Rules for Being a Mistress by Tamara Lejeune Page A

opera dancers! At least I can keep my eye on him here in Bath. In London…!”
    “Quite,” said Benedict.
    “It would be just like Felix to rush headlong into another disastrous marriage. He is so susceptible to a pretty face, and so blind to everything else. I don’t wish Miss Vaughn ill, of course, but…” She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “It would be as much a mistake for her as for him.”
    “Someone should explain to Miss Vaughn the evils of an unequal marriage.”
    “I say! That’s a good idea. As her cousin, Sir Benedict, you must be able to exert some influence over her. You can see I have no influence over my cousin,” she added ruefully, “but he is a man. Any assistance you can offer me in this matter would be most gratefully received,” she added persuasively.
    “I will call on Lady Agatha tomorrow,” he promised. “And then, I would like to call on you, if I may, Serena. Would one o’clock be convenient for a private interview?”
    “A private interview to discuss Felix and Miss Vaughn?”
    “You must know I am going to make you an offer of marriage,” he said impatiently.
    She smiled. “I believe you just did, Sir Benedict!”
    The ball ended punctually at eleven o’clock, and the doors of the ballroom were thrown open to admit the chairmen, who strode right into the ballroom with their sedan chairs. Owing to the steepness of Bath’s streets, carriages were rarely used.
    Benedict commandeered a chair for Lady Serena, bade her good night, then walked alone up to Beechen Cliff. He sat down on the damp ground, took out his cheroot case, and lit up.

Chapter 6
     
    The big brass numeral on Lady Agatha’s front door looked like a six. The nail at the top had come loose, allowing the number to swing into the upside down position. As he waited for the servant to answer the bell, Benedict flicked it with his finger. The number spun around, still attached by a single brass nail at the bottom. This sort of thing could lead to postal errors, he thought with annoyance. These people might be getting his mail, and vice versa.
    “I have been ringing the bell for some time,” Benedict said coldly when, at last, the door was opened by a massive, gray-haired manservant dressed in rusty black. He looked seedy and he smelled of whiskey. He looked at Benedict in surprise. Then a twinkle appeared in his eye.
    “Ah, sure, didn’t we disconnect that bell?” he said in a careless Irish drawl. “And very noisy it was, too. I was just going out to post a letter for Herself, or I’d never have known you were here at all, at all.”
    An odd feeling came over Benedict as he stepped into the hall. The place seemed familiar to him, even though he was certain he had never been here before.
    “You really should do something about the number on your door,” he said, taking out his card. “It has come loose at the top. It looks like a six.”
    “So it does,” the Irishman said agreeably. He winked at Benedict.
    Benedict glared at him. “Will you kindly take my card up to Lady Agatha.”
    Benedict waited in the hall while the man went up, chuckling to himself. Doors opened and closed on the floor above in a flurry of activity, then the house fell silent, and the manservant returned, still laughing. “She’ll be down in a minute,” he said. “She’s after putting on her best dress for you, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
    He went out by the front door, not the usual way for servants to come and go, but this, evidently, was an unusual household.
    Presently, a slim young woman came down the stairs. Her best dress was a cream-colored cambric striped with blue. It looked unfortunately like mattress ticking. As she stopped on the landing, the morning sun shot through the fanlight over the door and fell directly on her.
    “You!” he said, thunderstruck.
    She stared back at him. Her least favorite person looked none the worse for his adventure in the park. In fact, the man was infuriatingly perfect.