A Regency era courtesan gives up her empire for love and discovers how truly binding her connections are to the noblemen she used to serve.
*****
In the sequel to Courte...
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~ Monday May 3, 1813 ~
Breakfast arrived as I washed my face in the basin.
"Mistress Hayes? I have tea and fresh baked scones. Are you decent?" Anne spoke through the door, and I almost believed she had been waiting in the hall until she heard me stir. It was what Tilda had done in the early days of her employment.
"Yes, come in."
She pushed the door open with her backside and, wearing a robust smile, proceeded to set up my breakfast on the serving tray.
"The scones smell delicious. You are quite the baker, Anne."
Her face reddened. "I cannot take credit for these. Or the tea cakes you ate yesterday. My son is here for the season and he adores baking."
"Is this your busy season?"
"It truly starts in June, but we begin to prepare in May."
We chatted as Anne offered up a towel, attending me as I began my morning ritual. I could not help thinking she was handsomely compensated to provide me royal treatment.
"The general and his daughter had a terrible falling out," she said unexpectedly. "That's why she left home."
"The general?"
"Yes. General Abram Hayes. I mentioned him yesterday when I enquired if you had any relation."
"Oh." I wasn't sure why she had suddenly brought up this general again, but I expected I would know about it soon.
"He had a younger son who died in an accident involving a horse and carriage. He and Millie were left childless after that. Then, when Millie passed away, he became infirm. Now he lives in their home with his servants."
She glanced around the room as if to make sure we weren't being spied on. "I don't like to speak ill of folks, but the general is known to have a sharp-tongue and seems to enjoy giving people hell just for existing. A lifetime of generaling will do that. And the tragic loss of one's offspring, of course."
When I failed to offer a reply, an embarrassed blush coloured her cheeks. "I only mention this because, like I said yesterday, your resemblance to the general's daughter is startling."
She seemed resolved to attend to her inn duties after that, and I was left to make use of the morning as I wished. The most pressing task was writing this story Mister Merriweather had saddled upon me. I still had no clear vision for how to pen such a peculiar narrative. Clearly, he expected me to draw from my personal experiences. But how would I do that without giving away too much?
Of all my benefactors, past and recently discharged, Mister Morrisey was the most domineering lover. Perhaps a character with similar qualities would adequately entice readers. I prepared my writing space with pen and parchment, then I worked out a plot. Something daring that involved a chance meeting between a traveling rogue and a curious noblewoman. The problem came when I finished the outline and needed to pen the first sentence.
