An Experienced Mistress by Bryn Donovan Read Free Book Online Page B

will tell, Mr. Valerio. Good day.”
    On the carriage ride back to the rail station, she told herself that not all art lovers were like the Italian. The world was changing. Ida Keating’s exhibition in the Royal Academy proved that, had it not? Surely it was not just the exception that proves the rule? The man was just embarrassed he’d been duped.
    She remembered as she left, the girl with him had given her an unmistakable look of sympathy. She appreciated that.
    Genevieve wondered if she should feel sorry for the girl, as well. Then again, she seemed sharp enough. Perhaps she had no illusions about love with the Italian. She shared his bed, and because of that shared his fancy house and considerable wealth.
    And was this so different from marriage, after all? Marriage was, among other things, an arrangement where the man was allowed to be intimate with a woman in exchange for supporting her.
    Except that a mistress wasn’t wanted to provide heirs—she heard they had certain ingenious ways of preventing this. And she was not required to manage a man’s household, or entertain his friends.
    True, a mistress knew the man wouldn’t continue supporting her indefinitely. And of course, being a mistress was the height, or rather depth, of iniquity and sin.
    Other than that, it wasn’t such a bad arrangement. If one just thought about it logically. Perhaps the girl with Mr. Valerio even had the opportunity to go with him to Italy. Genevieve imagined the chit admiring the work of Da Vinci and Michelangelo.
    Anyone was hypocritical to judge mistresses and yet not judge a woman who married for money.
    She gazed out the window of the train. As the sun set, the cold sky blushed to a perfect peachy-pink, intersected with the lacy, budding black branches of the trees.
    The sight soothed Genevieve. How fortunate that even on a bad day she was able to notice and enjoy the beauty of the world around her. Maybe that was one of the best things about being an artist.
    She thought again of her most recent painting, with its awkward Ophelia. If she was to make it as a painter, she’d have to do better than that.
    Mr. Valerio’s voice echoed in her mind again. You paint a little, perhaps. But you are not an artist.
    The idea infuriated her.
    Maybe because she feared it was true. Or would come true if she didn’t find a patron.
    ****
    Genevieve must have still had a fierce look on her face when she came in the door that night.
    “Oh, Miss Genny, it didn’t go well, did it?” Flory asked.
    “No.” Genevieve stripped off her gloves. “It most certainly did not.”
    “I am so sorry, ma’am. Let me take your coat, and come over and sit by the fire. I made you a pot of tea, and some sardines on toast, if that sounds good to you.”
    “It does. Do you want to join me?”
    “Why thank you, Miss Genny. I shall.”
    They took their familiar places on either side of the hearth where they sometimes spent a quiet evening, Genevieve reading and Flory doing needlework.
    “A letter came for you,” the maid said, and handed her the missive.
    She frowned at the sender’s name...she’d never heard of the man, as far as she could recall. Good Lord, surely it wasn’t another creditor? She sliced into the envelope with her pearl-handled letter opener.
    She drew out crisp bank-notes. Forty pounds.
    Will Creighton’s banker had included a note. Mr. Creighton must truly trust his banker in order to involve him in such a matter. Of course, the note mentioned none of the arrangement’s details, and she supposed that men in finance probably knew enough to be discreet about the affairs of the rich.
    It gave her a peculiar feeling to hold the money in her hand. On the one hand, she felt appalled, as though she’d been an accomplice in a crime. At the same time, she couldn’t help but think that here was enough to pay off her creditors and still have a good deal left over.
    Genevieve knew the sight of the money piqued her maid’s curiosity, so she