His Mistress by Morning by Elizabeth Boyle Read Free Book Online

the letter. Mrs. Townsend . As in married?
    Her knees quaked, and she sought the refuge of a chair, her hand shaking as she glanced again at the seemingly innocent looking correspondence in her hand. Even worse, there was something vaguely familiar about the handwriting.
    The click of heels echoed down the stairs, announcing Finella’s return, and with it, Charlotte’s gaze jerked upward to find her mother’s cousin parading into the room, gloriously gowned in burnished gold, an outrageously large hat perched atop her head, aflutter in plumes and silk flowers.
    “Come along,” she ordered, starting to shoo Charlotte out of her seat. “You can read those idiotic verses from your would-be poets when we—” Her words came to a breathless halt as she too spied the handwriting. “Harrumph,” Finella sputtered, snatching the note up and tossing it into the fireplace. “Aurora! I suppose that prosy bitch wants more money.” She swiped her hands over her skirts and made another disgruntled noise. “You haven’t been paying her debts again, have you?”
    Charlotte shook her head, shocked not only at her cousin’s reaction to a note but also the animosity she displayed.
    “Well, make sure you don’t!” Finella made the most unladylike snort as she bustled her from the room, catching up a wondrous hat from a young maid, the aforementioned Prudence, Charlotte guessed. The pretty confection was deposited atop Charlotte’s curls with a great huff.A pelisse and gloves came next, and Charlotte found herself rushed out the door, down the steps, and into a waiting open carriage. A liveried driver and tiger snapped to attention at the sight of them, and soon they were being whisked away.
    Her fingers went up to touch the glorious creation atop her head. Why, she’d never worn such a hat in her life, and she felt almost queenly beneath such fashionable perfection.
    All the while, Finella kept up her tirade. “And where was Aurora when we had thin cupboards and were freezing our arses off every winter, I ask? Where was she? Up in that fancy Mayfair palace of hers, warm and snug, drinking pekoe and happily ignoring us.”
    Charlotte scrambled to catalogue all this information. But one point stood out.
    Her mother lived in a palace?
    “I don’t understand,” she said, then corrected herself in hopes of gaining more information. “I mean to say, I’ve never understood why she should ignore us.”
    Other than the fact that Charlotte was now apparently something of a scandal.
    Finella snorted again. “The high and mighty Countess Pilsley calling on us? On Little Titchfield Street? Now that would be a lark. Oh, she’ll help herself to your fortune but deign to acknowledge you?” The lady’s brows rose in a significant arch. “No, it’s better that she left us to our fate and married Pilsley after Wilmont died. At least we aren’t up to our ears in debt.”
    Charlotte did her best to take this all in and not appear completely shocked. Her mother had left her to Cousin Finella and remarried?
    Not just remarried, but having landed an earl? That was quite a step up from Charlotte’s father, who had been naught but a poor knight with barely a noteworthy estate.
    “I thought Pilsley had money,” she said aloud without thinking.
    “Harrumph! Not enough to cover her gambling debts,” Finella shot back, her dour looks replaced quickly with a wide smile as she rose up in her seat to wave gaily at a lady in the street.
    Looking over at the fancily dressed recipient of her cousin’s enthusiastic greeting, Charlotte nearly toppled out of the open carriage—for it was none other than Corrina Fornett, fluttering her elegantly gloved hand back at them as if they were old and dear friends.
    Mrs. Fornett? The same woman Finella had regarded just yesterday with such animosity it was surprising she hadn’t fired off a letter to the Times in complaint of the notorious lady being allowed to drive in Mayfair?
    “Oh, yes, doesn’t