A Convenient Bride (4 page)

Eva had sent around an unadorned coach so as not to draw the attention of her neighbors on the quiet street. She liked to keep her work with the young women private, and having Brenna and Simon arrive in a fine coach would draw speculation.

The town house was a dull stone, without the guild of the houses in Mayfair and Berkeley Square. In fact, it was not so dissimilar to the other houses on the street, all perfectly ordinary. It was an ideal hiding place for courtesans fleeing their patrons.

Brenna sighed as the driver opened the door and helped
her down. She smoothed out her cloak over the simple gray traveling dress, and stared unhappily at the drab building looming before her. This was to be her prison for the week.

If one wanted to disappear into obscurity, this was the place to do it. For a moment, Brenna wondered if Simon truly intended to fetch her once her imprisonment was over. Knowing her brother as she did, she wasn’t certain.

“Do not look so glum, Sister.” Simon offered her his arm. “Your captivity will not be long. Once Father is convinced that your days of offering yourself up to criminals are over, you’ll return home where you belong.”

She peered up at him from beneath her bonnet. “It is difficult to understand how such a handsome man could hold such an evil heart.”

He chuckled. “Your problems are of your own making.”

“My exile will be worth a few days of suffering now that the threat of Chester Abbot is over,” she said, through gritted teeth. “Thank goodness one of you has come to your senses. And it wasn’t you.”

“Father spoils you.”

“Unlike you, he does not live to see me miserable.”

They climbed the steps and stopped before the door. “You may not be marrying Abbot, Sister, but you will marry. It is high time you stopped your mischief and found a mate.”

“I cannot believe Laura married you,” she snapped. “How such a delightful woman could love you is beyond comprehension.”

Simon laughed. “My charm won her.”

Brenna refused to speak further with Simon as they were escorted inside by the butler and settled into a small parlor.

The house smelled of beeswax and perfume, and the simple furnishings had a feminine feel. It was neat and well kept, though Brenna thought the space could use a bit of color.

From somewhere in the house, women’s laughing voices could be heard. Brenna’s stomach tightened. How did one speak with courtesans? She knew nothing about courtesans except that they sold their bodies and that many wealthy men had one. And what had they been told about her? Certainly, her identity would be kept private?

A swish of skirts drew her attention as Eva, Miss Eva to the courtesans, came into the parlor with a smile of welcome.

For Brenna. Simon earned a grimace.

Disguised as a spinster, Brenna almost did not recognize her beautiful cousin. Even her rounding belly was hidden beneath the full cut of her drab brown gown.

“Simon,” Eva said, frowning. “You cannot seem to resist invading my school. Will I ever be rid of you?”

He grinned and took her hand. Several months previous, Simon had rescued Laura from a dangerous situation and brought her here for her protection. The arrival of Laura had not irked Eva, as she would never turn away a young woman in need. No, it was Simon’s continued desire to spend time with Laura that drew her ire. Men were not allowed at the school without an invitation. Simon thought nothing of breaking the rule.

And he called
Brenna
the family mischief maker.

Though Simon and Eva were now close, they liked to toss barbs at each other for their mutual amusement.

“Duchess, you are as lovely as ever.” He kissed her hand. “And your mood as temperate as always.”

“Hmm. Now leave.” She withdrew her hand and turned to Brenna. Crossing the room, she joined her on the settee.

Amused, Simon quietly withdrew as a maid arrived with tea. Once they were alone, Eva said, “I know this is the last place you wish to be, Brenna. When your father proposed the idea, I hesitated. A household of courtesans is no place for a pedigreed young lady.”

“On that we agree.” Brenna wrinkled her nose.

“However,” Eva said, ignoring Brenna’s sharp tone. “After the mischief with the highwayman, your father has decided we can be of some benefit to you.”

Brenna was now certain she’d find no sympathy here. “He wasn’t actually a highwayman,” she protested weakly. She silently cursed Lord Ashwood for interfering. If only she’d recognized him before she’d made her misguided proposal.

However, he’d been dressed in shabby garb, and it had been years since he’d last visited the Harrington town house. The man apparently preferred fresh air, and the company of
sheep, to the entertainments of society. How would she have known him?

“Yes, a fact of which you were unaware.” Eva poured the tea. “Now let us get started, shall we?” She talked about the school; Sophie, who helped run the school; the courtesans; and what was expected of Brenna. Brenna sipped the sweetened tea and felt some tension leave her. Eva was not at fault for her predicament. Brenna would not cause her any worry.

It was a viscount with unshaven cheeks and muddy boots who should be worried.

Deep inside the darkest part of her, she felt the desire for revenge grow for the man who’d stuck his nose in her affairs and locked her up here, almost as if he’d personally dragged her to this school himself.

Someday, somewhere, their paths would cross again, and she’d make him rue the moment he’d decided to chase down her coach.

H
elen, Iris, Alice, and Lucy. The four courtesans were gathered in the parlor, practicing stitchery, each with histories as varied as their appearances and backgrounds, all living in the courtesan school, trying to become wives. Ironic, Brenna thought, considering that her own desire was
not
to fall into that trap herself.

Though Brenna was new to the household, she’d managed to put together enough snippets of information about the women in a few hours to get a clearer picture of each.

Helen was the oldest, thirty, with dark hair shot through with threads of gray, and a trim figure. She was stoic, slow to smile, and preferred to keep her own company.

Iris was as lively as Helen was sober. She was twenty-three, blond, diminutive, and well read. So well read, in fact, she could chatter endlessly about any topic.

Alice was also blond, twenty-five, but was tall and plump. She enjoyed mothering the women like a hen with chicks.

And finally, there was Lucy. Lucy was the youngest, at twenty-one. Her hair was a medium brown, and her hazel eyes flashed mischief. Brenna suspected Lucy was the closest to her in temperament. If she ever wanted to make a nighttime raid to the pantry, Lucy would likely join in the fun.

“I cannot do this,” Alice said, and plucked out her latest stitch. “I am hopeless with a needle.”

“That is why you became a courtesan,” Lucy teased, looking at her own project with a critical eye. “You’d make a horrible seamstress.”

Alice shot Lucy a withering glare. “What, then, is your excuse, Lucy? You are excellent with a needle.”

Lucy shrugged. “Misbehavior. I was a wicked child and never outgrew it,” she said, with a wink. “Besides, if I had to spend my life making and mending clothing, I’d probably throw myself on my scissors and end it all.”

“Oh, dear,” Iris interjected. “I suppose being a courtesan is preferable to death by scissors.”

Brenna bit her lip. These courtesans were a lively lot. Had she not known their history, and had the conversation not been about their scandalous former profession, this little group would resemble any other afternoon tea.

“Excellent point,” Brenna said. She looked down at her own pitiful attempt to sew a straight line. “Some women are not suited for domestic pursuits.”

Lucy smiled, and the women went back to work.

Unable to concentrate on her own stitches, Brenna watched them work on their needlepoint, while Sophie, a former courtesan herself, came in and out of the room, giving instructions and setting up the dining room for the next lesson.

Looking at the properly dressed and subdued young woman, it was almost impossible to believe she was seated amid courtesans. She wasn’t certain what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this. They all looked downright, dare she say it, ordinary.

After several more attempts to correct her mistakes, Alice finally asked Sophie for help.

“If you hold the needle thus, it makes a straighter stitch.” Sophie adjusted the needle, and Alice nodded. After a minute, the young woman smiled.

“Yes, I see the difference.” Alice showed her success to Lucy. Lucy changed the position of her hand. After a few stitches, the two shared a satisfied glance.

Brenna laid her needlepoint in her lap, and her eyes drifted
to the window. If she were home, she might be playing chess with Father or practicing the pianoforte with Mother. She’d been imprisoned at the school for nearly three hours, and she was already feeling the loss of freedom.

It was entirely too quiet here.

“I wonder if His Lordship misses me? He always said I was his favorite mistress.”

Brenna’s attention snapped back with Iris’s comment. She glanced around to see that Sophie had left the room again. Clearly the presence of Sophie kept the women proper. When she stepped out, there was no holding to propriety.

This was more interesting than stitches, Brenna thought. Her curiosity piqued, and she hoped Sophie would be delayed indefinitely.

“He misses tupping you,” Helen said sharply. Brenna blushed. The rest of the women took the salacious comment without a blink. “I’m certain that you will be replaced, posthaste.”

Iris pouted. “There is no need to be rude,” she said. “He may actually miss me, you know.”

“Fickle men are the nature of our profession,” Helen added, ignoring the sudden silence of the other women. “Out of sight, we are soon forgotten when another woman falls into their beds. Sighing wistfully over the man will gain you nothing.”

Lucy lowered her needlepoint. “I’m certain His Lordship cared for you, Iris. However, Helen is correct. We were all replaceable, despite any effusive declarations of affection. That is why we have come here. We all deserve something better for ourselves.”

Curiosity overcame Brenna. Though she should hold her tongue, she knew very little about the shadowy world of courtesans. Now she had the opportunity to learn more from the women themselves and decided not to cling to propriety.

She turned to Helen. “I thought some men loved their courtesans?”

Eva had informed the women that Brenna was some poor relation from the country, come to stay for a time as she sought employment. Therefore, her ignorance of city life and all its scandals could be easily explained away.

Helen stared. “Men do not love their lovers. Most do not love their wives. Women serve to satisfy their needs or beget them children.” She set aside her needlepoint and stood. Without another word, she left the room.

The courtesans exchanged a knowing glance.

“Did I say something wrong?” Brenna asked.

Lucy turned to Brenna and explained. “Helen was orphaned at a young age and was gently raised by her aunt and uncle. She fell in love with a steward and became pregnant. The cad left her, and she lost her baby. The uncle was so angry and disgraced by her mistake that he tossed her out. Becoming a courtesan was her only option.”

“How dreadful,” Brenna said. This explained much about Helen. She knew how strict society was about women and virtue. One small error in judgment, and a woman could be ruined.

“I, too, made that mistake,” Lucy said, as if reading Brenna’s thoughts. “Though, fortunately, my affair never produced a child. But I was caught in a situation with a young man by the lady of the household. He was her son.” Lucy sighed. “He promised me marriage. Instead, I was left with nothing.”

The room fell silent. Brenna had always assumed that courtesans went into the profession willingly. It surprised her to learn otherwise.

“You had no family to help you?” Brenna asked.

Lucy shook her head. “I was one of eleven children. My parents struggled on what my father made at the dairy. I could not return home and add to his burden.”

For a long moment, Brenna pondered the story. She now understood why her father had sent her here. It was to teach her the consequences of bad choices. With these two grim stories, the reality of the hardship of life outside her sheltered world became painfully clear. These women had no one to support them when their situations became dire.

Yet her situation was not the same. She came from wealth, and one could not swing a stick nearly anywhere in England without hitting a Harrington, either by blood or by marriage. Surely her family would never put her out?

Still, scandal could ruin even a wealthy society miss. What if her plan had gone awry and she’d been forced to marry
Viscount Ashwood? Father would take any measure to keep her from ruin, even making her an unwilling viscountess.

Worse, what if Ashwood had been a highwayman in truth and had violated her in the ditch? She hated to think that perhaps the dreaded Viscount Ashwood
had
saved her from herself.