Clandestine Passion (The Lovelocks of London Book 2)

Although Catherine had a great many tasks before her now that Arabella had been sent off to her sister Mary, she was compelled to find the young woman of French extraction who had been so kind to her last autumn.

She had previously asked acquaintances if they knew a French woman of good breeding named Mademoiselle Isabella DuMornay. All the women had looked at her blankly. Some of the men had showed recognition in their eyes, and a few had even smirked, but all said they did not know her.

Finally, she went to the Theatre-Royal, Drury Lane. She knocked on the stage door. It was opened by Joseph, the very same guardian of the stage door from seventeen years ago. He was a huge brute of a man, missing one eye and with two cauliflower ears.

“Joseph!” she cried and threw her arms around his middle.

“Who is that?” he said, looking down at her. She stepped back.

“It’s Cath, Joseph.”

Suddenly, she was buried in his arms. “Oh, my goodness, little Cath come back finally to see her Joe.” He held her out and surveyed her with his one eye. “Just as tiny and pretty as ever. Wait, it’s Mrs. Lovely, isn’t it?”

“Lovelock. But my husband died.”

“And will you be coming back to the stage, then, Cath?”

“No, no, I won’t, I’m afraid. I’m here actually to see if anyone knows a young lady I met recently.”

“Well, the theater’s just gone dark this week, Mrs. Lovely. No one’s here besides me and the rats. Who would this young lady be?”

“She is French, and I think from a good family. Her name is Isabella DuMornay? She’s about six inches taller than I am, generously proportioned, dark hair, dark eyes. She would make a lovely Helen in Marlowe’s Dr. Faustus.”

Joseph scratched his chin for a bit.

“I wonder if that might be Izzy. Her surname is Dewmorning, same as your lady. But she’s not French although she talks funny, and, well, Cath, she is not what you would call a lady.”

“Well, what would you call her?”

Joseph blushed.

“She’s one of Madame Flora’s Cyprians.”

Catherine knew of Madame Flora’s, of course. It was not two hundred yards from the theater. In fact, it was quite near where many months ago, she had first kissed James in an alley. No wonder the passersby had assumed she was a whore.

“I see. Thank you, Joseph.”

“She’s not in trouble, is she? Izzy is a good girl, she is.”

“No, she’s not in trouble. And I agree, Joseph. She’s a very good girl.”

Catherine went home and arranged for her coachman to take a message to Madame Flora’s for her. The coachman was astonished, of course, and protested. But Catherine insisted. She paid his wages and she wanted the message delivered.

Two days later, Catherine’s carriage waited in front of Madame Flora’s. At the appointed hour of two, Isabella DuMornay came out and was helped into the carriage by a dumbstruck footman, whose eyes bulged and mouth hung open. The coachman snapped the reins and the carriage rolled away.

“You are very good to see me, Mademoiselle DuMornay,” Catherine said as the carriage lurched over the cobblestones.

“But, of course. I think I was quite surprised to receive your letter. You uncovered me.”

“Yes.”

They both were silent for a moment. Then they spoke at the same time.

“I wanted to tha—”

“You mustn’t think—”

They both stopped and smiled.

“S’il vous plaît, Madame Lovelock.” Isabella gestured for Catherine to speak.

“You were very kind to me at a time when I was in a great deal of distress, and I had hoped that we might meet again so I could express my gratitude. But I could find you nowhere and I did not like to ask the Marquis Dubois or anyone else from that house party.”

“No,” Isabella said. “I understand.”

“And now that I have found you, I would like to help you, if I could.”

Isabella laughed, a low, throaty laugh that Catherine was sure men found enthralling. “Oh, Madame, you are too good. In truth, I am leaving my profession because I will marry soon.”

Catherine leaned forward. A jealous tug at her heart. “Oh, how wonderful. I congratulate you.”

Isabella shrugged and pouted. “I want just to run away together but the man will not have it. He insists on the marriage.”

Catherine smiled. “Not the usual reluctant groom then.”

“I wonder that so many women want marriage, Madame. It is all to benefit the man and not the woman. We live in a world run by men. And we live in a world that demands marriage. This is not—how do you say?—a coincidence.”

“There are some advantages to the woman, Mamselle.”

Isabella scoffed. “Only if there are children, to make them safe. Otherwise, the woman should stay free.”

Catherine bit her lip. “Yes. But there are some women who want marriage.”

“Of course, but I am not one of them. But I am quite crazed for this man and if he says he will not have me without the wedding, then the wedding I shall have. I throw all my rules away for him.”

“I’m sure you will be very happy.”

“It is good, I think, to find someone you want to throw away your rules for.”

The carriage lurched.

“What were you going to say to me, Mademoiselle DuMornay, before?”

“Oh, Madame Lovelock, I was going to tell you that you mustn’t think there is anything between Lord Daventry and me. But now that you have heard that I am to be married, of course, you wouldn’t think that.”

Catherine sat back. She had no inkling of anything between James and Isabella.

“I know, Madame, that there was always talk because James would come to me so often in the brothel.”

“I heard . . . no talk.”

Isabella clapped her hand over her mouth. “I had thought, that is, I thought that is why you had asked to see me.”

“No, I had heard nothing. And even if I had, Lord Daventry’s behavior could have nothing to do with me.”

Isabella’s eyes became very large. “Oh, no, Madame, you will break his heart.”

“Nonsense.”

Isabella frowned. “I cannot say what I wish to say. But you are, begging your pardon, a fool.”

Catherine smiled wanly. “On that, we can agree, Mademoiselle DuMornay.” She knocked on the ceiling of the carriage and told the coachman to take them back to Madame Flora’s.

Just before the carriage came to a halt, Isabella leaned forward. “At the very least, you must tell him.”

Catherine began to ask what she meant, but thought better of it. She compressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head.

Isabella got out of the carriage without waiting for the footman’s assistance.

She popped her head back in through the door. “His father has died. In case you had not heard the news. Jacques is the duke now.”