"I followed her advice and found that I was a sensual creature. I would also study myself in the mirror, trying to understand what made a woman's body desirable to a man. And in time, I learned the kind of power a woman can have over a man."
Diana had gone beyond wondering at the strangeness of this conversation, though she was still too shy to meet Madeline's eye. She sensed that the older woman's words were a gift to her, an attempt to explain things beyond Diana's experience. Indeed, there was an intuitive logic to what Madeline said. Diana loved to touch, to hug her son's warm body, to express her feelings with a soft brush of her hand, to evaluate the fabric she bought or the bread she kneaded by its texture and consistency. If these other forms of touching were enjoyable, surely the most intimate could be also?
Madeline hadn't finished yet. "Sex is one of the most powerful and double-edged gifts God gave to humankind. It can be a source of pain and for women even death, yet is also the source of new life. At its best, it expresses the deepest love a man and woman can share." Her dark eyes were reflective. "It is hardly surprising that sexual knowledge was the loss of innocence that forced Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden, or so a vicar once said when he was visiting me."
She smiled wickedly. "He was not the sort of man of the cloth to preach against life's pleasures."
Her smile faded as she tried to define what she had never spoken aloud. "Sex can be used as a cruel weapon, with one person dominating another. That can work either way, with a woman or a man controlling the partner. It is one of the few ways a woman can hold power over a man, though it is chancy and dangerous. Some people are too cold to be ruled by their senses. Others can be brought to their knees, with all their pride and honor broken by the ones they love...."
She smiled disarmingly. "It isn't usually that way, of course. More often, physical love is a way of giving and receiving pleasure and reassurance. Still," she said, narrowing her eyes as she looked at Diana, "a woman as beautiful as you could become truly powerful if she chose to."
Diana met Madeline's gaze, brushing her forehead with one wrist and leaving an earthy smudge as she asked with grave curiosity, "You really think I am beautiful?"
Madeline nodded. "Yes, perhaps the most beautiful woman I have ever known, and I speak as one who has seen most of the great and notorious beauties of England. If you wished, you might become a duchess, or the greatest of courtesans. Don't you think of yourself as beautiful?"
Diana shook her head. "Not in the least. But I have seen how men look at me, and sometimes wonder what they see. They don't seem to look at other women the same way. Often men... try to touch me, as if by accident." She bent over and dug a stone out with unnecessary violence. "I've wondered if that is why so many women glare at me as if I were their enemy."
Madeline sighed. "Beauty, like sex, is a double-edged sword. It can make you a victim, or it can help you acquire what you want from life, whether that is love or wealth or power."
Diana looked up, knowing that what her friend had told her this afternoon could change her life. "You are telling me this so I can see myself as others do."
"Yes, my dear." Madeline looked at her with compassion. "You saved my life in more ways than one, and I would like to repay you in a way more meaningful than jewels, though you may have those too. While I know that you have found a certain contentment here at the edge of the world, you are restless sometimes, as I was. If you ever choose to leave, you must understand the power of your own beauty, how to wield it and how to protect yourself. Otherwise you risk being used and destroyed by those who desire you."
She made a wry face. "I, too, have been blessed and cursed with more than my share of the kind of beauty men desire. That fact set the pattern of my life." Her gaze became earnest. "There is nothing shameful in what happens between men and women, and much that is wonderful. Don't be shy of asking me questions."
Diana nodded gravely. "Thank you. Certainly I will have questions later when I have absorbed some of what you have told me. You are right; I have been content here, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life in Yorkshire, both for my sake and for my son's. It wasn't so bad when he was an infant, but Geoffrey needs to meet other children, to study with boys as intelligent as he is, to learn how far he can go in the world." She gave a twisted smile. "He even needs to face prejudice and rejection, though I hate to think of that."
She spread her hands outward in a gesture of helplessness. "Until you came, I didn't know how to imagine another kind of life. Sometimes," she said with a return to shyness, "I feel that God sent you to me, to be my teacher and friend."
Madeline smiled a response. There was fatigue in her face, but also gratitude, and a shyness to match Diana's. "I think perhaps he did. I hope so. I would like to give back some of what you have given me."
"Oh, you have," Diana said huskily, her lapis-blue eyes glowing jewel-like with inner light. Madeline was reminded not of a Madonna but of a pagan enchantress, Circe perhaps. "You have given me far more than you can imagine."
* * *
The capricious spring weather changed that night, turning cold and damp as gusty winds blew pale clouds across the midnight sky, concealing and revealing the bright passionless face of the full moon. The rest of the household slept when Diana quietly donned her cloak and went into the night.
Madeline had been right to sense restlessness in Diana. This was not the first time that she prowled alone across the moors, glorying in the wind whipping against her body, needing to burn away the fierce impatience that would not let her sleep. Restlessness had been as much a background to her life these last seven years as the wind itself.
Madeline's words earlier had struck a chord deep inside Diana, and now they circled in her head as her swift strides carried her across the moor. Being a fallen woman was a way out—out of Yorkshire, out of a narrow life that never suited me.
It was mad for Diana to consider such a life for herself, even for a moment. Madeline had had no real choices; unthinkable that Diana should follow the same path voluntarily. Unthinkable—and yet she could think of nothing else.
She argued with herself. There were more two possibilities besides living on the edge of the world and becoming a high-priced whore. Diana had occasionally considered moving to some provincial city and presenting herself as a widow of modest means and unimpeachable respectability. Yet the prospect had not inspired her, quite apart from the fact that she hated the idea of living a lie.
She'd reached the top of the highest hill in the area, and beneath her gaze Yorkshire rolled away to the south. Moon-touched mist lay in the valleys and dales, the dark hills rising above like floating fairy isles.
Diana had found peace here, healing the wounds of the spirit that might have destroyed her if she had not had her child to love and care for. The love that connected her to Geoffrey and Edith had brought Diana back from the brink of pain and despair so great that it was nearly madness. Now Madeline had come to enrich their lives. But on wild restless nights like this one, Diana wanted more.
Madeline had said that Diana's beauty gave her the potential to become a duchess or the greatest of courtesans. With Diana's unspeakable past she would never be a duchess. Even the most modest of respectable marriages was out of her grasp. She could never be respectable, so why not become a courtesan, a woman without shame or apologies? Diana wanted a man in her life. Since he couldn't be a husband, then he must be a lover.
The thought was a seductive one. A lover need not know about her past; he would likely not even care.
Since she could only hope for an illicit love, why not aim for the best and most profitable liaison possible? The very idea should be abhorrent to a respectable female. Yet what had respectability ever gotten her except pain and loneliness?
Beauty, like sex, is a double-edged sword. It can make you a victim, or it can help you acquire what you want from life, whether that is love or wealth or power. Unfortunately, a woman is more likely to become a victim. All her life she
had been the victim of men. They had brought her to the edge of destruction without even the sweet, passionate lies that had given Madeline pleasure before ruining her.
For Diana, there had been only ruination. There was something irresistibly enticing about the idea of dealing from a position of strength herself, for power would give her freedom.
She did not want power to punish or to victimize; her fury had faded over time. The magnitude of love she felt for her son had left no room in her heart for malice or bitterness. If her baby had been a girl, perhaps she would have turned from men forever. But Geoffrey was male and there was no evil in him. Diana had seen marriages based on caring. Somewhere there existed men who would love and cherish a woman rather than abuse her.
No, it wasn't men that she wanted. It was one man, one who would love and protect her in spite of her past, one who could initiate her into the profane, earthly delights that Madeline had described. At the thought, Diana smiled wryly, knowing what a romantic fool she was. It was a sign of how much she had healed that she dared to dream again.
Her cloak billowed out behind her, the heavy fabric snapping from the force of the gusting wind. She felt almost as if she could spread out her arms and soar far to the south, to the city that was the bright, corrupt heart of Britain. As always, the wind was shredding and dispersing her doubts and confusions, and she gloried in its cleansing strength.
When a drift of cloud darkened the moon, Diana began the long trek back to the cottage. Even in the dark she knew her way across the trackless heights as well as any native Yorkshire woman, though she had been raised far from these moors.
The greatest danger in becoming a courtesan was the risk that her choice might damage Geoffrey, since to leave him behind was out of the question. She would have to separate the two sides of her life in London, but London would expand his horizons as much as her own.
The drifting clouds unveiled the moon again as Diana neared Cleveden Tarn, a darkly shining circle of water. Level earth ran up to the edge, as if the tarn was a mirror that some goddess had dropped in the coarse grasses. Impetuously she knelt by the edge and stared into the moon-silvered waters.
Though better educated than most women, Diana had always been driven by emotion and intuition rather than logic. Logic whispered to stay here, where it was safe, but intuition called her to leave, to dare the dangerous, mysterious world that Madeline had revealed to her. The world where a beautiful woman might have power.
As she gazed into the dark water, calm certainty flowed through her, dissolving doubts. It was not chance that had brought Madeline into her life. The older woman was not only a friend but also an essential link to the future. Somewhere there was a man who was Diana's destiny, connected to her by a thread of undeniable fate, a man whom she would find only if she dared the unthinkable.
Caught in the spell of the full moon, she whispered, "Great goddess, will you show my lover's face to me?"
Then she laughed at her own foolishness. That she, who had been raised in a far-too-godly home, should indulge in superstitious nonsense!
Her laughter died. As clearly as if words had been spoken, Diana sensed that it was better not to know what fate held for her. If she knew the shape of the future, she might turn away from it. She must go blindly, trusting that her intuition and the hard-won faith that guided her life would carry her through.
Diana stood and slowly retraced her steps to the cottage, pulling her cloak tight around her slim body. The years of life in the safe shallows were over. Ahead of her lay her destiny, and that destiny was love.
Chapter 3
Diana's hands were not quite steady as she applied her cosmetics. Madeline had spent many hours training her to be as subtly provocative as possible and Diana could almost do it with her eyes closed. But this time the makeup was in earnest. Tonight they were going to an informal gathering at the home of Harriette Wilson, queen of the London demireps, and for the first time Diana would be offering herself in the market.
Laying down the hare's foot she used to add subtle color to cheeks paled by nerves, Diana studied her reflection in the mirror. The image that faced her was that of a sophisticated, worldly female whose heart-shaped face and delicate features were too flawless to be real. It was not the face of the young woman who had lived on the moors and baked bread and played with her son in the mud of a streambed.
Half a year had passed since she had hesitantly broken the news to her friends that she intended to go to London and become a courtesan. Not surprisingly, that simple statement had provoked a storm of protest.
What was surprising was that Edith, the very picture of rural conservatism, had supported Diana's goal, pragmatically saying that the plan had much to commend it.The real opposition came from Madeline, who had lived the life of a demirep without regret or apology.
It was one matter to sell oneself when there was no choice. Quite another to do so voluntarily. Maddy had mustered every available argument, pointing out that they were not in financial need, asking how Geoffrey would be affected, warning that Diana did not realize what she was getting into. Diana had conceded all her friend's points, her voice faltering when they discussed Geoffrey, but had refused to change her mind.
In the end, Madeline had thrown up her hands in defeat and promised to help Diana in any way she could. Without her aid, her endless lessons about men, society, and how to be alluring, Diana could never have come so far. While it remained to be seen whether she would be a success at her new trade, the fraudulent image in the mirror was a good beginning.
The low-cut blue silk dress Diana wore was the exact lapis-lazuli shade of her eyes, and her glowing chestnut hair was piled on her head in richly tousled curls before cascading down her back. Not accidentally, the style implied that her thick tresses would fall around her bare shoulders with unrestrained abandon if a man touched them.
As she made a minor adjustment to her hair, a soft knock announced Madeline's entrance. Since coming to London, the older woman had dyed the gray out of her brunette hair, and in the candlelight it was impossible to believe that she was more than thirty years old. Tonight Maddy was stunning in a burgundy-red dress, ready for her role as guide and guard.
Once she had agreed to support her young friend's ambitions, she had shared everything with her adopted family: her income, the fashionable Mayfair house where they lived, her knowledge of London and its ways. She had located the small school where Geoffrey was flourishing, and she had introduced Diana to her friend Harriette Wilson, an introduction which had resulted in tonight's invitation.
Diana turned with a smile, grateful to be distracted from her anxiety. Rising from her chair, she slowly turned around for her friend's inspection, her chin lifted to an angle that conveyed pride without haughtiness. Like every other aspect of her appearance, that angle had been carefully learned.
Madeline studied her, then nodded approval. "Perfect. You have hit the exact balance between the lady and the wanton."
Diana's smile was crooked. "In spite of all your thorough and embarrassing lessons on what gentlemen expect of mistresses, I feel more like a lamb pretending to be a lioness."
"We don't have to go tonight if you don't want to," Madeline said gravely.
"But I do want to, Maddy," Diana answered, her soft voice resolute. "Of course I'm nervous, but I'm eager too. Tonight I will enter a world that would otherwise be closed to me. Perhaps I won't like it and tomorrow morning I will be ready to fly back to Yorkshire. Then you can say, 'I told you so,' and I will nod in meek agreement as I embroider by the fire."
The older woman laughed with loving exasperation as she surveyed her protégée. The girl had never looked lovelier. Though she was twenty-four, older than most aspiring courtesans, she retained the dewy freshness of a seventeen-year-old. At first Diana had found the crowds and clamor frightening after the Yorkshire moors, but after three months in London she had a superb wardrobe and a sense of ease in the bustling metropolis.
Madeline shook
her head in admiration. If she knew anything about men, they would be clustered around the girl tonight like bees around a honeypot. Perhaps Diana would dislike the sensation enough to retreat before it was too late. "You'll do, my dear," she said judiciously. "You'll do very well indeed."
* * *
Harriette Wilson's home was filled with men of the utmost respectability, and women with no respectability at all. All of the males present were rich or titled or fashionable, often all three, while the females were the crème de la crème of the demireps. Harriette herself waved casually as Diana and Madeline entered, then turned back to her court. Unlike most of the courtesan breed, "The Little Fellow" was confident enough of her own charms that even Diana's stunning beauty did not make her resentful.
As they paused in the doorway to Harriette's salon, Diana suddenly froze with panic. For months she had worked toward this goal, questioning Madeline, trying to absorb the sometimes shocking answers. She had acquainted herself with her body, done strange exercises to strengthen internal muscles, and learned how to throw a knife for self-defense. But even though she had been a dedicated student, the goal had seemed distant, dreamlike.
Now reality was upon her. Until this moment she could have turned back at any time to safe respectability. But once she set foot in this room, a fallen woman among other fallen women, the die was cast; she would be a whore, even if she never took a penny from a man. For an instant she considered flight; Madeline would take her away and she could abandon her insane ambition.
Diana's fearful pause was as effective as a planned grand entrance. Men were turning to look at her, their expressions running the gamut from simple admiration to naked lust. There must have been at least twenty men staring at her, all of them richer, stronger, and more powerful than she, and Diana was terrified to immobility.
Madeline touched her elbow, silently offering support, and Diana's fears ebbed. Her breath eased out, her heart returned to its normal rhythm. Her entrance into this room might brand her a prostitute, but no man could have her without her consent. Lifting her chin, Diana entered the salon, Madeline half a step behind her.
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