His Secret Mistress Page 7

  She had not dressed this way to be ignored.

  And just like that, the music started. The dancers eagerly moved back to their places. Mr. Balfour found a partner and stood up for the set. The rest of the room save for several men who were already too deep in their cups to notice, followed her eagerly as Winderton led her to stand in a less conspicuous place.

  The grand moment was over . . . before it had even begun. Kate felt decidedly flat, a bit annoyed at how much she had been anticipating locking horns with Mr. Balfour.

  Her gaze went to the dance floor. This was definitely a country society, with no uniformity of dress or deportment. Some men wore pantaloons and their dancing shoes. For others, their two concessions to this being a special occasion appeared to be a clean shirt and a wash behind their ears.

  In truth, Mr. Balfour stood out from all of them in his marine-blue coat and white breeches. She watched him move through the dance steps and she knew she wasn’t the only female to do so. He had definitely changed from the awkward young man who had once captured her heart . . .

  The duke tugged on her arm. “Come, I wish to introduce you to my mother. I’ve spoken about you and I know she is looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Perhaps this isn’t the right time?” She was starting to realize that Silas might have been right. She may have not thought this through. She’d made her statement but she wasn’t comfortable exposing this much of her chest for the rest of the evening. Her goal had been to teach Mr. Balfour that he could not and would not dictate to her. She’d envisioned a grand scene, the dialogue somewhat murky in her mind, in which he ended up being completely humbled.

  Instead, she found herself in the middle of a charming country dance that appeared to celebrate all levels of its society. There were matrons gathered in one strategic corner of the room where they could watch over all the proceedings. Young men, some yeoman, some gentlemen, others tradesmen, crowded the punch table. They were under the watchful eyes of the local, blushing beauties dressed in their finest. The music was spirited and happy, the conversation loud, and the laughter a welcome respite to someone like Kate who too often felt like Atlas with the world upon his shoulders.

  “Kate, there is no good time to meet Mother. We have already shocked her. Now I must introduce you to her so she knows I am proud to be with you.”

  What could she do? She’d chosen this role and she’d best play it to the hilt.

  Boldly, almost defiantly, Winderton led her through the crowded room. People stepped aside, gaping openly at Kate. There was no humor in the looks women sent her, their eyes narrowed in disapproval. They clearly saw her for the interloper she was, on the arm of the most eligible bachelor in the county . . . and one clearly many years her junior.

  As for the men, there were a few randy, low-pitched guttural hums as she passed them. She was tempted to knock manners into them with her crook. Instead, noticing the color that crept up the duke’s neck, she distracted him with a compliment about how it was obvious everyone admired him. She had no desire to have a duel fought over her, especially when she was regretting her choice of dress.

  But no one would know that. Kate knew how to brazen things out. She decided she had a role to play and she would play it well, adding an extra swish to her hips as she walked. She ignored the fluttering of fans and the buzz of furious whispers.

  With game determination, the duke waded the two of them into a formidable gathering of older women who had watched them approach with looks akin to horror. There was no mistaking which one was the dowager duchess. She had the Balfour gray eyes, though she was not as tall as Kate had expected and her hair was as dark as her brother’s.

  She appeared much older than Balfour, although the cut of the black gown was too matronly. Winderton had told Kate his father had died several years ago. That his mother was still in mourning spoke volumes about her character. This was not a woman who embraced change.

  “Mother,” Winderton said almost with shy eagerness. “I wish you to meet Miss Addison. This is my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Winderton.”

  Kate made her curtsey. She couldn’t go too low with it. Not with her breasts in danger of tumbling out. “Your Grace.”

  No gloved hand was extended to her. The dowager barely murmured, “Miss Addison,” as if the name would choke her.

  Kate thought of her parents, of the times that the local gentry, people very much like those at this dance, had shunned them because of their opinion of her mother. They’d ignored her father’s excellent family connections. He had been the youngest son of a duke, albeit a duke who had disowned him when he’d married the actress Rose Billoy. Their contempt had included the daughters of that marriage.

  Still, Rose would not have approved of the way Kate was behaving this evening. Rose may have been an actress but she had been a woman of good taste and genteel demeanor. Kate had always thought of herself in the same fashion—and yet, here she was, dressed as the most common of tarts.

  Still, it didn’t make sense to Kate, who truly adored her profession and prided herself on her accomplishments, that other women would frown upon her. Didn’t all women left without family or benefit of a husband have to survive? What was wrong with a woman supporting herself with Shakespeare and Sheridan? Why was being a governess or a dressmaker better than being an actress? How could they brand her as disreputable when she wrote plays about morality tales like Aesop’s Fables?

  Instead, the matrons sat in their corner appearing scandalized. Their eyebrows hit their hairlines. They held their breath as if she tainted the air.

  And poor Winderton was caught between his pride, his lust, and his mother. Kate debated between telling him she pitied him or to buck up.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Balfour’s deep, resonant voice. “May I beg an introduction, Winderton?”

  In a blink, any regret Kate was feeling vanished, even as her heart beat faster. The moment was at hand. He had finally decided to engage.

  “If you will excuse me, Your Grace?” she said to the dowager, not waiting for permission before confronting her nemesis with a small, very cold smile.

  Winderton appeared relieved for the interruption. It was almost as if he had thought his mother, upon meeting Kate, would give her blessing to this match and had just realized the error in his thinking. Men could be amazingly naïve.

  “Miss Addison, this is my uncle, Mr. Brandon Balfour. Uncle, may I present Miss Kate Addison, a very talented woman in her own right. She writes the plays her troupe performs. Of course, I believe the two of you met earlier.”

  That was apparently a jab at his uncle.

  Mr. Balfour handled it with false warmth. “Yes, but not with a formal introduction, Your Grace. One must always pay attention to the niceties of good manners.”

  The matrons were listening fervently to their every word.

  “Then you have now been formally introduced,” the duke declared. “Miss Addison, my uncle is one of the premier architects in London.”

  Kate had not known that.

  Mr. Balfour had the good grace to bow his head at the compliment. “My nephew is very kind to me. I am working to earn that title.”

  Winderton gave an indulgent laugh. “You will. He hopes to build a bridge across the Thames.”

  “I understand another bridge is exactly what London needs,” Kate said pleasantly, as if she hadn’t been ready to punch Mr. Balfour in his arrogant nose mere hours ago.

  “One can hope,” Mr. Balfour acknowledged, as if he hadn’t threatened to run her out of the village. “Ah, look, Your Grace, they are setting up for the next set. Certainly you and Miss Addison wish to join the young people?”

  Yes, he put a slight emphasis on the word young.

  “Miss Addison, will you honor me with this dance?” the duke asked.

  Dancing was the last thing Kate wanted. Now, she would like to return to her troupe, remove the shoes that had started pinching her feet, and retire to her bed. Alone.


  “Of course,” she answered.

  “I imagine you have never been to a country dance like this?” Mr. Balfour suggested.

  What? Did he believe she’d been born in a gutter?

  With pride, she announced, “My sisters and I were considered the belles of Huntingdon, not too far from here. I always enjoyed dancing.” She flashed Mr. Balfour a brilliant smile as she put her hand on the duke’s arm. This time, she didn’t lean too close to the duke. She’d made her point . . . and perhaps it would be best if she started negotiating a bit of distance between herself and Winderton. She was using him, yes, but she didn’t wish to lead him on.

  As the duke started to escort her away, Mr. Balfour called out, “Miss Addison, would you like for me to hold your crook? It might be awkward on the dance floor.”

  He was right. It was turning into an annoyance. “Why, thank you, Mr. Balfour,” she answered with the same veneer of politeness. He took the crook from her.

  “Thank you, Uncle,” Winderton threw over his shoulder.

  The area for dancing took up half the room. Foursomes were being set up. Several gentlemen nodded to the duke to join their groups. Winderton chose one made up of people close to his age.

  Kate didn’t dare look at Mr. Balfour because she was certain he noticed how out of place she looked, especially with the silly hat and its billowing plumes. She felt like an exotic bird ready to take flight. The smile she’d kept plastered on her face began to feel more like a grimace.

  The duke introduced her to the couples around them. She could tell he was popular and would have been even without his title. Like his uncle, he had an air of confidence, and in some ways Winderton reminded her of the young man Balfour had been—except the duke had wealth and position while Balfour had not.

  “It is nice to meet you,” a young woman said perfunctorily while avoiding eye contact. In contrast, the white-clad debutante by her side stared with undisguised disgust. Their behavior was actually rather comical, until the debutante asked her companions in a pseudo-whisper, “Do you think it will be hard to dance in such a hat?” She punctuated her question with a snicker.

  “It shouldn’t be,” Kate answered serenely, interjecting herself into the conversation. “After all, I dance with my feet and not my head.”

  The ladies smirked their opinions of her words to each other, but the gentlemen laughed as if Kate had made the wittiest remark. They also seemed to be squeezing in around her . . . and the duke appeared at a loss over what to do. In fact, they almost disregarded his presence. Not one of them met her eye because they were busy ogling her chest—

  “May we join this foursome?” Mr. Balfour asked. He edged in, which meant others in their group had to take a step back. Mr. Balfour was accompanied by a lovely woman with large green eyes and a smooth complexion. “You don’t mind,” he pressed pointedly to the closest man leering at Kate. The man was almost a foot shorter than herself, which made his attention very uncomfortable.

  “Of course not, Balfour.” The lecher knew this was not a request he could ignore. He moved with one of the snickering ladies to join another foursome with a respect he had not shown for the duke.

  Winderton didn’t hide his relief at seeing his uncle.

  Kate tried to. “Ah, Mr. Balfour. I thought you were guarding my shepherd’s crook?”

  “It is well protected,” he said before making the necessary introductions. “Miss Addison, this is Miss Taylor, a good friend.”

  Miss Taylor was of medium height with tawny hair. “Miss Addison, I adore your outfit. It is so refreshing to see patterns.”

  She spoke with genuine feeling, even if it might only be kindness. However, Kate’s first instinct was to dislike her. Intensely. There wasn’t any reason for it, save that Miss Taylor stood beside Mr. Balfour.

  It annoyed Kate that she had noticed—

  “Oh,” Miss Taylor said as if startled. “Your shoes. They are green. How magnificent.”

  In an about-turn, Miss Taylor became Kate’s favorite person. At her exclamation, other women, overhearing, looked—including the smirkers. Kate lifted her skirts slightly. “They are different, aren’t they?” And now worth the pinching of her toes.

  “Charming.” Miss Taylor’s gaze held undisguised admiration. “They finish off your ensemble. They are so much fun.”

  “I thought as much.” Kate would have told her about the tinker’s cart, except a gentleman leaned into their group.

  “All this fuss over shoes?” he said. He was tall, blond, and had an air of easy nobility.

  “As if you gentlemen don’t carry on about boots, my lord?” Miss Taylor shot back archly. There was no humor in her voice, just mild disdain. She did not like the gentleman. Kate wondered why.

  His response was a cold smile.

  The duke stepped in. “Miss Addison, may I present to you the Earl of Marsden. My lord, this is Miss Addison whose theater performances starting on the morrow will be all anyone in the county will be able to discuss.”

  “Well, then I must make it a point to attend,” the earl answered as his gaze went to Mr. Balfour. A look seemed to pass between them, some private jest.

  Kate decided Miss Taylor was right to dislike Lord Marsden.

  She also knew Silas would be pleased, as was she, at the mention of the performances. Everyone around them had heard the duke’s prediction. They might have a good crowd on the morrow.

  And then the duke offered another piece of information. “Marsden acts as the local magistrate. You would be wise to stay on his good side.”

  “I will endeavor to do so, Your Grace,” she murmured, remembering Mr. Balfour’s threat to let loose the magistrate on her.

  Thankfully, the musicians struck a chord. There was a beat of silence and then they broke out in a lively reel. The dancers roared their approval.

  Kate needed a second to catch the pattern. It had been some time since she’d danced. But once she started, her feet seemed to know where to go.

  All pretenses amongst the dancers evaporated. There was the joy of movement, of music, of good fun. Feet stomped. Skirts swished. Even the stuffiest of personages twirled and skipped. The reel was one that was played faster and faster. Kate quickly found herself almost out of breath and laughing.

  The duke and Miss Taylor were great partners. When Kate missed a step, they just shushed it away and encouraged her to go on.

  Mr. Balfour was even passably pleasant.

  Of course, the hat was a silly thing on her head. A single pin with a paste jewel on the tip held her hat in place. The plumes bounced and waved and the brim flapped up and down at Kate’s exertion.

  The green shoes were another challenge. She vowed she’d never wear them again, even on stage, if they would just carry her through this evening.

  The whole room, even the observers, began clapping. Shouts went up, encouraging the musicians and dancers. It was as if the two groups were pitted against each other—and when it was over with a big crashing chord from the instruments, the musicians threw themselves back in their chairs as if done up. Triumphant, the dancers laughed and bowed practically into each other’s arms.

  Flush from the exertion, Kate turned toward the duke but found herself, instead, facing Balfour. A hank of hair had fallen over his brow. He appeared boyish—and a slate of memories roiled through her. In that instant, she recalled his kiss, his touch . . . his promises.

  And those memories of how gullible she had once been to have believed him almost took her to her knees.

  She whipped around, embarrassed to have considered him with any favor. Miss Taylor held a hand to her chest while Winderton steadied her by holding her other hand. Kate couldn’t help but notice that here was a good match.

  Removing the pin, Kate took off her hat. It felt good to remove the blasted thing.

  A gentleman yelled, “To the punch bowl!”

  His order was quickly seconded. Kate, Winderton, Miss Taylor, and even Mr. Balfour seemed to be swept off the dance f
loor. New couples quickly formed to take their place. By their rosy cheeks and giddiness, she guessed they had already visited the punch bowl.

  “Let us see to refreshment for the ladies,” Mr. Balfour suggested.

  “Good idea,” the duke answered. “Miss Addison, may I leave you a moment with Miss Taylor?”

  “Of course.”

  The two men walked away, joining a stream of men on their way to procure refreshments for their ladies. Kate had no doubt that Mr. Balfour would use this opportunity to give his nephew an earful.

  She was also conscious that there were cliques of women around them. Kate focused on Miss Taylor.

  One of the most handsome men she had ever seen approached them. He had an air that was both studious and slightly anxious.

  Miss Taylor smiled her welcome and introduced him to Kate as Mr. Ned Thurlowe, the local physician, and her intended.

  There went Kate’s plans for a match between Miss Taylor and the duke. When they were young, and she had still lived at home, her older sister Alice had always claimed Kate was a terrible matchmaker.

  Mr. Thurlowe was all that was polite but then excused himself from the dance. “I’ve received word that the Widow Hastings has taken a bad turn. She is having difficulty breathing. Her son has sent for me.”

  “Of course you must go,” Miss Taylor said.

  “I am sorry to leave you. It seems as if this happens every time we are together.”

  “It will not be a problem.”

  He smiled his appreciation and left. Kate felt his parting was decidedly unlover-like. The two of them had not held hands, not even touched. “It is a pity he must leave on such an important evening,” Kate offered.

  “He is in demand,” Miss Taylor said. “He is dedicated to the healing arts.”

  “That is admirable.”

  A moment passed and then, almost as if she could not help herself, Miss Taylor murmured, “Of course, he won’t miss the seminar he has planned on the morrow, no matter who takes ill.”

  “Seminar?”

  “He belongs to a local society,” Miss Taylor answered. “They call themselves the Logical Men’s Society.”