Page 55 of Only a Mistress Will Do

“My grandmother’s money was meant to come to me. The old lady doted on me, even over my sisters. I would have inherited her estates in York and Brighton and a considerable fortune as well.” He took a swallow, dribbling the spirits down his chin, then grimaced and wiped his mouth with this sleeve. “Until the day the little darling was born. The moment my mother named her for the old lady she had no use for anyone else.”

“You’ve got the title and all your father’s property coming to you. Why would you need more?” Greedy Turk.

Harper rolled his eyes. “One does need money in the meantime to go on with. I wouldn’t have to be called on the carpet every time I spend a farthing. With that inheritance I could have bought a post-chaise for each day of the week.” He leered at Tris. “Or I could set up residence in the best punch house in London. There are several girls I wouldn’t mind patronizing on a regular basis.”

Tris sputtered, mid-sip. Christ, did the man go to Vestry’s? Could he know about Violet? He shot a glance at Harper, but he was busy emptying the decanter into his glass. Tris hadn’t ever seen him at the House of Pleasure, but that meant nothing. Hopefully he patronized Madame Bontemp’s establishment instead. She catered to more wanton tastes if rumor was correct. Best not make much of the comment. “You’ll survive without Dora’s inheritance, Harper. And you might have a thought for your wife’s recovery rather than patronizing brothels.”

“Huh. Wait until you’ve bedded Dora and then give me that advice.” Harper’s lip curled in an ugly sneer. “I wager you’ll be in London and in bed with a cat inside a month of your marriage.”

“I’d take that wager, but I won’t dishonor my wife with even the contemplation of it.” Enough was enough. Tris set his glass down and rose. “Good evening, sir.” He strode from the room, shaking with rage at the slight to Dora and with a greater fear that Harper might prove right.

Chapter 22

Crisp air crackled in Tris’s nose as he sat atop Rufus, Downing’s roan gelding, surveying the five inches of fresh snow that sparkled over the front lawn of Harper’s Grange next morning. A bracing morning for a ride. He hoped Dora lived up to her estimation of herself as a horsewoman. If not he’d feel like Jack Adams having gone on about how she’d be fine to ride out in the snow. Downing had grumbled, but finally acquiesced.

A slow crunch, crunch of hooves on the fresh snow carpet drew his attention to the corner of the manor. Dora rounded the side of the house on a gray mare who pranced and arched her neck, ears flicked forward.

She smiled and patted the gray’s withers. “There, there Gretchen. We’ll be away in no time.” Seeing Tris, she nodded to him. “Good morning, my lord.”

“It is always a good morning when I’m met with such a charming sight.” His gaze swept her form from top to toe, taking in the trim figure in pale blue wool riding habit, trimmed in dashing gold braid. A fashionable small black tricorn, also trimmed in gold and cocked at a jaunty angle, perched on her golden hair. Her cheeks, already pink from the cold, grew even redder. She ducked her head and adjusted her grip on the reins.

“You are too kind, my lord.” She surveyed him in turn, leaned toward him, her lips slightly parted, then hesitated and sat back in the saddle.

“Shall we view the estate first, then the village?” Tris hurried to fill the silence left by her unspoken comment. “We won’t want to stay overlong out in the cold.”

A shy smile and enthusiastic nod and he nudged his horse toward hers. They set out down the drive at a sedate walk. The countryside spread out around them, covered with a blanket of snow, reminded Tris of a particular sugary cake the family cook used to make. The clean expanse looked so pure he almost hated to mar it with their hoof prints.

“If you truly want to see the estate, we shall have to leave the road, my lord.” Dora’s voice sounded unusually loud in the cold air.

“By all means.” Was she actually taking the lead?

“This way.” With a practiced hand, Dora turned the mare to the left and struck out across the untouched lawn, urging her horse to a trot.

Tris gave her her head and followed, amazed at the change in his bride-to-be. Here with him she seemed more confident, more at ease.

They headed toward a stand of tall oaks on the perimeter of the parkland, passing a large pond, frozen solid. Particles of snow skittered across it in the brisk wind. Dora pulled her horse to a stop, waiting for him to catch up. “The pond is stocked in summer with all manner of fish—carp and pike mostly, I believe. Do you enjoy fishing, my lord?”

He had to chuckle. “Although I will eat it, I confess I have never attempted to actually catch one. Do you enjoy it, then?”

Shaking her head, she frowned at the frozen water. “I have never been allowed. At one time my father spoke of building a folly at one end.” Dora waved toward the near bank. “I would have liked that. Perhaps I might have been permitted to sit there and watch the fishing.” After she stared at the expanse of ice a moment longer, her brows puckered into a frown, then pulled her mount to the right. “Come, Gretchen.” A gentle tap of her heel started the mare for the woods, once more at a trot.

Tris hung back, enjoying the sight of his bride-to-be handling the high-spirited animal with ease. There was more to Miss Dora Harper than met the eye. He urged Rufus into a trot to catch her up.

Reaching the line of trees, she halted, waiting for him, not impatient. Simply waiting. As though she’d been schooled to wait on other people’s whims without complaint.

“This stand of oaks marks the boundary of the Grange on the north side of the property. The estate is some five hundred acres, so I doubt we can see it all today.” She smiled and tapped Gretchen’s flank, heading them into the trees. “I’ve always thought this a pretty wood. So leafy and green in spring and summer. And a blaze of color in autumn.” Her eyes sparkled and she motioned to the trees before her. “Even in winter they are beautiful. Black lace on white.”

“I agree,” Tris said, pulling alongside her. “Very pretty indeed.”

Startled, she jerked her head toward him, her body tensing as for a blow.

Why was she so skittish? Reassuringly, he smiled and patted her hand. “I am only sorry I shall take you away from it.”

Dora gazed down at his hand on hers. “I will not mind much, I think.”

“No? Your father seemed to think you would prefer to continue to live at home after we marry. Either at the Grange or on a neighboring estate.”

She stiffened, her lips thinning until they resembled a pink slash across her face. “He is mistaken, my lord.”