Mistress by Mistake

why I have not found a rich lover by now to spot him a monkey.”

“Why haven’t you?” Charlotte asked.

Caroline looked uncomfortable. “I’m sure I don’t know. Perhaps one day I will. It’s not as though I haven’t had offers.” She changed the subject abruptly. “Let’s not keep Laurette waiting. If you are leaving, I shall have to replace you.

Charlotte laughed. “Fair weather friend! I think Laurette is as ill-at-ease here as I am.”

“I got used to it,” Caroline said softly.

They did not go next door via the garden gate but instead stepped out onto the short street, turned right, and lifted the shiny brass star and moon knocker. The butler opening the door was a foreign fellow, very elegant and correct. He announced them both and Charlotte watched Laurette blanch. Charlotte should have sent round a note explaining that she was bringing another guest. Her manners as well as her morals had gone missing.

But Caroline took charge as usual. In the very short time Charlotte had known her, Caroline seemed a force to be reckoned with. Caroline was already holding Laurette’s hands in hers, beaming a smile at her. “Do forgive Charlotte. I invited myself. Your arrival on the street in the Mad Marquess’s house has caused quite the commotion, and when she said she was coming to tea, I couldn’t resist. I am Caroline Christie.”

“How do you do, Lady Christie?”

“Please call me Caroline. The less we hear of my husband’s name, the better.” She settled herself on the settee, smiled, and patted a pillow. Laurette had no choice but to sit beside her while Charlotte arranged her dull gray skirts on a chair. Laurette’s hands were twisting nervously in her lap. “I told you you’d scare her,” Charlotte said. “Would you like me to pour, Laurette? I’m quite used to Caroline now. She’s been a lifesaver.”

“Don’t worry, I shan’t reveal a thing to any of our other neighbors. I can be discreet if I care to be.”

Laurette looked shocked. “You live here on Jane Street?”

“Indeed I do. My husband bought my house five years ago when we separated. He thought to make a point, you see, to let me know what he thought of me. But I find the street suits me very well.”

“Caroline lives next door to me. She heard me in my garden crying one morning and we’ve been friends ever since,” Charlotte said. “I seem to be a noisy neighbor.” She winked at Laurette and passed a cup to Caroline.

“All men are beasts. I am sorry I missed the demolition of those deviant little angels. I should have enjoyed getting my hands around their scrawny necks.”

“It was fun.” Laurette grinned.

The ice broken, they spent the next hour filling Laurette in on the personalities on the street. Charlotte was almost sorry she would be leaving. But leave she must. She left Caroline and Laurette deep in gossip. She was going home to pack-again. This time she would not be secreting paintings into her luggage. Tomorrow morning Mr. Frazier was coming to make the arrangements for her return home. She would be in her cottage before she knew it, her contact with “Courtesan Court” over. It was time to go back to boring.

Chapter 15

Charlotte fidgeted with the strings of her cap. Mr. Frazier was frowning over the letter as though he were teaching himself to read. Perhaps he was not going to help her leave Jane Street after all. He had been most suspicious when she presented him with Bay’s orders, and had not believed her until she fished the letter out of the drawer in her room.

He was scratching his red head, reading the hideous thing for perhaps the sixth time.

“I dinna like it.” His Scots brogue had become more pronounced the longer he sat in the parlor.

“Well, I didn’t care for it much either,” Charlotte said with asperity. “Yet you cannot argue he wants me gone and he wants you to help me.”

“Hold on now, lass. When Mrs. Kelly sent word to me yesterday you wanted to see me, I was baffled. I thought the major was here with you all this time.”

“As you can see, he is not. Has not been for days. He’s gone to Frannce,” she spit, sounding the extra “n.” The man couldn’t even spell the name of the country he fought against so many years.

Frazier shook his head. “He has not. Not an article of his clothing is missing. Not a comb, not a stocking. His valise is in the attic.” He paused. “His desk is a mess, too. The major is quite orderly. He’d never go on a trip without tidying up. Or saying a word to me.”

“Well, obviously he has. He can always buy toothpowder and a change of smallclothes on the road. Perhaps he lucked out on a quick passage.” Really, would the irritating man not fork over some money for her so she could get out of here? Charlotte was not asking him to accompany her.

“Think now. What were his last words to you?”

Charlotte huffed. “He told me he’d hired an investigator to find my sister. And the bloody necklace.”

“Mr. Mulgrew. And the rubies, yes. Why then, Miss Fallon, does he refer to the necklace as emeralds?”

“I could not tell you. He ranted about them enough to me.” And wrote about them with eloquence.

“He mentions other letters. Is this one anything like the ones he wrote to Deborah?”

Charlotte felt the wash of color creep up her neck. “No.”

“He calls you by her name, too. There’s something fishy about all of it.”

“Be that as it may, he wants me to go home and has asked you to help me. As soon as possible,” she emphasized.

“Aye. And did you contact me the day you received this?” His hound dog brown eyes bore into hers. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, remembering her first reaction to Bay’s letter. All the shattered statuary and the resulting euphoria. Calling for Mr. Frazier was the last thing on her vengeful mind, and then Laurette had invited her to tea.

“Practically. I had an engagement yesterday.”

“So he’s been waiting for us to come to his rescue.” Frazier placed the letter on a table, then stood up, fists clenched.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Miss Fallon, forgive me so for saying so, but you’re a slow top. Does the major not know your name?”

Charlotte snapped back at him. “He had an arrangement with my sister first. I’m sure one mistress is much like another in his world.”

“Nay. The major is a most particular man. See here, he calls you by the wrong name, gets rubies mixed up with emeralds, talks about Little Turnip. I assume that’s not the name of your village?”

“No, but he was always making fun of it. And don’t forget, he can’t spell either. But he’s made it plain he wants me out of his life.”

Frazier picked the letter up again. “F-R-A-N-N-C-E. I’ll be damned.”

Charlotte was quite sure he would be, working for the odious Sir Michael Xavier Bayard.

“Good God. She’s got him.”

“My sister is many things, but she’s a married woman now. I doubt Bay is so attractive she’s thrown over Arthur on her honeymoon.”

“No, you little twit.” He buried his face in his hands. When he looked up his eyebrows resembled deranged caterpillars. “Och, forgive me. It’s Anne. Lady Whitley. She’s sunk her claws into him again somehow.”

Charlotte reared back in her chair. “His-his wife?”

He snorted. “He’d never write a letter like this if he could help it. The major has a way with words. Always lets the ladies down gently. This-this proves that he’s not himself.”

“He’s run off with his wife? All the more reason for me to leave. Please, Mr. Frazier, I beg you. I simply want to go home. I have no money. None. If you don’t help me, I’ll have to resort to stealing the paintings again. Surely Bay would not approve of that.” Charlotte leveled a stern eye at the man, but he paid no attention to her.

“No, no, lass. He would never run off with Anne. Not again. He’s taken the devil’s own time to learn his lesson, but he’s done with her.”

“That’s not what he said. He told me his feelings were-complicated. That he was trying to be her friend. Maybe