Fair Cyprians of London Boxset

by Beverley Oakley

  His mouth twitched and not with humour. “I might have had he not incited me.”

  “Incited you?”

  Wilfred nodded. “He was ten feet away, striding towards me through the snow. He shouted something.”

  “What?”

  Wilfred shrugged. “He was threatening me.”

  “Threatening you? How?”

  “He was walking towards me in a very menacing manner. He’s never liked me. I knew the moment he saw me with you unconscious in my arms he’d orchestrate some smear campaign. So, I leapt back into the carriage and ordered the coachman to continue. “

  “The train station was only ten minutes away. That’s where I was destined. You promised my parents you and Annabelle would take me there after the snowstorm blocked the drive. Mama believed I had only to travel as far as the train station in order to catch the boat.”

  “And you were in the deepest stupor. Believe me; I went to the station. I tried to rouse you.”

  Hope gasped. “You were afraid! Too afraid to take me back to my home because I was alone, drugged in your carriage.”

  He looked through the window. “By God, I cursed you at that moment. I drove around for hours until finally I was in London. I arrived at my lodgings and you were still asleep. By that stage, I feared you were dead. So, I carried you inside but there was only one bed made up.” He shrugged again. “There was nowhere else to put you and nowhere for me to sleep, and you were so damned enticing, I’ll admit.” A slow smile curled his lip. “What choice did I have? I didn’t want to be saddled with a penniless governess for a wife, but you have no idea how much I’d wanted you, Hope. And for how long. And now you were in my care.” He shrugged as if he truly did not see himself as an opportunistic predator. “I looked after you when you needed a protector. Wasn’t it more fun dancing until the small hours than improving the minds of a pair of German infants? I saved you from all that. There’s no changing the past. I refuse to have my future, or that of my sister, blighted by your stupidity and the threats of Felix Durham.”

  Hope’s first instinct was to throw herself at him and rip her fingernails down his cheek. But she held her head steady, and even though her vision blackened with emotion, she retained her dignity, just as Madame Chambon had taught her girls. Hope had more self-possession than the man before her would ever have.

  “So, you admit you ruined me, Wilfred. Then, you can do just one thing for me. One thing so you can rest easy with your conscience.” She tried not to show how much it meant to her. Wilfred thrived on vulnerability. So she added, perhaps unwisely, “Or fear retribution from my hand.”

  “A fearful threat, I must say.” He tossed back his drink then cocked his head.

  Hope opened her reticule and held out the promissory note he’d requested. As he went to take it, she withdrew her hand. “This is to show you that I have done what you asked. I slept with Felix, as you would have me do.” She was tempted to tell him more. Of what a superior lover he was compared with Wilfred, but she was not that stupid. “I stole from him, just as you requested.” She licked dry lips and steadied her voice.

  Wilfred tried once more to snatch the note, but Hope pulled back her hand again.

  He glowered. “You came here to give me what I directed you to if you were to spare poor Charlotte the scandal and ignominy of knowing what her sister does for a living. That was our agreement.”

  Hope sent him a level look. “If your intention in blackening my name in his eyes was so that he’d ask for Annabelle’s hand in marriage, then that is achieved. You needn’t brand me a thief into the bargain.”

  “I like to hedge my bets, Hope. What does it matter? Felix won’t run you to ground and have you arrested if that’s what you’re worried about. He’ll just be very disappointed.”

  “He intends to ask Annabelle to marry him. He told me. Now that he knows what I am, and that he can never have me for his wife, he’s accepted that Annabelle is the perfect candidate.” Hope heard her voice break and cursed herself for her weakness.

  Wilfred looked at her suspiciously. “Then he still has feelings for you? Annabelle won’t like that. She needs to be sure you are absolutely no threat.”

  “Felix is going to ask Annabelle to marry him,” Hope repeated firmly. “Quite likely he will do that in the next day or two. That’s what you wanted. That is what both you and Annabelle want. Please, Wilfred. If Felix asks for Annabelle’s hand before Charlotte is married in two days’ time, then you’ll have achieved your aim. Felix marrying Annabelle is what’s important to you. Not blackening my name.”

  He looked at her and the silence drew out.

  “Why should you wish for the vestiges of his minimal regard if there is nothing between you and Mr Durham?”

  Hope closed her eyes and heard the chink of glass as he poured himself another drink. When she looked up, he’d already tossed the contents down his throat. It seemed to give him renewed confidence.

  “Think of it as the tiniest bit of atonement towards me,” she said in a voice that sounded small and puling. Hope was stronger than this. She’d had to become so over the past two, terrible years so why was she parading her weakness like this in front of Wilfred?

  “Atonement suggests culpability, and I’ll not admit that!” The drink had fired him up. He strode across the floor and put his hands on her shoulders, staring into her eyes. They flashed fire and hatred. Hatred for what she’d made him feel. Less than a man. She’d made clear her contempt for him through their tortuous months together, but it was only at the end he’d hurt her. She flinched. Once was enough, though it was more than that.

  “You set your sights too high, Miss Merriweather. Two years ago, my sister was all but betrothed to Felix Durham, and then you broke her heart at that damned Hunt Ball. I had her honour to protect.”

  “So you destroyed mine.” Hope raised her chin. “And yours. You can never call yourself an honourable man again after what you did to me.”

  Casting aspersions upon Wilfred’s honour was a big mistake. Hope saw that instantly.

  But it was too late.

  Chapter 9

  Felix had drunk more than he usually did, but he had his faculties about him. Millament had spoken sense, soothing him and he was glad to closet himself in a dim corner for a while, going over in his mind everything that had happened that day.

  Was he adopting the right course? He’d never considered a mistress, and he’d never in a thousand years dreamt of making the incomparable Miss Hope Merriweather anything other than his wife.

  But, he could not marry her. He simply could not.

  Unfortunately, inconvenient though it was, he simply could not live without her.

  He was about to finish his brandy after reclaiming his winnings when he caught sight of Annabelle’s brother following in Millament’s wake. Felix had little affection for the man he’d known since he was a puling youth. Annabelle’s fragility was to be expected in a female, but there was no excuse for Wilfred. The boy had never played fair, always finding someone else to blame if something didn’t go his way during the occasions they were thrown together as children, for their mothers had been friends from their own schoolroom days. It was one of the reasons Annabelle had been dangled before him since before he’d grown chest hair.

  Fortunately, the boys’ education had taken them in different directions, and while Felix had suffered through a spartan education at Eton, Wilfred had been tutored at home, indulged and cosseted as ever.

  Felix glanced at the clock. He’d spent all evening weighing up various approaches, and the wisdom of his choice.

  Yes, he’d be laying his heart on the line, putting to Hope a prospect she might not find as enticing as one she might have received from a Prussian nobleman or an English marquess—Millament had elaborated on the rigorous training Madame Chambon’s girls were put through—but she had genuine feelings for him. She might not have said it in so many words, but their encounter had revealed enough of her susceptibility towar
ds him that he was confident that when he turned up at Madame Chambon’s ready to negotiate, Hope would come away from that house with only Felix to call her protector.

  The reasons as to why Miss Merriweather had fallen so far were not important for now. Rescuing her before she succumbed to another lure certainly was.

  Felix was aware that the girl’s wildness had been the despair of her parents. Daring and careless of her neck, she’d ridden the jumps and hedges during the Hunt like the best of the men that fateful day.

  Felix had admired her from afar for years before he’d spoken to her.

  Why had he waited so long? She was penniless while he was the catch of the neighbourhood. Perhaps it had been due to her manner; the way she’d treated all young men. As if they were nothing to her. And Felix’s pride as an untested youth was too fragile to bear rejection.

  “Haven’t seen you gracing a den of vice like this in a while.” Wilfred Hunt’s face was flushed, and he slurred his words slightly. He clapped a hand on Felix’s shoulder in a gesture that was too familiar. Felix stepped away but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’ve had the devil’s own luck, I tell you.” Wilfred’s mouth turned down. “Still, although I could do with the blunt, it’d be dishonourable if I didn’t give this back to you.” He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and drew out a paper that looked familiar to Felix before it took on a whole other dimension.

  “Your promissory note, I believe. From me.” Even as Wilfred said the words Felix was feeling for his own pocketbook, rifling through the notes inside while his gut churned in confusion. “I don’t understand. How did you get it?”

  Hunt cleared his throat. “Sorry, old chap. Very embarrassing to admit, but I thought if I returned it to you in good time you’d not have had the matter investigated by the authorities.”

  “The authorities? What are you talking about? Who took it?” He swung around as if he might see the guilty party in this very room.

  “I’d rather not say.” Hunt looked sheepish. “Protective instincts and all that.”

  “Annabelle?”

  Hunt snorted. “Lord, do you think Annabelle would steal from you? Besides, when did you last see her? No, it wasn’t Annabelle, but as I’m a gentleman I’d rather not say. Suffice to admit it was a young lady who committed the bold felony out of a sense of misguided loyalty. Lord knows if it’s the full reason, but she said she was worried that my not being so plump in the pocket might mean I’d not favour her with a visit as I regularly do on a Thursday.”

  He sniggered, and Felix drew himself up. No, Wilfred was lying. Miss Merriweather would never. He realised he was clenching his fists.

  “Apparently, this last week she’s been lining her pretty little palms with ill-gotten gains from clients who for the most part wouldn’t notice the theft of a few guineas here or there.” A look of sorrow marred Wilfred’s soft features even more. “She visited me this afternoon at about six o’clock and handed it over. When I saw that the promissory note was the very one I’d made out to you last week, I knew here was at least one fleeced recipient to whom I could make amends.” He glanced at his shoes then up at Felix’s face. “Very embarrassing and all that, but now you’ve got back what you lost, I hope you’ll let the matter rest and say no more about it.”

  Felix thrust out his hand and drew Hunt back roughly. “You are, of course, referring to Miss Merriweather. You know her as well as I. How can you pretend this is nothing?”

  Hunt looked surprised. “Miss Merriweather? Surely not! I thought no one knew the sorry history of what she’s become.” He sent a furtive look over his shoulder. “Her sister is to wed Lord Hartley. You won’t say anything that would imperil Miss Charlotte’s future, would you?” He put his hand on Felix’s coat sleeve. “The girl is an innocent. She knows nothing of the vice into which her sister has fallen. Though couldn’t we all see—even before she was ten years old—that wild Miss Hope was destined for a fall.”

  Wilfred looked deeply concerned now. “Miss Charlotte could not be more different from her sister. I beg of you, do not enlighten her. Miss Hope sent her father to an early grave by running off with one of the footmen, of all things, the night of the Hunt Ball. I happened upon her a year ago.” He dropped his voice which held a salacious edge as he murmured, “Her circumstances were…rather unexpected circumstances, I must say, and she appreciated the comfort of an old friend. But pray, have some concern for her mother and sister who know nothing of what she’s become.”

  Felix stared with disgust at the hand still gripping the cloth of his coat.

  The other young man, noticing, uncurled his fingers and rolled his shoulders. He smiled almost in sympathy. “And have some concern for Hope, I beg you. Despite her wild nature, she was deeply upset, her loyalties divided, she told me, when she realised that it was you for whom her services had been procured.”

  “She told you this, did she?” Felix sounded sceptical but the truth was, he didn’t know what to think.

  “Indeed. She told me she was in despair as to what to do, in view of the childhood friendship between you, but when she saw that the promissory note was from me and would leave me five hundred pounds further out of pocket, her loyalties came out on the side of the man who’s been a constant for the past year.” He looked smug. “You might say we’ve formed an intimacy that goes beyond the pleasures of the flesh.” Wilfred put out his hand and said as if suddenly wishing to reassure Felix, “Please don’t imagine I’m jealous. I don’t have exclusive rights. Miss Merriweather has hundreds of admirers, though, like all of her kind, she’d like to be set up with some exclusivity. Apparently, she’s hoping Lord Westfall will make such an offer.”

  Felix found he was breathing very heavily through his nose. Around him, the room was a blur of excited activity, some fellows playing billiards, others cards, others smoking and drinking in small groups.

  He’d never felt more alone as he became conscious of Wilfred’s promissory note in his palm while he watched the other man melt into the throng.

  Chapter 10

  Hope ran a trembling hand across her forehead as she made her way along the passage towards her room. Her gown of pink satin, trimmed with lace and ribbons, ordered by Madame Chambon but chosen by Hope, reminded her of the gown she’d worn at the Hunt Ball. The virginal debutante she’d been then had turned many heads wearing the pretty dress Mama had reluctantly sanctioned.

  Everything good about her life was concentrated upon that evening when she’d been a girl full of hope. Wearing pink.

  Nevertheless, there were other details about that day and evening that were confusing and unsettling. Annabelle’s obvious dismay at seeing Felix go to Hope when she’d fallen from her horse was understandable. But why was it that Hope’s mama had not seemed happy that Hope was garnering so much attention? When Hope had danced with Mr Felix Durham for the second time, Mama had been waiting for her on the edge of the dance floor and had led Hope away before Felix could say even two words in parting. At the end of the evening, she’d bundled Hope into the family carriage so Hope couldn’t say a proper goodbye to Mr Durham or even tell him in so many words she longed to meet him at the church the following day. That, indeed, she would. He must have known her true feelings, surely?

  Hope had always known Charlotte was the favourite, but Charlotte was only fourteen—far too young to look for a husband—so surely Mama should have been delighted to get Hope off her hands?

  But that was all in the past. For a short while today, hope and happiness had lodged in Hope’s heart. Lying with Felix, the love in his eyes and the words he’d used to build up a shared future, had allowed her to believe there might be something more for her than the shell of existence offered by Madame Chambon.

  But Wilfred was determined to destroy what little there was left of her dignity.

  And what recourse was there? Alone in a world where a woman’s chastity counted for everything, Hope was irredeemable.

  “Hope? Are you…
well?” The timid question came from Madame Chambon’s most perplexing recruit, Faith. Perplexing because of the fact that she’d lived for more than a year under Madame Chambon’s roof yet never had to service a single gentleman. There’d been a time when Hope had felt for every newcomer, understanding how events beyond a girl’s control could so quickly force them into such an avenue of no return.

  Faith, however, had a mysterious benefactor who paid for her to attend a tutor in philosophy and art three times a week. She also attended demonstrations with the other girls in how to stoke the fires of desire of even the most reluctant gentlemen.

  Hope wasn’t surprised that Faith kept to herself as much as she did. The girl wasn’t like the others. She’d obviously been chosen for a very special mission and, while she might have retained her virginity thus far, her fate nevertheless, was like that of the other girls’: to be a prostitute.

  And who would choose to be a prostitute if there were even the faintest possibility of a life of moral rectitude as an alternative?

  Hope had seen how the girls became hardened, she no less than any of them. Some were role models in the cunning they displayed when reeling a man in, fleecing him in some instances cleverly, though. Madame Chambon didn’t mind provided no crime was ever laid at her door. Some had indeed made fine alliances and set themselves up with a generous, even doting benefactor. Some had invested wisely. A king’s ransom for the ripe years of a young woman’s life enabled her to retire and live as she chose. Few, though, emerged from their life of sin unscathed and most, to tell the truth, died young and in penury.

  Hope wondered what the future held for Faith. She knew Lord Harkom was interested; a terrifying proposition given his disposition for putting young women in their places if he felt he’d not been given the servicing or respect that was his due.

  Another possibility was Lord Westfall. He was personable enough. Early-forties with an ailing wife. Madam Chambon was encouraging it as it meant a fat severance bonus for her, even though Hope had overheard the brothel madam saying she believed Faith could become one of her most popular girls. A bird in the hand was worth two in the bush though, for who knew if Faith might suddenly lose her lustre, or her health, or even her looks.