The making of a mistress, p.1
The Making of a Mistress, page 1
THE MAKING OF A MISTRESS
LINDA RAE SANDE
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
The Making of a Mistress
ISBN: 978-1-946271-46-4
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2021 Linda Rae Sande
V1
Cover photograph © Period Images.com
Cover art by Twisted Teacup Publishing
All rights reserved - used with permission.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.
CONTENTS
1. An Assignment Surprises
2. Soho So Secret
3. Luring a Lover
4. Reeling Him In
5. Shopping for a Seduction
6. An Operative Prevaricates
7. Awkward But Not Awful
8. Revelations at Midnight
9. The Wee Small Hours of the Morning
10. The Job Isn’t Done Until The Paperwork Is
11. One Last Night Together
12. Confessions of a Daughter
Also by Linda Rae Sande
About Linda Rae Sande
CHAPTER 1
AN ASSIGNMENT SURPRISES
March 1815, Whitehall, London
Attempting to soften the sound of her boot heels on the polished stone floor of the wide Home Office corridor, Daisy Albright slowed and regarded the nameplate on the nearest door.
Inhaling, she compared it to the name found at the bottom of the letter she had received only the hour before. Assured it matched, she lifted a gloved fist and knocked.
Not hearing an immediate response, she was about to knock again when she heard, “Come,” called out from within. She quietly slipped inside the office, closing the door behind her. As she did in any new environment, she took a moment to look about and study everything she didn’t recognize.
Far different from most of the other offices along the same corridor—this one featured light wood paneling, a Turkish carpet, a massive mahogany desk topped with a large lit lamp near its center, and an upholstered chair where there would usually be a wooden one—Daisy noted the presence of someone at the desk. The lamp prevented her from seeing him completely, but from what she could see, she thought she might have mistaken the name on the letter. About to check the letter again, she froze when she realized she was being watched by said presence.
“Have you an appointment, miss?”
“Only a letter, sir.”
The balding man behind the desk half-stood, waving her to the chair opposite his. “Miss Albright, I presume?” he said before reseating himself in what looked like a new leather chair. Daisy was reminded of the squabs in her late mother’s town coach.
“I am, Mr. ... Abbot?” she guessed.
“Guilty,” he replied. “Glad to know the post is working here in town,” he murmured.
At hearing the weariness in his voice, Daisy sensed the civil servant was bored in his position. At least he had to be comfortable in the office, though. She spied a salver with liquor decanters and what appeared to be crystal glasses on a table behind his desk. There was a fireplace, although the lumps of coal currently burning looked as if they wouldn’t last past noon.
The most impressive feature in the office was the chandelier. She thought for a moment it had to have come from somewhere else—surely no government offices were regularly equipped with such an elegant fixture.
“Rescued from a chateau in France,” Abbot said as he rifled through a stack of papers on his desk. “Before it was burned to the ground.”
Daisy arched a brow.
“Ah, here are your orders,” he said as he pulled the paper from the stack. He looked up for the first time since she had entered the office and regarded her with a curious expression. “You’ll be perfect for this assignment. You’ll need to be away from London for a time—”
“That’s not a problem.”
“Perhaps a year, mayhap more,” he went on, ignoring her interruption. “You’re going to Yorkshire. Your mark is an aristocrat.”
Struggling to maintain an impassive expression, Daisy said, “Very well.”
“Ethan Range, Marquess of Plymouth.”
She inhaled softly. “What’s he done?”
“Seems there’s some evidence of smuggled liquor making its way into the country via the coastline of his marquessate,” Abbot replied. “We need confirmation before he can be charged. An eye witness who can follow what’s happening and report to our agent in Scarborough.” He pulled on a pair of spectacles and reviewed another sheet of parchment. “Ah, looks like the Foreign Office has been apprised. With any luck, Chamberlain will have one of his operatives acting on the water. He has an old Navy ship now,” he said before he rolled his eyes. “Supposedly auctioned off and dismantled, but it’s apparently still in one piece and crewed by pirates.” He shook his head. “Why do they get to have all the fun over there?” he murmured rhetorically.
About to counter his words, Daisy elected to remain quiet. She had worked briefly for Chamberlain in the past. After she’d been shot in the leg whilst attempting to deliver orders in Belgium, she’d been left with a slight limp. For that and, well, for another reason entirely unrelated to her qualifications as an operative, Chamberlain had let her go. He had provided a character reference, though, which had her landing a similar position with the Home Office.
“So, your assignment is to get yourself hired as his mistress, stay close, convince him to talk, and catch him in the act.”
Daisy nodded. “Very well, sir,” she replied.
He passed her an envelope. “No need to change your name for this one unless you want to. There’s a ticket for the mail coach. Four days in transit. You’ll need to be in Scarborough no later than a week from now. Doesn’t give you much time to prepare.”
Peering into the envelope, she found several bank notes, some coins, a ticket for the mail coach, and a creme calling card. “The Soho Club, sir?” she asked, pulling the card from the envelope.
“That’s where you’ll stay until you leave London. There’s a room reserved for you. Three nights. Just ask for Mrs. Skarsgard.”
Daisy was about to argue that she had a place to stay—she’d been ensconced in The Coburg since her return to London—but if the Home Office was willing to cover the costs of her accommodations for the next few days, who was she to complain?
“Give you a chance to hone your skills at seduction and... such,” Abbot said as he waggled his brows.
At that moment, Daisy remembered the assignment. She cleared her throat. “Has someone been... assigned to... to be seduced?”
For the first time since she had entered the office, Abbot grinned. “You’ll have see to your own mark for that, Miss Albright,” he replied.
“Very good, sir. Is there anything else?”
He shook his head.
Daisy gave him a nod and took her leave of the office, her limp considerably more noticeable now that she had been sitting too long. Once she was in the corridor, she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.
She was relieved to have an assignment—glad, even—but this one would cost her more than most. Acting as the Marquess of Plymouth’s mistress meant she would be sacrificing her virtue.
Father will be furious, she thought.
Well, only if he discovered the truth.
CHAPTER 2
SOHO SO SECRET
An hour later, Soho Square, London
Pulling the creme card from the envelope in her reticule, Daisy read the engraved script of the Soho Club’s address and then glanced up at the corresponding building before her. Like White’s and the other exclusive clubs in St. James Street, there was no shingle or even a placard to indicate the name of the establishment. The exterior had been recently cleaned, though, the stone free of the past winter’s layer of soot.
Making her way to the door, she discovered the card worked rather well. The portly gentleman in front of her was denied entry and waved away from the premises while she received a bow from the footman.
“I’m to ask for Mrs. Skarsgard,” she said quietly, once she was inside the wood-paneled vestibule. Although there were hooks on which to hang coats and a bin for umbrellas, there were none there now. There was a desk off to the side, currently unmanned.
“Would you like to leave your redingote, my lady?”
Daisy wondered if the footman used the honorific for all the women who held a creme card or if her accent had given her away. Had she adopted the dialect she had perfected for her assignment in Leeds the year before, he might have merely called her ‘miss.’ “Thank you, no,” she replied.
The doorman opened the next door, revealing what appeared to be an inner sanctum. Sconces lit with candles cast a golden glow along the walls while velvet drapes covered every window. Several chandeliers added their light and warmth, reminding Daisy of a ballroom. An empty one, though, for no one else was there despite an array of upholstered furnishings.
“You can find Mrs. Skarsgard up the stairs and down the hall,” the doorman said before he bowed and disappeared through the door from which they had just come.
Daisy was about to ask for better directions, but decided the proprietor’s office must be evident. She turned and made her way up the stairs, glad the thick Aubusson carpeting muffled her climb. Back in Whitehall, she had thought everyone along Mr. Abbot’s corridor could have heard her approach.
At the top of the stairs, there was only one direction in which to go, and she made her way down the carpeted corridor until she came upon a door with a brass nameplate. She knocked, heartened when a feminine voice said, “Come.”
Opening the door, Daisy dared a glance inside before she fully stepped into what could have been a small bedchamber. There was no bed, though. There were two wingback chairs and a small table. A chaise longue sat beneath the room’s only window. Although light came through it, the room was mostly lit with candle lamps.
The source of the feminine voice sat at a small escritoire. She stood upon Daisy’s arrival, though. “How do?” she said by way of a greeting.
“I’m to ask for Mrs. Skarsgard.”
“And found her you have,” the woman replied. Set off by a sky blue day gown, black hair, and chocolate brown eyes, Mrs. Skarsgard’s caramel skin fairly glowed in the sunlight that streamed through the room’s two windows. It also didn’t give away her age. She could have been twenty, thirty, or forty years old.
“It’s good to make your acquaintance. I am Daisy—”
“We don’t use names here,” Mrs. Skarsgard interrupted. “Our members are then allowed to be whomever they wish to be without any societal expectations.”
“Then how am I to claim the room that has apparently been reserved for me by the Home Office?”
“We’ve been expecting you,” Mrs. Skarsgard stated. She lifted a key from the escritoire and held it out to her. “End of the hall on the right. You have a room with a vantage,” she added as Daisy took the proffered key. “And as I understand the arrangement, you’ll be with us for three nights.”
Daisy nodded. “Thank you, yes,” she replied. “Are there any rules I should know about?”
“No names. No sharing what you might see or hear whilst you’re under our roof, and you can be assured of the same consideration from our other club members.”
Members.
Daisy wasn’t exactly a member, and she was about to say so when Mrs. Skarsgard said, “You are a member during your stay, of course, and welcome to return when you’re able. You need only show your card.”
Glancing at the creme card she still held clutched in her kid-gloved hand, Daisy furrowed a brow. “What if I require someone to join me on occasion during my stay?”
The older woman shrugged. “You need only give him the card.”
Daisy considered that if she gave her card to someone else, she wouldn’t be allowed entry, but Mrs. Skarsgard was quick to hold out another creme card. “This card,” she clarified.
Daisy took the proffered card, noting it was slightly different from hers. “Very good, ma’am. Thank you.” After a pause, she asked, “Could you recommend a place from which I might acquire a breakfast in the mornings?” She already knew of familiar haunts where she was comfortable gaining a late luncheon or a supper, but she was used to breakfast being served in the hotel.
“We’re not an uncivilized club, Miss Albright,” Mrs. Skarsgard replied brightly. “There’s a dining room downstairs, or if you wish, a tray can be delivered to your door.”
Not bothering to hide her surprise, Daisy said, “I apologize. I’m not familiar with the arrangements here.”
“Of course not, but I do expect you’ll find them better than any hotel.”
Nodding, Daisy said, “It’s a wonder the Home Office can afford such accommodations.” Even if their budget was larger than that of the Foreign Office.
“Oh, we are all patriots here, Miss Albright,” Mrs. Skarsgard replied. “The Home Office won’t be charged for your stay. It’s the least we can do for King and Country.”
Almost not believing the proprietress, Daisy arched a brow. “How very generous of you,” she said. She glanced down at the key and the card she held. “I’ll not take any more of your time. Thank you, Mrs. Skarsgard,” she added, thinking it rather odd that despite the ‘no names’ edict, the woman had called her ‘Miss Albright’ twice, and she hadn’t even introduced herself.
Daisy curtsied and took her leave, hurrying down the hall to a room she expected would be no better than a hovel.
Turning the key in the lock, she opened the door and inhaled softly.
For a moment, she wondered if Mrs. Skarsgard knew she would be using this room to prepare for her role as a mistress to a marquess. What else could explain the soft pink silk on the walls? The deep pink velvet counterpane and drapes? The deeper pink curtains around the bed? The gold gilt dressing table and three-paneled japanned screen in the corner?
Daisy almost laughed before she remembered what she would have to do in this room. What she would have to give up.
Not that her virtue was of much value to her.
She had no intention of ever marrying.
Once a suitor discovered who her mother was—or what she had done for a living—he would probably beg off. If he stayed around long enough for her to admit who her father was, then he would either stay because he thought her dowry would have him set for life or because he truly cared for her.
She was too jaded to believe he would stay because he truly cared for her.
No matter her possible future, her current plan required a mark. A man she had to convince to teach her everything she needed to know to be a mistress. A man who valued discretion. A man who would have just as much to lose if her plan didn’t work.
Silently blessing Abbot for having mentioned the British ship and pirate crew that would be searching for the smugglers from the water, she knew exactly who she could approach.
He might not be a pirate in his real life, but it was possible she could talk Alexander Bradley, also known as Captain Jack Crawley, into a few nights of illicit encounters with her.
Deciding she couldn’t waste another moment admiring the bedchamber, Daisy took her leave of the Soho Club and made her way back to Whitehall.
CHAPTER 3
LURING A LOVER
An hour later
Daisy stepped from the hackney, careful to lead with her uninjured leg as she allowed the driver to help her down the single step.
She handed him a coin, thankful for the collection of them that had been included in the envelope Mr. Abbot had given her. Although she had some of her own, they were at the bottom of her overstuffed reticule.
“Would you like me to wait for you, my lady?”
Daisy regarded the driver with a look of surprise. She had never known a hackney driver to offer to wait for her. “It’s not necessary, sir. I might be an hour or more,” she replied. “But thank you for offering.”
She wondered about the look of disappointment the driver displayed as he tipped his hat and climbed back on to the bench. Perhaps she had given him a coin of a higher denomination than she had intended. Or mayhap he was merely concerned and thought he should ensure she was safely returned to the Soho Club.
Had she become so hardened in her life as an operative that she couldn’t believe the latter? That she believed the former because she usually did see to paying more for a service than was expected? Despite growing up in a life of privilege, she now knew that most people lived lives of poverty.
Turning her gaze onto the small building located in the corner of the Whitehall complex—the Foreign Office was relegated to only a few rooms within—Daisy struggled to tamp down her nervousness before she made her way to the front doors.
