Chapter 19 Katherine—Mistress Time
KATHERINE—MISTRESS TIME
Peeking at my father’s pocket watch, rubbing my fingers over the silver inlay, his etched initials, and Mama’s, I pace in the comfortable but smaller room that I’m assigned at Anya House. The princess is now in possession of the guest room I once used regularly.
This bedchamber—I can’t tell if it truly was for a mistress, an unloved wife, or some sort of nursery.
Its furnishings are mismatched and old—old, not in antiques but as in old—a little worn, a little scratched.
I’m not complaining; it merely reflects my reduced status. I’m lucky to be allowed in Anya House or anywhere near Jahleel and Lydia.
The ticking isn’t my repentant heart but the watch in my palm. The slim hands announce twenty minutes to ten.
My chance to change my dress has expired. He’ll get a woman returning from the other side of the Thames, one who’s finished the ledger accounts of Wilcox Coal.
No maid has come to help me change or check if I need anything—more evidence of my lowered situation.
My clothes have been moved here and placed in the smallish closet dedicated to this room. I’m disappointed in myself. So determined not to be noticed, I have nothing but drab gray frocks. Dullness isn’t exactly something to please a man who likes color.
Somehow, pleasing Jahleel matters. Watching him suffer and pretending that he wasn’t has changed me. Time … It’s not my friend or his. Why make moments difficult, especially when I am in the wrong?
Resigned, I go to him early, through his connecting closet.
It seems shameful to enter Jahleel’s room, but what is a mistress supposed to do?
Entering through the main door from the hall yields the possibility of having to explain to the severe princess or my bright daughter why I’m visiting a man at night who may or may not be my husband.
Lydia’s never seen Jahleel and me ever get along for more than a few minutes. It will be confusing. She’ll think my behavior is another lie.
I speed up but slow my steps when I hear a conversation.
With my ear to the door, I listen to Jahleel talking with Mr. Steele.
Steele mentions Tavis’s name and then Madame Rosebud’s.
Madame Rosebud is the owner of a popular brothel for the ton.
They became a client about two years ago when Jahleel began helping the company.
All the warm feelings I’d begun to have for him burn. He can’t leave well enough alone. Why not focus on recovery instead of wasting time and energy trying to prove I’m lying about Tavis being faithful?
Stop. Stop judging what he does or how he spends his time. That will merely renew hard feelings. I sigh, then knock on the door.
“Come in, Lady Hampton.”
Jahleel’s voice is low—dark, dangerous. “A prompt woman. Impressive.”
My pulse races, readying to spurt out of my veins. “Why are you fully dressed?”
A huge smile blooms on his face. “Katia, at least wait until we are alone before inquiring about undressing me. Anxious?”
I color.
Steele coughs.
Jahleel laughs, a good hearty one.
My embarrassment flees seeing him in good humor.
His man bows. “Your Grace. It shall be done. Happy reading, Lady Hampton.”
The door to the hall—for the ones without scandal—closes behind him.
“A mistress and her lord, alone at last.” I sound more confident when his eyes brighten.
He stares at me for a moment, a heartbeat too long. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”
“I’m a woman of my word … this time.” I move a little closer. He’s all buttoned up in a tan waistcoat with indigo threads. His cravat bears a diamond pin. “Will you be leaving for a ball after you’re done with me?”
He squints at me. “What?”
I stand beside the bed, my finger tracing the buttons on his waistcoat. “Does Steele like you wrinkling this finery just lying in bed?”
“Oh.” He catches my hand and kisses my palm. “I felt like dressing for the occasion. It also serves as a precaution. In case you exhaust me so much I fail to awaken, I’ll be well appointed in death.”
Oh my goodness.
He’s serious.
Without hesitation, I slap my hand against his forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Are you feeling poorly?”
“I’m feeling something.” He lifts my arm, raises it above my head, and makes me spin. “And you look the same, beautiful but still dressed in gray. But no dusty boots … stockings.” He purrs like Lada. “But still gray. Holding onto old mourning or readying for some new death?”
“I have a coal company to run. Though I mostly do the ledgers, coal dust is everywhere. Light colors and pretty threads are hard to keep tidy.”
“My mistress must not be mournful. I’ll have the modiste attend you. Please don’t sulk that your benefactor chooses to spend money on you.”
My mouth opens. I know it hangs wide for a moment. It takes him releasing our linked palms for me to regain my composure. “You … you want to spend more money on me? Why?”
“Da. It will please me. I just don’t want it to look like I’m overstepping or doing something nefarious. I owe you.”
“No. No. I’m indebted.”
“You broke my fever. I’m alive because of you. I think my point wins. I want you dressed like a present—my present.”
I see him trying to dismiss his kindness in jokes or a show of his commanding will. The humor is a cloak to hide behind. Why hadn’t I understood this before?
I’ve ruined him, because he must hide his true nature.
And must suffer knowing that I caused all of this.
I’ve more clarity since I spent the night praying outside this room on the floor and the day juggling numbers while counting all the ways I’m at fault.
“Yes. Make me a present. Something that inspires you.”
“You agree so easily?” His gaze cuts to me, then to his saints on the ceiling. “Well, I’m glad for this.”
He thinks I’m lying. I pull my hands behind my back and stand up tall. “Jahleel, I don’t think I ever thanked you for the dress you had made for me for the first ball you threw in London.”
“It was good. You looked … beautiful.” The tension in his face that he’d tried to hide fades. Then, as if he’s exposed, his eyes close. “My pleasure.”
“You look even better than this morning. Did you go outside? It was a good day. Bright and sunny.”
“No, just stood by the window. It was enough.” He peers again at me, toward the light curtains. “Mr. Steele said you didn’t return until dark. You think that is safe?”
“I am careful, but I came back. I don’t intend on going back to the house on Ground Street—”
“Till you are sure I’m not going to die?”
“Jahleel, my daughter’s here.” I whirl around the bed saying, “My daughter.” Then I grab the ornate footboard. “Do you know how good it is to say that?”
His expression sharpens. The familiar look of hurt and annoyance war with the pleased press of his lips. “I know. I’m just experiencing that joy now, too.”
I want to say sorry again. Still don’t know if my words will be believed. Nothing but time will make him forgive me.
“No sadness,” I say, burying mine. “It’s time for ‘mistressing.’”
The unease remains in his hazel eyes—eyes that follow me as I return to his side.
“Let’s start with a kiss.” I close my eyes, lean down to him.
Smack!!!
My lips crash into a book.