“Whereas you understand the value of only speaking when you have something of value to say and when you are with someone with whom you can have an intelligent conversation,” Mimi said. “I doubt the Honorable Miss Francis has ever experienced an intelligent conversation—at least one she’s capable of understanding.”

“Oh, I assure you, she understood your meaning,” Eleanor said, blushing. “I-I can’t quite believe you suggested that she—that she…”

“Sweep the floor?” Mimi said. “Yes—an outrageous idea that a woman of her disposition would ever sweep a floor.”

“Eleanor what are you doing?”

Mimi turned to see Whitcombe approaching, Alexander at his side.

“It’s all right, Montague,” Eleanor said. “I was—”

“I saw Lady Rex almost drag you out of the ballroom,” he said. “I’ve left your food at your seat. Lady Rex, what are you about?”

Mimi cringed at the thinly veiled anger in Whitcombe’s tone.

“I say, Whitcombe, there’s no need—” Alexander began.

“There’s every need when my wife’s welfare is at stake, Sawbridge,” Whitcombe said.

“What are you accusing Lady Rex of?” Alexander asked. “I daresay your wife’s in better hands with Lady Rex than anyone else in the room, including yourself.”

“Eleanor was kind enough to escort me outside when I grew a little faint,” Mimi said.

Alexander took her hand. “Are you unwell?” he asked. “Do you wish to leave?”

Whitcombe let out a huff, and Eleanor raised her hand.

“Montague, don’t be tiresome,” she said. “I know you have good intentions, but Lady Rex is the kind one, not me.”

“How come?” Alexander asked.

Eleanor averted her gaze. “I-I’m not fond of crowds,” she said. “Or an excess of noise.”

“And Lady Rex noticed when others did not,” Alexander said.

Eleanor nodded.

“I saw you speaking to that odious Francis woman,” Whitcombe said.

“Not by design,” Eleanor said. “And Lady Rex told her to—”

“Eleanor!” Mimi cried, suppressing laughter.

“With a broom handle,” Eleanor added.

Whitcombe raised his eyebrows, confusion in his eyes, but Alexander let out a snort.

“Let us hope she doesn’t,” he said, winking at Mimi. “For the sake of the poor broom.”

“But she suggested Miss Francis sweep the floor afterward,” Eleanor continued, her eyes sparkling like emeralds, “which would at least put the broom to its proper use.”

Whitcombe glanced from Mimi to Eleanor, then threw back his head, roaring with laughter. A nearby crowd of guests stopped talking and turned to stare at them.

The duke extended his hand to Mimi. “Let me shake your hand, Lady Rex,” he said. “I believe we have been furnished with a treasure. Sawbridge, I envy you and would advise you to do one thing.”

Mimi tilted her head to one side. “Does it involve a broom handle, Your Grace?”

“I trust not,” Whitcombe said. “Cherish this woman, Sawbridge. You’ll never encounter another like her.”

Alexander’s smile disappeared, and Mimi held her breath, awaiting the declaration that he had no time for women. Instead, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips.

“I fear you’re right, my friend,” he said. “It’s something I’ve believed for some time now, and with each passing day, that belief has grown into the strongest of convictions.”

He drew Mimi close, and she leaned into his touch.

Then she glanced over at the group watching them and froze.

Earl Mayhew stood beside Earl Thorpe. The two seemed deep in conversation, then Thorpe gestured toward Mimi, and Mayhew lifted his pale-gray gaze to her. His eyes glittered like cold, hard diamonds in the candlelight, and a sneer curled the corner of his mouth. Elizabeth de Witt joined them, together with Miss Francis, and icy fingers clawed at Mimi’s insides as all four of them turned toward her.

“Mimi, my love, are you well?” Alexander whispered.

My love…

She closed her eyes, letting the brief flare of hope wash over her. Then she opened them again and nodded.

“Yes, I-I’m well,” she said, glancing toward the group by the door. But they had returned into the ballroom.

“Perhaps you need something to eat. I’ve a plate waiting at your seat—that is, if Lady Radham hasn’t accidentally sat on it.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Or perhaps Miss Francis may have sat on it, thinking it a broom handle.”

Mimi smiled, and he returned her to her seat, where he presented her with a plate of chicken and a glass of wine. For the rest of the evening, she endeavored to enjoy the music, though her instincts screamed in protest at the predator in the room. But each time she glanced across the room, Mayhew was engrossed in the woman next to him, the music, or the glass in his hand.

He had no reason to recognize her. But she couldn’t suppress her fear at the memory of those pale eyes staring at her unblinkingly, like an adder poised to strike.