Read Online Mistress by Marriage by Maggie Robinson - Free Book Online

again.”
    “You mean I broke something again. You might as well enter, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
    The blonde maid opened the door a crack. “I’ve seen worse. I think.”
    “Oh, God. What am I going to do?”
    “Well, first, you should put your slippers on. Your foot is bleeding on the bedding,” Lizzie said sensibly. “Then you should gather up your jewelry, because I’m not to be trusted. I might abscond with that sapphire choker. I’ve always been fond of it.”
    Caroline grinned in spite of everything. She loved it when Lizzie showed some of her old spark. She had been a delightful, mischievous girl before Pope had beaten the daylights out of her.
    Caroline climbed off the bed, scooped up the necklace and handed it to Lizzie. It was not from Edward—she had bought it herself to celebrate her first year as an author, and the stones were not so very large or valuable. “It’s yours.”
    “Oh, Caroline—Lady Christie, no! I couldn’t take it from you! And where would I wear it anyway?”
    Caroline tucked the necklace in the pocket of Lizzie’s apron. “You won’t always be my maid, Lizzie. Someday you’ll have jewels again, and furs, and a fine gentleman to see to your comfort.”
    “Now you’re writing me into one of your stories. Not everyone gets their happy ending.”
    “Don’t I know it.” Caroline bent over and winced. Whatever she had done to her back while gardening would not go away. Rutting like a wild beast with Edward hadn’t helped much either. She straightened up with difficulty. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. You’ll have to pick up the rest and steal me blind. My back is killing me. I didn’t think of the consequences of my anger. I never do.”
    “Sit down while I change the sheets. We’ll put you to bed with a hot brick after a nice hot bath.”
    That sounded like heaven. Caroline hobbled to a wing chair by the window. The street was empty of Edward and every other living thing. Most of her neighbors slept their days away since their nights were quite busy. “I’m an awful lot of work for you.”
    “Nonsense. I’d do anything for you, Lady Christie.”
    Caroline leaned back in the chair. Her cat Childe Harold, Harold for short, had made himself scarce while Edward was visiting. He jumped onto her lap now and purred. When she named the cat for the hero of Lord Byron’s epic poem, it had seemed fitting that as a writer she should give a nod to literature, although truthfully she found Byron rather hard going. Being a girl, she’d not been educated in the classics; being a woman, she found Byron’s antics even more scandalous than her brother’s. Her tastes were simpler, her life distilled into manageable bites.
    Edward was going to gobble her up and ruin everything.
    Lizzie moved to and fro, sweeping, straightening, lugging water for Caroline’s bath up to the dressing room with an embarrassed Ben. Despite her nap in Edward’s arms, she was still exhausted, and watching poor Lizzie and Ben tired her out even more. But her room was aired and fresh, her bath and clean sheets awaited. She was promised wine and soup and vanilla pudding for supper, things she wouldn’t even have to chew. She sat in the tub like a child, permitting Lizzie to wash her hair and sponge her off, then retired to her bed with a tray, the brick on one side, Harold on the other. She fell asleep before the last ray of sunshine hit the spire of the local church she was too ashamed to attend.
    And dreamed. She and Nicky were in the haymeadow at sunset, lying on the ground holding hands. Above, a flock of birds wheeled and swooped, their delicate shadows dappling the earth. Although his lips were moving, she couldn’t hear what he said over the chatter of the birds. He pushed her braid away and pressed his lips to her ear, and suddenly she was waltzing with Edward, his long legs gliding effortlessly on the polished floor. He spun her in circles until she was dizzy, her dress a red blur—as red