Rules for Being a Mistress Read Online Free Page B

out laughing. Again, her laughter had its unsettling effect on his physiology. With tears in her eyes, she uncorked the bottle. “You’ve earned your third glass, so you have. ‘Is there something wrong with your whiskey?’” she repeated as she poured it out.
    She sat down on the step again and wiped her streaming eyes with the corner of her apron. “It’s just the sort of thing Sandy would say, to get a third glass out of me. He could always make me laugh, Sandy. God forgive me, he’s the one I miss the most.”
    Benedict felt absurdly jealous of the unknown Sandy.
    “I’ve three brothers altogether,” Cosy said, after a moment, persevering in the face of his apparent indifference. The man had a face like carved marble. “ They appreciated my cooking,” she added, giving him a look of strong reproach. “Of course, they’d eat their own fists if I let them, so it’s hardly a compliment.”
    Benedict was pleased. “I see. Sandy is your brother?”
    “One of three,” she reiterated.
    The possibility of three Irishmen running tame in his house, eating their own fists, did not appeal to Benedict at all. “Are they in Ireland?” he asked, concerned.
    “They are not. Larry’s in hell, of course,” she said matter-of-factly, “but there’s hope for Sandy, I’m thinking. I’m on my knees for him, anyway. They served in the Fifty-fourth, the Duke of Kellynch’s Own Regiment of Foot. Do you know it?”
    He spoke gravely. “Yes, of course. Only four men survived the Waterloo action.”
    She nodded. “My father was one. He’s in India now, with two hundred fresh recruits. Larry and Sandy were not so fortunate. They died there in Belgium, like so many.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said gravely. “Especially in regards to poor Larry.”
    “They were fighting men,” she said simply. “Were you at Waterloo?”
    “Only as an observer.” Benedict held up his glass. “To the fighting Kellynch.”
    The toast earned him an unprecedented fourth glass of whiskey. The drink seemed to be loosening his tongue, which pleased her. She thought he was the most interesting man she had ever met. She could have talked to him all night. She never wanted to go to bed.
    “You said you had three brothers.”
    “My youngest brother is on his way to India now,” she told him. “That’s Dan. He’s only eighteen, the lamb. When you knocked, I was afraid you might be bringing me bad news.”
    Reassured that her father and brothers were all out of the way, he had no further interest in her family. “How long have you been acquainted with Lord Skeldings?” he asked abruptly.
    “Skeldings?” she repeated in surprise. “Which one is he?”
    “How many have there been?” he wanted to know.
    “Too many,” she said frankly. “One more lordship, and I’m off to America.”
    He frowned at her. “Lord Skeldings is the owner of this house, Miss Cosy.”
    “Is he so? It was all handled by agents,” she explained. “I asked only for a nice, quiet place in a respectable street. So I did all right for myself, I think?”
    “Certainly Camden Place is respectable enough for anyone,” he said.
    She wrinkled up her forehead. “Pretty steep, though, I’m thinking?”
    “Yes; but walking uphill is good exercise.”
    “No; I meant the rent.” She laughed. “Don’t you think it’s exorbitant? Sure England is a dear place; everything is exorbitant.”
    “Not everything, surely,” he murmured.
    By strict definition, it was impossible for everything to be exorbitant, of course, but Miss Cosy did not seem to concern herself with definitions, strict or otherwise. Her fondness for the word “nice,” for example, almost amounted to a speech impediment. “Aye; everything!” she insisted. “I’ve not had a nice joint of beef these three weeks together. Eleven pence a pound! And now it’s Lent, and I couldn’t have it, even if I could afford it.”
    He looked at her thoughtfully. If Miss Cosy was to be his mistress, she