His Secret Mistress by Cathy Maxwell

Author:Cathy Maxwell
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-02-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

“I write.” Mrs. Warbler spoke to Kate as if she was delivering a dark secret.

Three days had passed since that first performance. Now Kate was sitting in Mrs. Warbler’s house, in a lovely room with windows all around overlooking a quite substantial rain-soaked back garden. The house was modest and yet, well-appointed. “My husband was a man of some means,” Mrs. Warbler had said proudly when Kate admired the furnishings.

A maid had served them sherry and biscuits before busying herself elsewhere.

In truth, Kate had found the invitation for a visit from the matron rather surprising, considering the widow’s earlier animosity. The matrons’ attack had been the first time Kate had ever experienced vegetables being thrown at the stage. It had happened to other actors, and for some with great regularity, but it had never happened to her.

And she had stood her ground. She was very proud of her courage because it had required all of it. Since that performance, the crowds attending her play were larger than she’d ever had before. The troupe’s coffers would soon be replenished.

When the invitation had been delivered inviting Kate to call on Mrs. Warbler, Silas hadn’t wanted her to accept it. She felt she must. She’d learned that Mrs. Warbler was a close confidante of the Dowager Duchess of Winderton. The duke still followed Kate everywhere. No matter what she did to discourage him, short of ordering him away, he refused to see that she was not interested in his attentions or his gifts, and definitely not his opinions.

She didn’t quite know what to do next. His youth made him irritatingly persistent. It was as if he considered her fortunate to have his presence in her life . . . while the man she actually wouldn’t mind seeing a bit more of was annoyingly absent.

Brandon Balfour had gone on about his business with apparently no thought of Kate. After that one night when she’d sensed his presence in the woods, she’d not felt him at all. For the second time in her life, he seemed to have vanished.

Except she knew he was in Maidenshop.

Of course, what Mr. Balfour did should be of no interest to her. She was a woman with big dreams. She was returning to London. How many times did she need to be reminded that men only complicated matters? It became their will, their desires.

Kate did not have time for such rot.

She hoped today to reassure an anxious dowager by way of her friend that she was not a threat to her precious son. Silas was certain she was walking into a trap, and Kate was wise enough to be wary—but what she’d not expected to hear today was a confession.

“You write?” Kate repeated.

Mrs. Warbler was pouring a healthy draft of sherry into Kate’s glass. “I do,” she said, putting down the bottle after topping off her own glass. “Poems.” Lifting a hand to her chest, her wig ever so slightly askew, Mrs. Warbler started quoting, “Dew upon a blade of grass, a maiden’s hopes and dreams.

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