How often do we read a romance when it isn't fairly clear, fairly early on, that love and marriage is a possibility, even if a remote one? With a well-written mistress book in an aristocratic setting, a conventional happy ending should seem out of the question. According to Free Dictionary, the definition of a mistress is “A woman who has a continuing sexual relationship with a usually married man who is not her husband and from whom she generally receives material support." By that definition, actress Jessica O'Neill from Joan Wolf's His Lordship's Mistress certainly fits the bill: The Earl of Linton supports her financially and although he is single, he may as well have been married because of the disparity between their stations in life. Not sounding so much like a romance, is it?
But Jessica O'Neill is actually a gentlewoman, forced to earn a substantial amount of money very quickly so that she and her two young step-brothers — and all her dependents — will not lose the roof over their heads. She wants nothing more than to breed horses and live a quiet life in the country, but the debts she inherits from her step-father make that choice impossible. Jessica is fiercely independent and far too proud and fastidious to marry in order to ”save“ her family. Realistically, she is all too aware of a married woman's financial powerlessness. Her beauty and exquisite speaking voice propel her to the forefront of the London stage. There, in the infamous green room, she is introduced to a blond paragon, Philip, the young Earl of Linton.
He asks her, with delicacy and warmth, to allow him to take care of her and she accepts. They cross the Rubicon of her virginity and settle into a relationship that pleases them both. Unusually, the earl demands respect for Jessica from all his companions and they are seen everywhere together (everywhere, that is, except the haunts of the haut vol like Almacks and private entertainments).
Neither has ever spoken of love but in her signature, spare ”show, don't tell“ style, Joan Wolf makes it clear that deeper emotions are involved in this relationship. After a trip to his country seat, Philip and Jessica have a passionate reunion. She admits she has missed him and for the first time, she ”let her barriers down“ and thinks to herself that whatever happens, that she'll never forget this coming together. But wait:
Half an hour later she was closed up against him, watching him with open, remote eyes that filled his soul with bitter anger. He had given her a ruby-and-diamond necklace.
Why Jessica is so angry and why Philip is so bitter and hurt are at the crux of this love story. The aftermath of Philip's gift is awkward and fraught with tension: Jessica refuses to wear the necklace when Philip takes her to the opera; Philip thinks Jessica is about to embark on an affair with her actor colleague: and the estrangement culminates in Jessica telling Philip that she will leave him.
“Jess,” he finally said quietly, “why won’t you wear my necklace?”
She tore her eyes from him and turned to walk to the window. She rested her forehead against the cold glass and closed her eyes. “Because it makes me feel like a whore,” she said wearily, “Which is a very stupid reason, I know, since that is exactly what I am.”
There was a stunned silence, then he said in a voice that was barely audible, “Oh my God.” She didn’t move and he came across to where she stood at the window. “Do you think that is how I regard you?” There was a note in his voice that pierced the fog of despair that was engulfing her, and she turned slowly to face him.
“How do you regard me?” she asked simply, all defenses shattered.
“I regard you as the woman I love,” he answered, and reached out to pull her into his arms. The relief she felt was so intense that her knees buckled. He held her close and she pressed against him. She was shaking.
“Philip,” she said. “Philip.”
“I gave you that necklace because I love you,” he was saying. “I’d spin the moon out of the sky to give you if I thought you wanted it.”
“I just want you.” Her voice was muffled by his shoulder.
She felt so slim and light in his arms. “I’m sorry, Jess. I’m sorry, darling.” His lips were against her temple. Then, suddenly, his hands were hard on her shoulders, holding her away from him. She looked up to meet his eyes. They were bluer than the sea on a summer day, and deeper. “Don’t ever say that about yourself again. Do you hear me?”
For a mistress book to end convincingly—albeit never quite historically realistically—two crucial problems must be solved. The first, that the relationship shifts from a man supporting a woman financially, to a couple who love each other irrespective of their initial union. I would posit that this first problem is solved swooningly and convincingly in this scene. Many mistress books do not even explore this problem, choosing rather to take it for granted that the couple is ”in love."
The second difficulty, which questions whether the couple will be able to live with dignity and respect within their chosen community, is not the subject of this essay, though it diminishes the beloved mistress trope when it is almost taken for granted that all will be well within the confines of the aristocracy. If you want to know how Jessica and Philip achieve their HEA, you'll have to read this marvelous book.
Janet Webb, Book Lovers Resource
