The Cheeky Minx
Merry Farmer
THE CHEEKY MINX
Copyright ©2019 by Merry Farmer
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill (the miracle-worker)
ASIN: B07PQ23H1C
Paperback ISBN: 9781090687500
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Created with Vellum
For Cissie…a free woman!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
London – Autumn, 1815
When the scandal surrounding Miss Dobson’s Finishing School broke like a wave crashing upon the shore of London’s high society, Miss Josephine Hodges was elated. Finally, the haughty mothers and indifferent fathers who had shunted their daughters off to such a horrible school—which was really more of a reformatory for young ladies ages eighteen to twenty-two who had embroiled themselves in some kind of scandal—when they should have been having their first or even second season, would see the light.
Miss Dobson was little more than a conniving shyster who took advantage of the young ladies entrusted to her in the best of times and outright abused them in the worst. Jo and her closest friend, Lady Caroline Pepys, had witnessed their other bosom friend, Lady Rebecca Burgess, in the aftermath of a humiliating punishment only a fortnight before, and it had nearly broken Jo’s heart. At least Rebecca had been rescued by the ruggedly handsome Bow Street Runner, Mr. Nigel Kent—who, as it turned out, was actually Baron Wharton and a peer.
“We should all be so lucky as to accidentally marry peers,” Caro said to Jo as they sat on cold, hard benches in one of the school’s classrooms, embroidering cases for pillows. Caro stabbed her work with a vicious scowl that Jo could only assume meant she was picturing Miss Dobson’s face.
“But you’re the daughter of a viscount,” Jo pointed out. “Surely you will marry a peer.”
Caro laughed and stabbed her embroidery again. “To hear my mother talk, I’ll end up a disreputable spinster.”
Jo very much doubted that. Caro was too pretty and far too clever to end up a spinster. That was a fate she was certain belonged to her alone of all her friends. Not that she begrudged them.
“I’m happy for Rebecca,” Jo said with a sigh, picking out a row of stitches she’d done wrong. Embroidery was such a silly, useless occupation. If she had to be at a school at her ripe age of nineteen, she would rather have been learning History or studying literature, not doing the same boring thing she would be doing if she were still at home. Not that she wanted to be at home anymore, not with the way her mother continually looked at her in disgust after “the incident”.
“I’m happy for Rebecca too,” Caro admitted, stabbing her work again. “And I dare say a bit jealous.”
Jo hummed. “Yes, Mr. Kent—I mean, Lord Wharton—is a handsome man. And the letters Rebecca has managed to sneak to us via Flora have been so delicious. Can you believe Mr. Kent let her measure his manhood that way?”
Caro snorted, then glanced around to make sure none of the other young ladies working with them were listening. “I’m more surprised by the measurements. Good heavens, to have a man like that.” She paused in her work to fan herself.
On the benches across from them, Miss Felicity Murdoch and Lady Eliza Towers met Caro’s eyes across their messy work, then exchanged a grin and a giggle.
“What?” Lady Ophelia Binghamton whispered, looking as though she’d missed a passing parade. “What are we talking about?”
“Ladies,” Miss Dobson snapped from the front of the room, where she sat behind a desk, poring over ledgers. “Silence!”
Jo and Caro exchanged a look before Caro sent an apologetic look to their friends across the way. Felicity and Eliza returned the look with one of bored camaraderie, while Ophelia continued to look lost.
When silence reigned once more and they had all continued with their work, Caro whispered, “What I wouldn’t give for a man with an enormous cock.”
That sent Jo, Felicity, Eliza, and even Ophelia into a flurry of poorly-suppressed laughter and snorting. The laughter was contagious, and within moments, even the pupils who weren’t sitting close enough to have heard Caro’s bold comment started giggling.
“Stop that noise this instant,” Miss Dobson shouted, smacking one of her ledgers on her desk, “or I’ll lock you all in your rooms without supper and rap your knuckles until they bleed!”
Jo did her best to resume a sober air, as did most of the others. Felicity and Eliza had a hard time keeping their mirth under wraps, but they managed to swallow and go on with their work.
In fact, Miss Dobson’s threats no longer had teeth. Jo peeked around the room at her fellow inmates. Within the last fortnight, enrollment at the school had been cut in half. The eighteen young ladies who remained were all Miss Dobson had to rely on. As soon as word of her treatment of Rebecca became public, a steady stream of parents arrived at the school’s door, demanding to take their daughters home.
Well, in truth, the line was made up of servants belonging to the fortunate young women’s parents. Few parents came to fetch their so-called wayward daughters themselves. That only served as proof for Jo’s theory that Miss Dobson’s school was a prison for those unfortunate enough to be caught in scandal’s web rather than a place loving and caring parents sent their daughters to gain the skills they would need to conquer society. And those young women carted off by housekeepers and lady’s maids were the lucky ones. The young ladies remaining at the school had been abandoned by parents who either didn’t care about the scandal or who thought Miss Dobson was in the right to use corporal punishment on one of her charges.
Jo’s mother had sent a letter mildly admonishing Miss Dobson but confirming her insistence that Jo stay where she was to have her morals reformed. Caro’s parents had sent nothing at all. But as miserable as those circumstances were, they still had each other, they still had secret letters from a newlywed Rebecca, and they still had the secret passageway that connected their plain bedroom on the second floor of the school with the house owned by the East India Company next door.
“I cannot wait for tonight,” Jo whispered when it looked as though Miss Dobson was absorbed in her calculations once more. “The diamond thief will return to enjoy Mr. Khan’s party, I just know it.”
Caro hummed in agreement. “I cannot wait to get my first look at his son, Saif Khan.”
The two of them exchanged grins. It was almost a month ago that the Chandramukhi Diamond had gone missing from the house owned by the East India Company. The list of suspects had been long to begin with. Rebecca’s Nigel h
ad been called in to investigate the theft, and, of course, Rebecca, Jo, and Caro had quickly become involved. Through the secret passageway, they’d managed to overhear vital conversations between the thief and his accomplices and to witness more than a few startlingly carnal acts involving the thief.
To be honest, Jo and Caro had availed themselves of the secret passages more than a few times in the last fortnight to spy on all manner of carnal acts that had nothing to do with the diamond. Jo’s cheeks flared hot just thinking about the education she was getting late at night, when boredom set in. Mr. Khan, who ran the house on behalf of the East India Company, hosted frequent bacchanals, and even when there wasn’t a party, he procured intimate entertainment for Company employees. Jo had witnessed sexual congress in a long list of fascinating positions through the voyeuristic peepholes that were part of the secret passageways. What she’d seen aroused and enflamed her, but it also sparked unexpected outrage within her. She’d been committed to the walls of Miss Dobson’s school for far less than she now knew was possible between a man and a woman.
“If only there were a way we could mingle freely with Mr. Khan’s guests without being mistaken for strumpets,” Caro said with a sigh, nudging Jo out of her uncomfortable thoughts. “I’m certain that if we could simply converse with the men who were present at Mr. Khan’s entertainments the night the diamond was stolen, we could lure the thief into confessing his crimes.”
“We wouldn’t have to do all that,” Jo whispered back. “All we have to do is corner Lord Lichfield and coax him into confessing.”
Caro arched a brow at Jo. “You’re still convinced Lord Lichfield is the thief?”
“Rebecca is convinced,” Jo said. “Because Mr. Kent is convinced. And Mr. Kent is a Bow Street Runner. He would know.”
Caro shook her head. “Mr. Kent is Baron Wharton now. He gave up his position with the Runners when he married Rebecca last week so that he could take up his baronial duties.”
“But he still knows quite a bit about the investigation,” Jo argued.
“What he knows is weeks old,” Caro said. “New information may have come to light.”
Jo frowned. “You don’t think Lord Lichfield is the thief?”
“No,” Caro said. “I still think it’s—”
“Good morning, ladies.”
Their discussion—indeed, everything in the classroom—came to a screeching halt as the tall, lean, and not entirely disagreeable form of Mr. Wallace Newman appeared in the doorway.
“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Mr. Newman went on, striding into the room. He glanced from side to side at the young ladies, his eyes sharp. “How is the work coming along?”
Jo straightened, eyeing the man warily. Mr. Newman was a mill owner from the North who had come to London for business purposes. He was young for what he’d been able to accomplish, perhaps in his mid-thirties, and he wasn’t unpleasant to look at. His blond hair was fashionably cut and his jaw was strong, if a little beefier than Jo preferred. Half the young ladies in the room sat straighter, making eyes at him and thrusting their chests forward. Mr. Newman feasted openly on the sights that were presented to him, and Jo could have sworn that the front of his breeches protruded more than it should. She would rather have died than flirt with Mr. Newman. Not only had she seen him in attendance at several of Mr. Khan’s illicit parties, he was Caro’s prime suspect in the theft of the Chandramukhi Diamond.
“Mr. Newman.” Miss Dobson leapt up from her desk, rushing around to greet him in the center of the room. She patted her hair and pushed up her bosom the same as half of her pupils, even though she was a good twenty years older than the man. “How delightful to see you.”
Jo could barely watch the exchange. She felt downright ill at the way Miss Dobson flirted.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one. Mr. Newman’s broad smile turned sour, and he took a step back to put some distance between himself and Miss Dobson. “I came to check on the work I commissioned,” he said.
Miss Dobson swayed toward him as though he’d said he was there to ask for her hand in marriage. “They’re hard at work now, see?” She gestured toward one bench of embroidering pupils.
Jo sat up straighter, her eyebrows lifting to her hairline, then glanced down at the pillowcase she was working on. Was it all just a commission for Mr. Newman?
“Very nice,” Mr. Newman said. He strode to the bench where Felicity, Eliza, and Ophelia sat and plucked the embroidery hoop right out of Ophelia’s hands. Ophelia yelped. Mr. Newman studied her work with a hum, then glanced down at the expanse of Ophelia’s ample bosom. “Very nice indeed,” he said, like a snake about to devour a mouse.
Ophelia yelped a second time and crossed her arms to cover her chest.
“Never mind that,” Miss Dobson said, grabbing his arm and spinning him back toward her. “If you’ve come to discuss business, perhaps we could retire to a more private room?” She batted her eyelashes at him.
Jo’s stomach threatened to heave. There was no doubt in her mind what Miss Dobson truly wanted to do with Mr. Newman.
“The wheels of business are forever turning,” Mr. Newman said, holding Miss Dobson at arm’s length. “There is no time for dalliance,” he added through a clenched jaw.
“Oh, but we have so much business to discuss,” Miss Dobson insisted, lowering her voice and adding a salacious laugh. “So much business.”
She managed to wheedle her way close enough to rub a hand against Mr. Newman’s arm. She stood at an unfortunately perfect angle for Jo to see her eyes drop to the bulge in his breeches. She licked her lips.
Jo had to turn away. “This is insufferable,” she whispered to Caro. “I would rather have my knuckles rapped with a switch than witness this torture.”
Caro hummed in agreement, but before she could say anything, Flora, the school’s head maid, stepped into the doorway and cleared her throat.
“What do you want?” Miss Dobson snapped at her.
“If you please, miss,” Flora began with a deep curtsy. “Mrs. Hodges is here. She has requested that Miss Hodges join her for tea this afternoon.”
Jo’s eyes popped wide. She hadn’t heard from her mother in more than a week. She certainly hadn’t had warning that she was invited to tea of any sort. It was highly unusual for her mother—and the rest of her family—to acknowledge her at all. So much so that she sat straighter and asked Flora, “Are you certain?”
“Yes, miss,” Flora told her with another curtsy. There was a light of sympathy in Flora’s eyes that reminded Jo she was on her side.
Miss Dobson hissed out a breath. “This is highly inconvenient. Mr. Newman needs his embroidery by the end of the week or—” She stopped, flushing, then turned to Mr. Newman. “Really, we should discuss this elsewhere.”
“No need for discussion, madam,” Mr. Newman said. But he leaned closer to Miss Dobson and whispered something that brought a pink flush to the woman’s cheeks and a smile to her lips.
Jo’s stomach turned again, and she stood. If her mother wanted her, at least she could use her surprise appearance as an excuse to flee the horrible scene. She sent a final look to Caro—who nodded encouragingly—then set her embroidery aside and hurried to Flora in the doorway.
“This is highly irregular,” she told Flora as the two of them crossed through the hall to the front of the school. “She didn’t send any notice.”
“No, miss,” Flora agreed. “Not a thing.”
Jo would have asked more questions, but when she reached the front of the school, her mother was standing there, looking impatient.
“Ah, Josephine,” she said without a hint of affection. “There you are. Come along.”
Jo’s heart shivered with disappointment. “Would you like me to change out of my school frock and into something more appropriate for tea?” she asked, fetching her bonnet from the long line of pegs beside the door.
Her mother looked her over, making Jo feel three inches tall. “No,” she said with a sigh
. “Not even the finest silks could make you any better than you are. Besides, you won’t need to win anyone over where we’re going. The deal has already been done.”
Jo swallowed anxiously and followed her mother out of the school. Her family’s carriage waited in the street, her father’s driver standing ready. He jumped to hold the door as Jo and her mother descended the school’s front stairs.
“What deal?” Jo asked once she and her mother were comfortably situated inside the carriage.
Her mother waited until they had lurched into motion. Even then, she straightened her skirts, tugged on her gloves, and adjusted her bonnet, doing everything possible to make herself comfortable before so much as acknowledging Jo was in the carriage with her.
At last, she said, “You’re to be married.”
Jo’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. “I am?”
“I was as shocked as you are,” her mother said without directly answering her. “I’d given up hope after that appalling incident. And with the footman. Oh, Josephine,” she sighed with utter disappointment, shaking her head.
Jo lowered her head sheepishly. Part of her wanted to ask how Rob was doing. Part of her wanted to forget the whole silly, embarrassing incident. It hadn’t been what her mother thought it was. At least, not entirely. Curiosity had gotten the better of her, and in spite of his inferior position, Rob was a tease. It was merely horribly bad luck that her sister, Wilma, had entered the room just as Jo had closed her hand around Rob’s engorged shaft. It didn’t matter how much she swore that she had only wanted to know what it felt like and that nothing further had transpired.
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