A 19th century London courtesan agrees to a phony courtship with a navy captain and finds herself negotiating uncharted territory outside the boudoir.
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The year is eighteen-t...
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~ Sunday Jan 10, 1813 ~
I awoke to a city dusted in snow. The dingy homes and storefronts were now painted white, causing them to sparkle magically. After dressing, I enjoyed a light breakfast of tea and imported dates, then I stood ready inside the foyer a full ten minutes before the coach arrived carrying the Thompson siblings.
I had barely taken my seat when Alice waved a folded parchment in front of my face. "He wrote to me... Lord Kingsley of Oxford. I've been invited to his family's annual coming out ball."
Given that I already knew the lord planned to invite Alice, I had to make my excitement look authentic. "I had no doubts the young lord would extend you an invitation, Alice. You most assuredly caught his fancy at the Weatherby's ball."
"And the invitation was personalized. He wrote to me himself. He said I impressed him with my cleverness."
If the girl had been born with wings, she would have been floating above the carriage, and I couldn't help feeling a twinge of envy. I was familiar with the thrill of infatuation, yet I had not felt the thrill myself, having learned to suppress any feelings that might be counterproductive to my profession.
"Don't get carried away, Alice," Captain Thompson put in brusquely. "I have already given you my opinion on this particular Lord of Oxford. Unlike his older brother, Albert has a reputation as a womanizer, and I'll be damned if I will let him lead you on." The captain sat so stiffly, he looked as if he was being driven to his own funeral. He had also applied a particularly heavy dose of fragrance, with notes of cedar and musk, and it did a good job of tickling my nose.
"And I told you, I don't care. He's a lord, and he's showing an interest in someone who knows more than the latest embroidery pattern or where modern ladies purchase the best bonnets. It's a sign that the new generation of nobles may not be the stuffed shirts their ancestors are. All I ask, brother, is for you to be my chaperone, not my parent. Oh, Mistress Hayes, I wish you could be my chaperone again."
While I expected Jules to argue further, he turned to the window, seemingly unmoved by his sister's harsh words.
"I'm sorry, Alice. We both know most of the Weatherby's guests will be at the Kingsley's ball," I told her. "And there's a good change the Weatherby's will be there, as well."
"Yes, I know. And it's all my fault that you cannot attend with me."
"Do not take all the blame. The rumours had already done their damage before you spoke your mind to the baroness. And those rumours were directed at me, not you."
Alice let the topic go, and our journey to the church took very little time. It wasn't until we were waiting behind the line of coaches that a terrible thought occurred to me.
"Oh, dear. I just realized what a poor position I've put you in, Alice."
"What do you mean?"
"The baroness. You and I both know she has been seen at Reverend Lawtey's services."
