Utterly Devoted (12 page)

She looked ready for it. There was a decided sparkle in those green eyes as the butler escorted him into the pale room. She generally did not dress with ostentation, but today her gown was a simple calico frock with a practical green broadcloth spencer. The crisp lines of the gown, however, only served to call attention to her curves.

He bowed over her hand, allowing himself the luxury of lingering over the salute. She did not pull away as quickly as she had recently. Surprised and pleased, he spread the tails of his navy coat and seated himself beside her on the sofa.

“And what delights have you planned for me today, madam?” he asked with a smile.

The sparkle grew more pronounced. “I am putting you to work, Mr. Darby, if you can find a suitable position.”

He raised a brow. “What did you have in mind? Perhaps lady’s maid?”

She shook her head. “Much too easy for you, I have no doubt. No, I wish you to assist me in doing charity work, at Comfort House.”

“Comfort House?” He could not hide his grin. “It sounds as if I would fit in rather well.”

She smiled. “I think you may indeed. Comfort House is a home for women who hope to leave a life of prostitution. Lady Thomas DeGuis and Mrs. Anne Turner arrange for the women to be taught skills to make an honest way in the world.”

“I see,” Jareth said, though in truth he did not. “And how might I assist?”

“That is what we must determine. I volunteer once or twice a week to teach the finer points of sewing. Do you have anything useful you could teach?”

He could see that she expected him to have no answer; those green eyes were far too wise. He licked his lips. “How to refuse a solicitation of sexual favors?”

That wiped the smile from her face. “Oh, really,” she started. “I hardly think---.” She stopped suddenly, cocking her head to regard him steadily. Black ringlets tumbled over her shoulders, making his fingers itch to stroke them. “Perhaps you could at that,” she acknowledged. “I know Lady DeGuis laments the fact that the women of Comfort House are far too easy prey. There are those who refuse to let them renounce their trade. And even when they find other employment, they are not treated fairly. Some employers even expect favors.”

He had made the suggestion as a joke but if she approved of the idea, it might make this test all the easier to pass. “I would be delighted to teach your young doves how to make their way in the world without sullying their feathers.”

She shook her head. “That is quite enough of your euphemisms. Lady DeGuis despises them. In fact, you had better behave yourself, Jareth. Neither Lady DeGuis nor Mrs. Turner will find your flirting the least bit amusing. And the women of Comfort House have had too much experience with men like you to appreciate the finer points of your address.” She seemed to have convinced herself, for she straightened and smoothed down her calico skirts. “Yes, you will not find this test easy to pass.”

“And what is the test, precisely?” he asked, leaning back to cross one booted leg over the other. “That I shall be able to resist the blandishments of the various tenants? I assure you, if you are there, I will have eyes for no one else.”

“Nonsense. And I will be there. You may count on it.”

“And the test?”

“Is of your kindness. Demonstrate to my satisfaction that you are able to treat these women with respect and compassion.” She looked him in the eye, the green of her gaze gone suddenly flat with determination. “Notice the prefix on the word, if you will. Com-passion, sir, not passion.”

“I shall be a plaster saint,” he promised.

He found those words difficult to live when he accompanied Eloise in her carriage to the house that afternoon. There were beautiful women everywhere. Cherub-faced girls peered at him from between newel posts of the stairs. Experienced courtesans strolled past in the uncarpeted corridor, their assets readily displayed, their interest in him obvious. While none stirred him to the depths that Eloise did, he would have had to be the plaster saint he had promised not to look appreciative. How was he to prove himself kind and respectful when the very fruit of womanhood was laid out before him like a buffet table groaning with delights?

Eloise was obviously expecting him to fail for he felt her gaze on him from the moment they were met at the front door by Mrs. Turner. Eloise had told him the woman was the house chaperone, but it was plain to him that she had once plied the same trade as her tenants. With soft brown hair piled high on her head and warm brown eyes, she had not lost the seductive, hip-grinding walk of a woman used to attracting attention for a living. The drab brown gown did nothing to hide her considerable curves. However, her gaze was even more assessing than Eloise’s.

“I don’t know what I was thinking to agree to this,” she told them both. “Mr. Darby, you are simply too pretty to be of use to us.”

Jareth raised a brow. “Do you judge a book by its cover, madam?”

“No, thanks to her ladyship teaching us to read.”

“I believe Mr. Darby means,” Eloise put in kindly, “that you should try his skills before determining his usefulness.”

Mrs. Turner snorted. “He could be the best teacher since the good Lord himself and I couldn’t use him. Just look at him, Miss Eloise. He’ll have them stacked six deep begging for favors.”

The picture was infinitely satisfying, but he quickly wiped away the smile it brought to his face. “Would you prefer I grew warts? Perhaps crossed my eyes?”

That wrung a chuckle from her, and Eloise turned away as if to hide a smile. “I doubt you could make yourself homely enough for my needs,” the woman told him. “But perhaps you might work after all, if you keep your wits about you. Just remember our goal, Mr. Darby. We want these women to earn a place in good society, not a spot in your bed.”

He bowed. “I will endeavor to do nothing suggestive, madam.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have to try to be suggestive; that smile is enough. But very well. You can teach. I’ll bring them to the dining room for you. It’s the one spot we have that will hold most of them. I think we have a dozen on their feet today. This way.”

“On their feet?” Jareth murmured to Eloise as they followed their hostess across the darkly papered corridor to what had once been a formal dining room. The room’s wallpaper had been covered with a wash of pink paint, but the worn red carpet beneath the long walnut table made the space look heavy and not a little tired.

“Some of the women arrive ill or injured,” Eloise whispered back as they took their places at the head of the thick-legged table and waited as Mrs. Turner left. “They remain bedridden until they are well or ... leave another way.”

Now she was using a euphemism. It obviously distressed her that the women might die from their trade. He wasn’t sure he much liked the idea either. He had never considered the long-term prospects of a prostitute. Though some were surely well compensated, it appeared the pay was not generally commensurate with the risks of losing a place in Society or living without the benefit of laws protecting wives. Yet surely none of the comely lasses he’d seen need fear such an ugly end.

He was less optimistic when Mrs. Turner had gathered his students. The youngest was perhaps twelve, the oldest near his mother’s generation of eighty. Faces that should be dewy with youth or soft from a well-lived life were hard. Eyes that should sparkle with delight were wary, nearly feral. He was the center of attention and, from the knowing smiles, no little speculation. Beside him, even Eloise had crossed her arms over her chest as if waiting for him to step over the line Mrs. Turner had drawn.

The house chaperone called the meeting to attention. “Ladies, we have a special tutor today. This is Mr... .”

“Jareth Darby,” an older woman halfway up the table finished. “I know him.”

Eloise glared at him, and he tried to look innocent. In truth, he did not recognize the woman, though perhaps when he’d last seen her, her graying hair had been another color, her gaunt form more rounded.

“I know him too,” piped up a young redhead he would have been delighted to know just as she was. “He closed down Madam Benecia’s four years ago.”

“Bought out the entire house for two days and had every meal catered by Gunther’s,” a plump brunette said with awe in her voice. “All those lovely sweets. Best time we had in years.”

Now Mrs. Turner was glaring at him as well. Jareth rose from his seat and raised his hands to forestall any other revelations. “Ladies, you are too kind. I admit to being a bit wild in my youth. However, like you, I am in the process of reforming my life.”

A collective sigh rippled down the table. “Rotten luck,” someone muttered. He did not have to look at Eloise to know she must be flaming.

“I am here today,” he continued doggedly, “because Miss Watkin believes I may have some wisdom to impart to you as you return to Society. I am here to teach you how to refuse a man’s advances.”

As one, they frowned at him.

“Why would we want to do that?” a blonde asked.

“What have I been teaching you?” Mrs. Turner demanded, scowling at them. “You’ll be going out to work. Sooner or later, some fribble is bound to ask for favors.”

A plump brunette shrugged, allowing the sleeve of her worn gown to slip off a comely shoulder. “Easiest thing is to give it to him and get it over with.”

“It might be easy at the time,” Eloise put in. “But unless you think before acting, you may live to regret it.”

Jareth thought he knew where she’d learned that lesson.

“Someone should have explained that to Mr. Darby,” the older woman said.

Jareth bowed as they all joined her in laughter. “Yes, madam,” he said as he straightened. “They should have. I fully admit to acting without considering the consequences. Because of that trait, I spent three long years away from family and friends. Even now, there are those who refuse to acknowledge me, women who cross the street lest the hems of their skirts touch me.”

He had their attention now, even Eloise. “I had to lose my oldest brother and his wife and come close to losing my own life before I realized that friends and family are far too important to jeopardize on a whim. If I can help you secure and maintain a place in society, among friends, I would be honored.”

“Well, I was willing to listen to you when I heard you fed Gunther’s to Benecia’s girls,” someone called.

“Tell us what we need to know, Mr. Darby,” the redhead urged.

They all nodded. He could feel Eloise watching him.

“With pleasure, madam,” he said with another bow. “But I shall need a volunteer.”

Cries of willingness rang out around the table, and several of the women jumped to their feet.

He turned purposely to Eloise. “Miss Watkin? If you would be so kind as to assist?”

Chapter Thirteen

Eloise wasn’t entirely certain what had happened in the last few minutes. Jareth’s past should have made him universally recognized as a villain, yet he appeared to be the hero instead. He had woven his spell over all of them. And now he wanted her help?

He held out his hand palm up, smile gentle. “Please, Miss Watkin? It would mean the world to me.”

The yearning look on his face, the soft tone of his voice, and the congenial words combined to remind her of an earlier time, a time when she would have done anything for him. Even though what he asked was a small thing, she wasn’t sure she should encourage him by stepping back into that role.

The ladies at the table obviously could not understand her hesitation. They called their support to her or begged him to consider them instead.

“For pity’s sake, Miss Eloise,” Mrs. Turner muttered, leaning toward her. “Give the bloke your help before we have a riot.”

She nodded in understanding. Much as she would have liked to tell him no, she could not let her confused feelings for Jareth disrupt Mrs. Turner’s goals. She put on a smile and accepted the strength of his grip to rise. Her hand felt tiny in his.

“Certainly, I will assist you, Mr. Darby,” she said, meeting his gaze with a look of determination. “Anything to help the ladies of Comfort House.”

He squeezed her fingers as if he understood that she wasn’t doing this for him. Yet something in his gaze made her catch her breath. It was as if he appreciated that she would make such a sacrifice for others. When he released her to return his attention to the ladies at the table, she felt as if she’d lost a necessary crutch.

“Now,” he began, “young ladies of the ton are not so much taught what I am going to teach you, but learn by necessity and example. For instance, I would suspect the lovely Miss Watkin has learned any number of ways to depress a gentleman’s notions.”

Not the least of which was a well-placed pitchfork. “I believe Mr. Darby has experienced a rather pointed demonstration of that fact,” she replied with an over-bright smile.

His smile widened. “Indeed, Miss Watkin. Quite pointed. However,” he gazed back at their rapt audience, smile fading, “I would hazard a guess that you are likely to meet unsuitable advances in less congenial places than a dress ball or musicale.”

Rather insightful of him, Eloise thought, though a part of her maintained that he had come by the knowledge first hand.

“That’s God’s truth,” someone put in.

“So, let us say,” Jareth continued, holding them with his sharp blue gaze, “that you have been engaged to work at a house and the master proves himself more interested in your assets than your ability to polish silver. What do you do?”

“Give him what he wants and ask for the silver,” the blonde cried out. Eloise bit back a smile at the ingenious answer. Amidst the laughter around the table, Jareth shook his head.

“I assure you that if you do, the lady of the house will likely have Bow Street after you, claiming you stole the silver. No, you must find a way to show your master you are not interested but keep his dignity in tact.”

The fellow took liberties, and they were supposed to pamper his puffed up consequence? Eloise didn’t much like the sound of that. Neither did some of the ladies, it appeared, for they were frowning again.