by Regina Scott
“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 greying 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 Gunter’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 having been 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 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 intact.”
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, i
t appeared, for they were frowning again.
The older woman snorted. “Might as well ask for the moon.”
“Not at all,” Jareth assured them. “Let me demonstrate. Miss Watkin, if you would play the master, I will attempt to demur.”
Eloise blinked. “I am to be the man?” she asked, knowing she sounded as surprised as she felt.
He grinned as if he too appreciated the irony. “Indeed. And I shall be the maid. Come after me, if you will, with licentious intent.”
She could not help herself and burst out laughing. But Jareth merely cocked his platinum head and looked at her from under his golden brows. She shook her head and swallowed the last giggle.
“Very well,” she agreed. She thought for a moment, then straightened her shoulders and deepened her voice. “See here, Miss Darby, I desire you to serve my needs.”
“Knew a bloke once what talked just like that too,” the redhead whispered loudly to the woman next to her.
Jareth rolled his eyes. “No, no, Miss Watkin. I said come after me. Attempt to inflict yourself upon me.”
She felt the color rushing to her face. “Mr. Darby,” she began heatedly but Mrs. Turner interceded.
“Perhaps I might try this one, Mr. Darby,” she said, rising to step in front of Eloise. Left with no other choice, Eloise returned to her seat. Part of her was relieved; another part was curious as to what the house chaperone meant to do. To her surprise, Mrs. Turner threw her arms around Jareth, pinning the sleeves of his navy jacket to his chest and nearly knocking him off his booted feet.
“I have you now, my pretty,” she claimed in a throaty whisper as she pressed him backward. “Give us a kiss.”
Eloise had to bite her lips together to keep from laughing at the startled look on Jareth’s handsome face. But his surprise was short lived. Falling into character, he made his face the epitome of outraged femininity. His voice came out a high falsetto. “I am a proper lady, Mr. Hothands. Release me at once.”
“Like that’d work,” the brunette grumbled.
Eloise too had her doubts. Mrs. Turner stood her ground, brown eyes hard.
“I pay your wages,” the chaperone-turned-libertine snarled. “You do as I say.”
“Not in this, I don’t.” Jareth turned his head to look at his audience and dropped his voice to its normal pitch. “And then you scream, ladies, and if he still doesn’t release you, you bring your knee up thus.”
Mrs. Turner winced even though he did not connect with her. Eloise could imagine that if a lady did connect with a gentleman in that area of his anatomy with sufficient force, she might indeed cause him a great deal of harm. A shame she hadn’t known the trick five years ago, but, of course, she doubted she’d have wanted to use it on Jareth then.
“That won’t help his dignity,” someone pointed out.
“Indeed, it will not,” Jareth agreed, moving out of Mrs. Turner’s grip and straightening his white cravat. “However, what you do next will help him maintain his consequence. If you would collapse, Mrs. Turner?”
She obligingly crumpled to the floor, dark skirts pooling about her body. She added a convincing writhe for good measure. Several of the ladies rose to get a better view of her.
“Help, help!” Jareth called out in his falsetto. “The master is ill!” He lowered the pitch. “Then, when the other staff come to investigate, explain that you found the poor fellow twitching and moaning. With any luck, they’ll call a physician and have the creature bled.”
“Now that’s nasty,” the older woman said in obvious admiration.
Eloise could not be satisfied. “A charming example, Mr. Darby, but your plan will only work if the gentleman does not decide to get vindictive after he has recovered. What if he paints you as the villain? What if he claims you attempted to seduce him?”
He regarded her so intently that she could feel herself blushing. “In general, Miss Watkin, I believe most gentlemen will back away rather than be wounded again.”
Now it was her turn to stare. Back away? That was exactly what he had done. She had always wondered why he had refused to return for her. When Cleo had forced him off with the pitchfork, was it his pride that had kept him away? She had not thought him such a peacock as that.
The others were no less skeptical of his claims.
“I’ve met too many blokes what wanted more than they could have,” the redhead maintained. “What you did might work with some, Mr. Darby, but I think Miss Eloise has the right of it. Some fellows can be right ugly when they don’t get what they want.”
“Those fellows,” Jareth told her, “are not motivated by lust. If you are faced with such a vindictive master, I advise you to quit the position as quickly as possible, even if you have to forego references.”
“What if you’re cornered? What if he forces you?”
Eloise wasn’t sure who had asked the question, but when she looked down the table she saw only faces gone white. Several avoided her gaze. The idea that any of the women she had come to care for would be violated in such a manner was too hideous to contemplate. Yet they had obviously considered the possibility. The answer gravely concerned them all, and she did not know what to tell them.
Jareth had no such trouble. “Send me word,” he said quietly, “and I promise he’ll never trouble you again.”
One by one, they nodded, and the color returned to their faces. Eloise turned away. His words were heroic, but she could not believe him. Yet if she denounced him, she would only frighten them again. Behind her, she heard Mrs. Turner return to her feet.
“Easy to say, Mr. Darby,” the house chaperone cautioned, “but I wager you won’t remember half these women when you leave here.”
“You may be right,” Jareth replied. “They may also forget all about my offer. So, let us discuss what else we can do to stop that problem before it starts. As I said, a gentleman who forces a lady generally isn’t after her because of her beauty or seductiveness, he’s trying to prove to himself that he’s truly a man. Bullying is one way of proving that you are superior when you suspect you are quite inferior indeed.”
Eloise knew she was staring at him again. She had not thought him capable of thinking through such sentiments. Of course he could be referring to Lord Hendricks.
“What you must do,” he continued, “is make sure you do not allow yourself to fall into the clutches of such a bully. Generally, his actions will prove his motivation. However, you can take certain steps to ensure you do not give any gentleman the opportunity to gain the upper hand. Miss Watkin, what would you do if I asked you out walking one night?”
Eloise smiled sweetly. “I would tell you to go to blazes, Mr. Darby.”
As several of the women chuckled, he grinned at her. “Precisely!” He turned to the ladies again. “That is the first rule to prevent dire circumstances. Go nowhere after dark with a man you do not trust.”
“Or into an enclosed space like a hayloft?” Eloise suggested with false innocence.
His grin turned wry. “Right again. Furthermore, do not offer a kiss if you suspect more is wanted.”
That hit closer to home than she liked. Had he laughed at her when she had given in so easily? Perhaps she should show him what she had learned from his earlier teaching.
“Do not believe pretty words until you have seen them put into practice,” she countered.
“Can’t we do nothing fun?” the brunette complained.
“Certainly,” Jareth replied. “But I quite agree with Miss Watkin. Find a gentleman who proves himself trustworthy by his actions. Then believe it is your God-given right to be treated with respect.” He gazed at Eloise, and she felt herself coloring again at the warmth she saw in the blue expanse of his eyes. “With respect and with tenderness. Accept nothing less, ladies, and return nothing more. All women deserve this. And so do the men in their lives.”
She was lost. Her mind argued that he could not mean those words, could not possibly understand what he described. To have respect and tende
rness—she could imagine nothing finer.
Except perhaps, to be loved by Jareth.
Her heart seemed to swell and her breath come quickly at the idea. He seemed to sense the change in her, for the blue of his eyes deepened, and his hand came to rest on her shoulder in a brief caress. She laid her hand over his.
Applause made him freeze. He pulled away from her as if burned and turned to bow to his audience, who enthusiastically acknowledged him.
Eloise shrank back in her seat. She’d nearly forgotten herself again! Why did she keep tormenting herself with ideas of love and Jareth? The two would never meet, could never be combined. Even if he was reformed, even if he meant those beautiful words, even if he was still attracted to her, it did not follow that he would want to marry her. She would have him no other way.
She lifted her head to find that Mrs. Turner was regarding her thoughtfully from beside a bowing Jareth.
“Remember your own advice, Miss Eloise,” she murmured, returning to her seat but keeping her gaze on him. “No dark, enclosed spaces with that one until he proves himself.”
“I shall try,” Eloise replied with a sigh. “But I have a feeling it will be all too difficult.”
Chapter Fourteen
As it turned out, Eloise found it extremely difficult to put her advice into practice. Jareth remained at Comfort House to answer questions and act out several more scenes. She decided it was the better part of valor to stay in the background, allowing Mrs. Turner to partner him. His advice generally seemed logical; the few times it strayed into the questionable, the house chaperone chimed in to redirect him.
The sun was setting when they left Comfort House for Eloise’s carriage. With her father’s coachman on the box and a footman at the boot, she had not felt concerned on the drive over. Given the discussion of the afternoon, however, she doubted that two serving men were enough to protect her from herself. Still, after bringing Jareth here she could hardly insist that he walk home. She squared her shoulders in resolution and led him to the coach.