Juliet Landon - The Rake's Unconventional Mistress

It was not until Saturday evening when Letitia gathered her pupils into the downstairs parlour for a last check that she discovered an unwanted addition to the guest list that she could do nothing about when the invitation had been issued by Miss Sapphire Melborough, the daughter of their hosts.

Letitia kept her annoyance to herself, though she would like to have boxed the pert young woman’s ears. ‘I don’t mind you inviting Lord Rayne, Sapphire dear,’ she said, fastening the pearl pendant behind her neck, ‘but it might have been more polite if you’d asked me first. And your parents. We have to be very careful about the audience, you know.’

‘But they like Lord Rayne,’ said Sapphire, understating the case by a mile, ‘so I know they won’t mind him coming with Lord and Lady Elyot. And I didn’t think you’d disapprove, now that you and he have made up your differences. I told him about our concert and he said he’d like to hear me sing.’

‘Next time, dear,’ said Letitia, turning Sapphire to face her, ‘ask me first, will you? He may be one of Richmond’s haut ton , but the 10th Light Dragoons, or Hussars, whichever you prefer, have quite a reputation.’

Sapphire’s bright cornflower eyes lit up like those of a mischievous elf. ‘The Elegant Extracts is what I prefer, Miss Boyce. It’s so fitting, isn’t it?’

‘It’s also one of the more repeatable tags. There now, let me look at you. Yes, I think your family will be proud of you. Nervous?’

A hand went up to tweak at a fair curl, and the eyes twinkled again. ‘With Lord Rayne watching me, yes.’ Provocatively, she lifted one almost bare shoulder in a way that some women do by instinct. It would only be a matter of time, Letitia thought, before this one and her parents managed to snare the Elegant Extract, unless one of her own sisters did first.

‘Stay close to Edina, Sapphire. I think she feels the absence of her parents and guardians at a time like this.’

‘Yes, Miss Boyce. Of course I will.’

There was more to Letitia’s annoyance than having to show friendship to a man she would rather have avoided. He had told her sisters that he would be too busy on Saturday to escort them when he must already have accepted Sapphire’s invitation to hear her sing. Persephone and Garnet would be sadly out of countenance to learn that he was not as committed to them as they thought. Their mother even more so. All that was needed now to set the cat among the pigeons was for them to believe that she had invited him to the Melboroughs’. She could only pray that they would not come to that conclusion as easily as they’d learned of his precise whereabouts on Monday.

As it transpired, this particular problem faded into insignificance beside the others of that evening. Though she had made every effort to present her pupils to perfection in appearance, manners and performance, the one who outshone them all without the slightest effort was herself. Gowned modestly in palest oyster silk and ivory lace, her aristocratic breeding and her refined silvery loveliness drew the eyes of the appreciative audience before, during and after each individual contribution. Making good use of her gold enamelled scissors-spectacles that hung from a ribbon looped about her wrist, she was able to see most of what was happening while combining an image of seriousness with a charming eccentricity, for the folding spectacle was not an easy accessory to use.

When she was not using it, it seemed hardly to matter that she could see only the indistinct shapes of the guests for, with Mr Waverley to help her through introductions and to murmur reminders in her ear, she felt the disadvantage less than she might otherwise have done. It also quite escaped her notice that the admiring eyes of so many men turned her way, or that the women’s eyes busied themselves with every perfect detail of her ensemble.

Miss Gaddestone, petite in a flurry of frills, mauve muslin and bugle beads, and Mrs Quayle, like a plump beady-eyed brown bird, were the other two who knew the seriousness of Letitia’s handicap, but who were too interested in their own roles to play chaperon to her as well as the pupils. They knew Mr Waverley would do that.

Sir Francis and Lady Melborough had taken a fancy to Letitia from the start, looking upon her at times as one of the family, though it had always been one of her policies to maintain a respectful distance between herself and the pupils’ parents to avoid any appearance of favouritism. Lady Melborough was a perfect forecast of how Sapphire would look in another twenty years, kindly and flighty and of a more blue-blooded ancestry than Sir Francis. She had prepared well for this event, her house being the most perfect setting, high-ceilinged and spacious, gold-and-white walled, moulded and mirrored.

As a newly knighted city banker, Sir Francis was self-important and ambitious, handsome and middle-aged with an eye for the feminine form, and for his own form, too. He stood facing a very large gilded mirror to speak to Letitia where, with lingering looks, he could see over her shoulder both his own front and her back, the curve of which he thought was enchanting. Letitia found his closeness uncomfortable, his affability fulsome, his attentions too personal for politeness. She edged away, trying to identify Mr Waverley’s brown hair amongst so many others, and when she noticed the unmistakable frame and dark head of Lord Rayne approaching from across the room, the sudden relief she felt was quite impossible to hide.

‘Why, Miss Boyce,’ he said, ‘am I dreaming, or did I see a fleeting welcome in your smile? Do tell me I’m not mistaken.’

‘It would be impolite of me, to say the least, Lord Rayne, to admit any feeling of relief. Sir Francis is our host and I’m sure he’s doing all he can to make the evening a success.’

‘Then I take it you would not appreciate a word of warning?’

This was the first time she had seen Lord Rayne in evening dress, and she found it difficult to reconcile the former soldier in regimentals with the quietly dressed beau in charcoal-grey tail-coat, left open to show a waistcoat of grey silk brocade. Whatever else she disliked about him, she could not fault his style. ‘Warning?’ she said. ‘Are you the right person to be warning me of that ?’

‘Of what, Miss Boyce?’

‘Lord Rayne, you take a delight in putting me to the blush. But I shall not rise to your bait. You of all people must know what I refer to.’

‘Will I never be forgiven for that, Miss Boyce? Am I not to be allowed to warn you of similar dangers from old married men who ought to know better?’ Despite the teasing words, his eyes were seriously intent.

‘It is not necessary. I am not a green girl, my lord, and I have Mr Waverley to protect me.’

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