Filed To Story: Alessia Mistaken as Mistress Book PDF Free
Quinn cast her a loving smile and placed his hand over hers, and a niggle of envy dipped in Alessia’s chest. It was replaced by sadness when she remembered the last time she’d felt just this way: when Stephen and Claire had looked at each other and he’d spoken to her so lovingly. She’d thought then what a lucky baby they were having. What a lucky woman Claire was.
But that hadn’t been so at all. Fate had stepped in.
Or was she wrong in thinking that way? Yes, their lives had been cut short. Their child had never even taken his first breath. But they’d all been loved so much and they’d all left this earth together. As a family.
Leda must have sensed her heavy-heartedness, or perhaps she’d let it show on her face, because the older woman took her hand and pulled her down to sit on a divan beside her. Alessia thought of the red petticoat, and her mood lightened.
Gruver appeared in the doorway just then. “The Mc-Cauls have arrived, Mrs. Halliday.”
Alessia started to stand, but Leda pulled her back down. “I’ll see that they’re settled. You stay.”
Alessia gave her a warm smile of gratitude.
“She thinks the world of you,” Kathryn said after Leda excused herself. “I think you’re just what she needed.”
“Well, the feeling is mutual,” Alessia replied.
“I hope you and my wife will have some private time together,” Quinn said. “Katy is too loyal to complain, but she doesn’t have many young friends, and I think she’s dying to ask you a hundred questions.”
“We’ll make some time together,” Alessia assured them both. Not that she knew the least helpful thing to tell the poor woman. She’d been alone and frightened when she’d been pregnant, and unconscious when William had come into the world. Perhaps the older women were Kathryn’s best choices for confidantes.
Nicholas and Milos appeared then, and the conversation changed to the upcoming storm and the lack of rain for the season. The McCauls joined them as they entered the dining room, and Nicholas made introductions.
The staff had outdone themselves, and Alessia observed that even Nicholas was impressed with the fare and the service.
“Why don’t we gentlemen retire for a smoke, and then we’ll join you lovely ladies in the parlor,” Nicholas suggested.
Pleasantly full from an exquisite dinner, the party moved to the foyer where the men started toward Nicholas’s study.
A sound at the top of the stairs apparently alerted the men, for one by one they turned back. A loud voice singing an off-key version of “Buffalo Gals” echoed down the curved marble stairway. The hair on the back of Alessia’s neck stood up, and she looked up in horror.
Oh, no! Good Lord, no! Not now! Not like this!
“-won’tcha come out tonight, come out ton-night!”
The silence among the guests at the bottom of the stairs seemed as loud as the squalling from the woman at the top. She appeared on the stairs, her step unsteady, wearing a bright green satin dress with a matching bow on her mop of flaming frowsy orange curls. She flipped her skirts and attempted a cancan, revealing a revolting length of veined and freckled calves and knees, as well as the fact that her shoes didn’t match.
Panic roared in Alessia’s ears. Not only was the woman awake, but she was still drunk-or drunk again! What on earth would she do when she discovered Claire wasn’t here? Alessia had considered locking her in the room, but the thought had seemed too cruel and too unsafe. But now…
Mrs. Patrick descended a step unsteadily, her song ending, her eyes narrowing as she tried to focus on her rapt audience below. “Where’s Claire?” she called, her voice cracking.
Here it came.
One by one, Alessia sensed each head turn in her direction, and she allowed her gaze to scan the faces, their expressions ranging from shock on their guests’ and amusement on Milos’s to sympathy on Leda’s and-outrage on Nicholas’s.
The skin against his starched white collar turned a livid red. His eyes bored into Alessia’s with scathing intensity.
Alessia wanted to vomit She didn’t know if that frightened little sound of alarm had escaped her lips or if it had been inside her roaring head.
She glanced up at Claire’s mother once again, foolish regret gripping her. She should have stayed with her. Should have assigned one of the servants to her. What had seemed like unprofitable use of their time only a few hours ago, now would have made all the difference in the world.
She should have bolted the door.
What would Mrs. Patrick say to Nicholas-in front of all these people?
Alessia met his eyes again and his fury permeated to the very depths of her pathetic and doomed soul.
He had warned her.
And it was worse than even he could have imagined.
Alessia’s days in Mahoning Valley were numbered.
As though in a slower-than-life motion, with all other sounds faded into the background, Alessia watched in horror as Claire’s mother reached one of the landings and stumbled toward the banister where an enormous fern sat in a ceramic pot on the oak ledge that was part of the banister’s decoration.
From the servants’ hall below, Penelope appeared, laden with a silver tray and tea service. She caught sight of the throng of guests and paused hesitantly.
Just as Penelope glanced upward to view the subject of everyone’s riveted attention, Claire’s mother tripped and slammed against the base of the blue and white container. The leaves shimmied. The pot turned over. And the weight of the plant propelled it over the side of the banister.
The women gasped.
Nicholas lunged forward, snagging the servant across the front of her chest and knocking her over. She fell to the floor beside him, the silver service banging across the tiles.
The huge planter careened to the foyer floor and smashed with a deafening crash of ceramic pot and imported floor tiles. Shards shot in all directions, and black dirt and pebbles spread in a starburst spatter, showering Nicholas and the stunned Penelope, and reaching the toes of the horrified guests.
One of the women next to Alessia emitted a squeal.
Alessia couldn’t move for what seemed an eternity. The deafening sound still echoed in her ears. From above came slurred laughter and a loud “Whoops-ie!”
The woman had fallen in an undignified and embarrassing spraddle-legged sprawl on her fanny and elbows, her skirt hiked around her fleshy thighs, her bright hair and the ridiculous bow askew. As if in a daze, she blinked and blew a hank of disheveled hair from her face. One shoe dangled from her toes.
If Alessia could have had one prayer answered immediately in her entire lifetime, it would have been the one right then and there to have the floor open up and swallow her whole.
Nicholas assisted Penelope to her feet and they brushed dirt from their clothing. Nicholas leaned forward and ruffled his hair. Particles fell out and bounced on the floor.
Alessia couldn’t face him or his guests or his mother.
Forcing her numb legs and feet into action, she gathered her skirts and climbed the stairs as quickly as her tender leg would carry her.
The murmur of Leda’s soothing voice rose, taking control of the situation with the guests, urging them on to the activities they’d planned.
One of the men chuckled.
The horrible woman looked up as Alessia approached. Alessia converged on her before she could say or do anything more. She’d already caused enough damage. Wanting nothing more than to grab her around the throat and squeeze the air from her, Alessia took her firmly by one arm and urged her to her feet and up the stairs.
“What the hell-” the woman objected.
“Hush, Mrs. Patrick,” she shushed her. “You’ve made enough of a spectacle of yourself already. You’re going back to your room.”
They’d reached the upper hall, away from the eyes and ears of those below. The woman jerked away from her. “Where is my daughter?” she asked. “I came to see my daughter.”
Alessia pushed her along the hallway. “How would you even know if you’ve reached the right place? You’ve been drunk or passed out since you arrived.”
“Ain’t I at the right place? Ain’t this the Hallidays’?”
“Yes, it’s the Hallidays’.” They reached the lavender room, and Alessia guided her in and closed the door.
The woman made her way over to the bottle on the stand beside the bed and poured a tumbler half-full, sloshing liquor on the wooden furniture.