Playing The Duke's Mistress. Eliza Redgold

      ‘Use all your emotions to write,’ he’d told her. ‘The same as when you’re on stage.’

      She had no trouble conjuring up emotions when she considered the Duke of Albury, she thought as she gritted her teeth. She could still taste her fury.

      Yet for an odd moment, when their eyes had first met, after his almost insulting survey of her face and figure, she’d felt a connection spring to life between them. Something tentative and hopeful that had evaporated in the blast of his arrogant rudeness.

      Calista pushed the thought of the duke away and focused on her sister snuggled beside her. When she’d found her father’s half-finished play in his papers she’d determined to finish it. The play was an adaptation of a story, so it was possible for her to pick up where her father had left it. Somehow, continuing his work kept his presence alive. Today, she had planned to write more, but it was Columbine who mattered most. ‘I don’t have a matinee performance this afternoon. Would you like to go to Hyde Park?’

      ‘Oh, yes, please!’ Columbine leapt up, sending her long black braids flying. ‘It’s hard to be indoors all day with only Martha for company, not that she isn’t very kind to me,’ she added hastily. ‘But I love to spend time with you best, Cally. Can we take a picnic luncheon?’

      ‘If you like. Go and ask Martha if she will cut us some sandwiches.’

      ‘She might even put in some seed cake.’

      ‘I’m sure she will.’

      Columbine scampered from the bedroom.

      Calista lay back against the pillows. From the window opposite, pale sunshine beamed into the small room. The April showers had passed, and now it was Maytime, her favourite season. Summer was at last coming to bring some warmth to the London streets. The cold winter had been terrible for Columbine’s health and Calista had wished she had the money to send her young sister to a warmer climate for those long, cold months. But she couldn’t leave the theatre and take Columbine to Italy or France, where the air might clear her lungs. Nor could she afford to send her abroad with only Martha, loyal maidservant that she was. She was more than a maid, really. Martha had nursed Columbine since their mother had died, and had cared for them both as best she could in the cramped rooms Calista rented. Ever since their father had gone Martha had always tried to refuse the few coins Calista gave her each week.

      Calista bit her lip. Last night when she’d told the duke that her father was a playwright, as she’d said it, she realised she had used the past tense.

      Had she given up hope?

      Perhaps it was time to face the brutal truth.

      Her fingers gripped the edge of the linen sheet. She couldn’t. Not yet. She would continue his work and care for Columbine until their father came home.

      Yet day by day it became harder.

      And more frightening.

      She pulled up air through another of those painful, chest-tightening breaths. The tiredness from the night before hadn’t disappeared, and she almost wished she might snatch a few more hours sleep. But it would do her more good to see Columbine play in Hyde Park. Perhaps there would be a Punch and Judy show on such a fine day, or even a brass band playing.

      A sunny day in the park would drive the horrible words of the Duke of Albury from her mind.

      * * *

      Darius awoke.

      A vision flashed before his eyes.

      Dark hair.

      A long neck.

      A bite.

      The same face had appeared when he had fallen into bed the night before. He’d sent his valet, Hammond, away with a quick word and stripped off his garments to lie awake for longer than the amount of whisky he’d consumed had promised.

      At the Coach and Horses Inn, when he’d seen off the actresses, he had expected to feel satisfaction. Instead, as Miss Fairmont had slammed the door of the private dining room, he’d experienced a quick surge of emotion he couldn’t put his finger on.

      Compunction?

      Regret?

      Surely not remorse?

      He ran his hand through his hair. He’d had to come down hard on silly little Miss Coop, with her obvious designs on his cousin Herbert.

      But he wasn’t entirely sure Miss Calista Fairmont was quite the same type of young woman.

      He’d been more harsh towards Miss Fairmont than he meant to be. She’d been caught in the firing line. The Carlyle name meant everything to him and he didn’t intend to let anyone ruin it. But he’d come at her with pistols blazing and though she had fought back with a few fine shots of her own, he hadn’t intended to treat her in quite that manner.

      Had he come on too strong? No, he decided. It had been necessary. Cruelty was often kindness in the end. Herbert had to be protected from himself and Miss Fairmont had unfortunately been caught up in it all. Normally he would never have spoken to a woman in such a manner, but drastic action had been called for.

      She was only an actress. Yet he had to admit, she wasn’t what he expected from an actress.

      Again the vision came.

      Dark hair.

      A long neck.

      And an air of dignity that would have befitted a duchess as she defended her friend.

      There it was again. The damnedest thing.

      Remorse.

      That was it. Remorse.

      It wasn’t an emotion with which Darius was overly familiar, and it was damned uncomfortable.

      He shrugged it off along with the eiderdown and seized a dressing gown before he rang for Hammond to arrange his morning shave and breakfast.

      It couldn’t be helped. The situation had called for speedy action on his part. No actress was going to marry into his family and Herbert did appear to be particularly attached to Miss Coop.

      His cousin’s reaction after the actresses left the dining room had only reinforced Darius’s view that he had needed to act, and act decisively.

      ‘How dare you speak to Mabel that way,’ Herbert had stammered, red-faced. ‘You’ve gone too far this time, Darius.’

      ‘I’ve done you a favour,’ Darius told him curtly.

      Herbert would see it his way in time.

      His cousin would probably be at their club that afternoon. Darius would talk to him again and convince him a quick cut to break the attachment would be better for all concerned. He’d always been able to guide Herbert. After all, it was his duty to keep him out of trouble, and his affection for his cousin meant he would do whatever was needed to ensure Herbert’s future happiness.

      Darius looked out the window. The day was fine, too fine to spend entirely indoors. This morning there were business matters and correspondence to attend to, but in the afternoon he decided he’d go for a walk in Hyde Park.

      Darius ran his hand through his hair again.

      He possessed a strange urge to see the swans on the lake.

      * * *

      Calista breathed in the fresh air.

      Already she felt like a different person. The air and sunshine was like a tonic. Her fatigue seemed to melt away like ice cream in the sun. Even though she’d lost writing time, she had needed the outing and Columbine needed it even more.

      She pushed back her bonnet and lifted her face to the warm rays. May had arrived at last. The garden beds were bursting with bright flowers, including daffodils and the first of the bluebells. Squirrels darted among the trees and one delighted Columbine by peeping out from behind a tree near their picnic blanket. They’d spent