The countess took a slow slip of her tea as she considered. “She was, as I’m certain you know, one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting,” she said finally, setting down her teacup. “I found her to be a serious sort. Always reading—and notinterestingbooks, either. They were about natural philosophy or medicinal plants. Can you imagine? And she attended lectures at the Royal Society. Quite unusual for a lady.” She leaned forward slightly. “Then there is—was—her association with Mr. Goldsten.”
Kendra regarded her. “Mr. Goldsten?”
“He’s a surgeon.” She hesitated, then lowered her voice to add, “And a Jew.”
“What exactly was her association with him?”
The matron offered Kendra a teasing smile. “I suppose I can discuss this with you, since you are now a married lady. You could say that Grace had a particularfondnessfor Mr. Goldsten.”
“They were having an affair?”
Lady St. James gave a surprised laugh. “You are very blunt, my dear. Yes, that’s the on-dit. However, I will concede that they conducted themselves with great discretion. Most likely because the Queen is a stickler when it comes to propriety. A bit hypocritical, if you ask me, since her own son, the Prince Regent, can hardly claim to be a paragon. Or her other sons and daughters, for that matter.” She sniffed. “Though I will allow that Queen Charlotte has always been straitlaced, with nary a word spoken against her when it came to her marriage vows.”
Kendra wasn’t interested in royal gossip. “Did Lady Westford’s husband know?”
“Certainly.” Lady St. James flicked her hand in a gesture of casual dismissal before reaching for a cake. “They’ve led separate lives for ages. It’s common knowledge that Westford has had a left-handed wife for nearly thirty years.”
“A what?”
Alec was the one who answered. “A mistress,” he told Kendra, then asked Lady St. James, “Who is she?”
“Hetty O’Leary. Or is it Heather? No matter.” Lady St. James bit into the cake, chewed and swallowed. “She was an actress when she met Westford. By all accounts, they fell madly in love and his lordship set her up in a villa. In St. John’s Wood, of course.”
Seeing Kendra’s confusion, the countess explained, “St. John’s Wood is famous—or is it infamous? —for housing the mistresses of gentlemen. ’Tis where Prinny set up his morganatic wife, Mrs. Fitzherbert. Though she may have moved there after their relationship ended. ’Tis difficult to keep up with his many loves. Mrs. O’Leary has been giving Westford a score of by-blows ever since. It’s all very . . . domestic.”
Kendra didn’t know why she was startled by this information. She’d been here long enough to know that for all its rules and regulations that restricted behavior (mostly the behavior of women), the Beau Monde had a hedonistic streak as wide as the Atlantic Ocean. No one batted an eyelash when gentlemen kept mistresses—or, apparently, an entire second family—on the side. But it was hard to reconcile the haughty man she’d met yesterday with this story of a double life.
“How many children do they have?” asked Alec, taking a sip of his tea.
“Oh, good heavens, I’m not certain. It’s not likethatfamily is part of proper society. The eldest son, though, was trained as a barrister, and is currently working in the House of Commons as a clerk.” The countess finished her cake. “I believe Mr. O’Leary has ambitions to hold office in Parliament—a desire no doubt fostered by his lordship.”
“And Lady Westford? How did she feel about her husband’s second family?” Kendra asked.
Lady St. James’s lips curled in an indulgent smile. “You and Sutcliffe have clearly formed a love match. Of course,Iknew that the instant I saw this rapscallion cast his eyes at you.” She picked up the feathered fan to give Alec’s arm a playful rap. “Not everyone is so fortunate, though. Lady Westford had her first season the year after I was presented, you know. She was Miss Grace Morton then. Such a dainty thing. I was positively green with envy over her figure—which she maintained throughout the years, despite having three children. Not an easy thing to do. Children wreak havoc on one’s form,” she said, sweeping her hand to indicate her own plump figure. Then, without a hint of self-awareness, she picked up another cake to nibble. “I’m certain she could have had her pick of beaux, but her father had already arranged a match with Westford’s father. Henry was Viscount Dorsten at the time; a good catch, but the estates were impoverished.”
“And Miss Morton supplied the fortune,” Alec murmured.
“Yes. It’s been said that the union was satisfactory for both parties.”
Alec said, “I was presented to their daughter during her first season several years ago.”
“That must have been the youngest.Lady Matilda Taylor-Clarke—now Lady Ross. Married an Irish lord, of all things. Although a step up from the match made by their eldest daughter,Lady Hannah, who married beneath her with Mr. Charles Nettlemyer. His family is in the banking trade. Excessively wealthy, which, I suppose, helps one overlook their lack of pedigree.”
“It does indeed,” Alec agreed easily.
“Their youngest is a son, thank goodness. The estates are secure, although the viscount is a bit of a scapegrace. Then again, young bucks ought to sow their wild oats before doing their duty.”
“How old is he?” Kendra asked.
“Five and twenty, I think.”
“And Mr. O’Leary? Is he younger or older?”
“Older. Why does that matter?”
Kendra had some thoughts on that, but pivoted. “Mrs. O’Leary was married before?”
“I don’t believe so. Why do you . . . oh, because she styles herself asMrs. O’Leary?” Lady St. James shook her head. “Sometimes mistresses, like unmarried housekeepers, adopt the title of Mrs. It’s a mere formality, nothing more.”
