Temporary Mistress by Susan Johnson

hand.
    Isabella immediately wrote a reply, telling Mr. Lampert not to worry about her. She needed neither help nor money at the moment. And when the time was appropriate, she would explain her circumstances.
    She tried to read again afterward, but her mind was consumed with having missed her grandfather's funeral, and the book lay unread in her lap. She should have been with him as he was put to rest, she thought; it would have been the last service she could offer him. And regret of what might have been lowered her spirits. But reminders of her despicable relatives evoked a simmering anger as well, and she took a degree of pleasure in planning revenge.
    Her uncharitable impulses offered a kind of respite, however meager, to her sadness while the troubling uncertainties of her future brought further disarray to a mind already in turmoil. She might be able to maintain an air of resolve concerning her circumstances in the company of Mrs. Crocker, but once alone, she wasn't sure she possessed the courage to actually see it through.
    Regardless Bathurst's appeal.
    Regardless he was probably her best option.
    Regardless he seemed to want her.
    And she him.
    Such outlandish possibilities shocked her when she allowed herself to consider them, as did the strange and curious desires evoked by the beautiful young earl. But contemplation of Bathurst also generated intoxicating, thrilling tremors deep inside her, and she clasped her hands together tightly on the book lying in her lap to still her trembling emotions.
    How should she deal with her feverish response, she wondered, and her only companion in life unconsciously came to mind. Silently, she spoke to her grandfather, the simple act of communicating offering her solace. As she explained her feelings, it seemed as though he were with her again, as though she weren't so alone. She even found herself describing the handsome young earl as though her grandfather might enjoy a description as much as she.
    She smiled at the ludicrousness of her imaginary conversation. But a comforting ease overcame her as she offered the bits and pieces of her tremulous thoughts—until a knock on the door interrupted her reflections and a second later Mrs. Crocker bustled into the room, followed by several maids laden with colorful gowns and accessories.
    "We brought some things to cheer you up," she briskly said, indicating the items be placed on the bed. "Have you written a reply to your lawyer yet? Dermott's man is downstairs."
    "I'll get it." Rising from her chair, Isabella walked to the small table where her note lay and handed it to a maid.
    "The earl's man is a precaution, should anyone be watching," Molly explained.
    "Thank you for your caution and your company as well. I find myself too alone with my thoughts."
    "Exactly why you need a diversion. I had Madame Duclaisse send over some frocks to amuse us."
    "I shall pay you, of course."
    "At your leisure, my dear. Come now," she said, sitting down, "which would you like to try on first?"
    Isabella selected a morning gown, her immediate need that of replacing her robe. The pale blue gauze was embroidered with a wide row of floral designs at the hem, but the simple lines were otherwise unadorned.
    Not unfamiliar with servants, although she'd preferred living without a lady's maid, Isabella allowed the girls to help her dress. Mrs. Crocker had thoughtfully provided a chemise of the finest lawn, and after quickly discarding her robe and having the chemise slipped over her head, Isabella tried on the blue day dress.
    "You have an eye for size." Isabella twirled before a cheval glass, the belled skirt billowing out around her.
    "It was easy. You're the same size as Kate… one of the ladies here," she added in explanation. "The blue is excellent with your eyes."
    "It is rather nice."
    "Try on some of the slippers. There's some matching ones in several sizes."
    A perfect fit was selected from the array, and she could have entertained royalty in her