A Courtesan's Scandal

by Julia London

  “Thank you, Hatt,” Diana said and stood from her seat along with Prudence as Grayson and the boys walked in behind Hatt.

  “There you are, my darlings! And how was your skating?” Prudence asked, opening her arms wide for her sons, who ran forward to tell her all.

  Diana looked at Grayson and curtsied.

  “Lady Eustis, had I not heard you were under the weather, I would not suspect it, for you are the picture of health,” Grayson said graciously.

  “Indeed, I am suddenly feeling much improved, Your Grace.”

  “She is the picture of health!” Prudence exclaimed. “I was just saying to her that she might join Lord Eustis in Bath yet. There is still time and the waters would do her good. Don’t you agree, Christie?”

  “I don’t know,” Grayson said thoughtfully. “It is quite cold and the journey might do her more harm than good.”

  “Mummy, I skated as fast as Frederick!” Radcliff said excitedly.

  “Did you!” Prudence asked, feigning astonishment. Both boys began to chatter at once, Frederick boasting that he was the far superior skater, and Radcliff complaining that he was not.

  Diana smiled at the boys’ excitement and their eagerness to recount their adventures of the day. She so desired a pair of boys. Or girls. Any child, as long it was her own. Unfortunately, Charles was incapable of producing an heir. That was quite obvious to Diana. It certainly wasn’t from lack of trying, and as she was his third wife, and he’d yet to sire any offspring, she could not help but conclude he was incapable.

  The one time she’d suggested this to Charles, he’d slapped her.

  “I trust they behaved?” Prudence asked Grayson.

  “Perfectly,” he said. “And now that I have delivered them safely to your care, Pru, I must take my leave.”

  “Thank you, Grayson,” she said with a fond smile. “They so enjoy their outings with their Uncle Christie.”

  “It was my great pleasure.” He looked at Diana. “Lady Eustis.”

  “Your Grace, you must stay for tea,” Diana said quickly, hurrying toward him. “Hatt has just brought it up.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot,” he said, and Diana thought he seemed a bit anxious. “I promised Merrick I’d accompany him on a call to Lord Granbury about the upcoming abolition vote.”

  She was wildly disappointed—she’d not been with him in almost three weeks and was desperate for his attention and affection. “Yes,” she said, and put her hand in her pocket and withdrew a small folded vellum. “As to the vote … Lord Eustis asked that I see this delivered to you.” She handed him the note. It was not from Charles, certainly not—he’d never vote for abolition. It was from her, penned late last night, and she’d been carrying it in her pocket, trying to think of a way to have it delivered to him.

  Grayson looked at the sealed note.

  “He asked that I have it delivered to you, but here you are,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  He looked directly into her eyes, but Diana noted a distance in his. “Thank you.”

  She tried to read something more in his expression, but she could find nothing. That shouldn’t surprise her, for Grayson was always so inscrutable in public. He said it was for her sake, to protect her from the slightest bit of innuendo or hint of scandal. Usually, Diana appreciated his circumspection, for it was true that the slightest scandal would be her undoing. Charles held her responsible for their lack of an heir, and he would never forgive her for an affair before she gave him one. Never. She shuddered to think what he might do if he ever learned the truth about Grayson.

  Nevertheless, Diana couldn’t bear the distance that had sprung up between her and Grayson. Something felt very different, and it was alarming her.

  But then Grayson gave her hope; he smiled and winked very subtly. “Very well then, Lady Eustis. Pru, and my young gentlemen, I shall leave you to enjoy your visit.”

  “Thank your Uncle Christie,” Prudence said to her children.

  Frederick did so by throwing his arms around Grayson’s legs; Grayson laughed and picked the boy up, slinging him over his shoulder and bouncing him a bit before putting him down and doing the same to Radcliff.

  As the boys called out a farewell to him, Diana imagined another salon, another town, another time, when the children Grayson held would be theirs. It was a fantasy,completely unattainable in any way, shape, or form. But she liked imagining it. It was the only thing that made her truly happy.

  “Diana? Are you all right?” Prudence asked.

  Diana turned slightly and realized she was staring at the door through which Grayson had gone. “I, ah … I’m feeling a bit flush, that’s all,” she said, and returned to her seat, sitting heavily.

  “Mummy, Freddie pushed me when we were skating,” Radcliff complained.

  “I didn’t!” Frederick insisted.

  “He did, Mummy, he pushed me twice, and he pushed the lady and made her fall down.”

  “Oh dear. I hope the lady wasn’t hurt,” Prudence exclaimed.

  “No. She and Uncle Christie laughed.”

  Diana’s gaze darted to little Radcliff.

  “I hope you apologized to her, darling,” Prudence said, running her hand over Radcliff’s head.

  Radcliff nodded enthusiastically that he had. “Uncle Christie said she’d be black and blue because she fell so many times.”

  “Once, she fell like this,” Frederick said, and dramatically fell backward onto the carpet. He and Radcliff laughed.

  Diana’s heart began to race. She sat up in her seat. “Who was the lady, Frederick?” she asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

  “Uncle Christie’s friend,” Frederick said as he picked himself up.

  “Uncle Christie’s friend?” Prudence repeated, frowning with a bit of confusion. “And who might that be?”

  “I don’t know,” Frederick said with a shrug.

  “May we play with these?” Radcliff asked, squatting down to have a look at a pair of ornamental brass peacocks that were placed at the corner of the hearth.

  “Yes, of course you may,” Diana said absently, but her mind was whirling, her belly churning. She glanced at Prudence, who seemed completely unbothered by the boys’ remarks—she was far more concerned that Radcliff not try and pick up one of the heavy brass birds.

  Diana knew instinctively that Grayson’s friend was Katharine Bergeron. She didn’t know how she could possibly know such a thing, seeing as how she’d not witnessed it herself or heard more than the boy’s utterance … but she’d never been more certain of anything in her life.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Later that week, Digby told Kate that he had business that would take him away from London for a few days. He explained that he was trying to break into the growing perfume trade, for he believed a good profit was to be had there.

  Kate told Digby what Fleming had said that afternoon in St. Katharine’s. “Why would he accuse you of pilfering?” she asked.

  “Because he believes there is opportunity in the perfume trade as well, and he doesn’t care for the competent competition I give him.” Digby sniffed. “I’ve not pilfered a bloody thing from that scoundrel, but I am the agent for a French perfumerie whose products Fleming had hoped to sell in England. And now, I have it on very good word that an Italian perfume should arrive in Deptford tomorrow evening. If rumors can be believed, this perfume will be the most sought-after scent in London, and I intend to get there before Fleming. He thinks to throw a rub in my way,” Digby scoffed. “He fancies himself far superior, but the man is no better than a gutted fish on the quay. He should have a care with me, he should. I am quite well-connected.” With that, Digby had given Kate a kiss on the cheek and gone off to find his fortune in perfume.

  Coincidentally, Aldous sought her out that very same day and told her he’d been invited to a private card game down at the Wapping quays.

  “Really?” Kate said. “With whom?”

  “Captain Smith of the St. Marie,”
he said proudly. “He holds a table for high stakes when he’s in port.”

  “I didn’t know you were acquainted with him,” Kate said curiously.

  “I’m not,” Aldous said. “But I’m a fine gambler, I am. Word’s gone round, that’s all.”

  That likely was true—Aldous was a frequent visitor to the gaming hells.

  “You’ll be alone,” Aldous said. “I’ll send for Amy—”

  “No, no, I’ll be fine!” she assured him. “I want to bake tonight.” In truth, Kate was so rarely alone that she relished the idea.

  Kate and her daily cook, Cecelia, made a trip to a local market—one that was decidedly more hospitable than St. Katharine’s. They bought leeks for soup, beef to be roasted, as well as some winter vegetables, and of course, the necessary ingredients for the sweetmeats Kate would bake.

  “Sure you won’t need my help with the roast, mu’um?” Cecelia asked later that afternoon when Kate handed over her wages for the week.

  “Thank you, but no.”

  “Very well, then,” Cecelia said, and donned her cloak. “You’ll remember what I said, aye?”

  “I will,” Kate said. It couldn’t be so terribly difficult to roast beef. She wasn’t a novice, after all—she was becoming quite adept at baking, and roasting didn’t seem so far removed from that. “Have a lovely evening, Cecelia.”

  “I’d wager there’s little hope of that, mu’um. Two children and a husband fond of his drink.” She pulled her old hood over her hair and grinned. “But I think the evening will be a bit more bearable if I give him a shilling for a tankard or two, aye? Good night, mu’um.”

  “Good night, Cecelia,” Kate said, and saw the cook out the back door. As Cecelia hurried down the alley, Kate glanced up at the sky. Clouds were beginning to gather and the air was damp. A storm was moving into London.

  In the kitchen again, Kate set out preparing her evening meal of roast beef and vegetables, and putting the finishing touches on her marzipan creation. Every good baker had to master the artistry of marzipan, and her recent outing had inspired Kate. With Cecelia’s help, Kate had made several small figures of ice skaters out of marzipan, and set them on a piece of glass. The figures weren’t as lifelike as she’d hoped they’d be, but one could not mistake them—they were clearly skaters. Kate had even made marzipan trees and placed them at the edges of her frozen pond. Digby would be pleased and amused when she showed him the elaborate confection.

  Kate checked on the beef roasting in a small oven. “The trick is to keep it moist, or it will look and taste like an old abandoned shoe,” Cecelia had warned her with a wrinkle of her nose.

  Satisfied there was enough liquid in the pan to keep it moist, Kate removed her apron and poured herself a glass of wine.

  Her thoughts turned to Grayson, as they had so many times since the afternoon of skating in Hyde Park. Somewhere between the dozens of times she’d fallen and he had helped her up, Kate had realized she was feeling something rather extraordinary for him, something she’d never felt for a man before.

  In the days since, she’d created quite a fantasy surrounding him, of when she might see him, of the things they’d do. She’d even convinced herself that she could see Grayson and the prince would be very pleased with her efforts to befriend the duke. After all, Darlington was doing the prince an enormous favor. Wouldn’t the prince be pleased that she’d been so kind to his friend?

  Kate couldn’t sustain that absurd fantasy, but it amused her to think it nonetheless, and in some respects, it made her feel less … disobedient.

  “You’ve not disobeyed, old girl,” she muttered to herself as she tied herbs she and Cecelia had bought and hung them to dry. “It’s not as if you’ve taken a lover.” A wanton smile curved her lips.

  That was another little fantasy altogether.

  But it was one she’d never act on. Benoit had signed a contract with the prince that Kate had agreed to honor. She could not be enticed to break it or dishonor it, for she’d learned long ago she was nothing without her word.

  And if she were tempted, she need only remember how much she stood to lose. This house, certainly. The fine clothes and jewels she wore every day. She’d be put out, forced out “on the town,” so to speak, with nowhere to turn but prostitution to make her living. That was if the prince didn’t do something drastic in his anger, such as send her from London and out of his sight. Or worse— Kate had heard rumors that he’d attempted to have his wife murdered! Might he be so angry he’d contemplate her murder? Perhaps he would prefer to see her publicly disgraced—

  A knock at the door startled her. Kate glanced at the clock. It was a quarter to eight.

  “Bloody hell,” she said, and put a hand to her hair— she guessed she looked a fright. Who could it be? The prince. Of course! She quickly smoothed her gown and pinched her cheeks, but her hair hung loosely down her back. There was nothing to be done for it, and when a second, firmer knock sounded, Kate hurried to the door. She pulled it open with a smile to greet the prince, but words escaped her—it wasn’t the prince at all, but Mr. Fleming.

  Kate hesitated, and in that moment, the man had a hand on the door, was pushing it—and her—with enough force to make her stumble backward.

  “Mr. Fleming!” she cried, pushing back against the door. “What are you doing here?”

  His response was to shove harder and stride into her foyer. “That’s not the proper way to greet a gentleman caller, is it?” he said coolly.

  “You are not welcome here!” she insisted. “Mr. Digby will be here at any moment and I—”

  “Your Digby won’t be round. I warned you he should not steal what I’ve worked hard to build! I’ve sent him chasing after ghosts. He is a fool if he believes a decent perfume would come out of Italy.”

  Kate gaped at him.

  “And your sailor is in a pub on the quay at Wapping with a tankard or two, thanks to my generosity. I doubt he’ll be rushing to your side, either.”

  Fear settled in Kate’s belly. The rent. He’d come for his blasted rent! “How did you find me?” she demanded.

  Fleming laughed. “Have you been gone from St. Katharine’s so long that you don’t suspect every young ragamuffin who follows along behind you?”

  She had a vague memory of a pair of lads Digby had shooed away with a half pence recently.

  With the heel of his boot, Fleming kicked at the door and walked deeper into her foyer. He glanced around at the furnishings. “Well then, this is quite nice, eh?” he said, nodding his approval. “It pays very well to be the duke’s whore.”

  Anger mingled with terror, but Kate said nothing as she looked about for something with which to defend herself. But when she looked at Fleming again, his gaze was raking over her unbound hair, his hunger apparent.

  “If you think to intimidate me with threat of violence, you will be disappointed,” she snapped. “I have nothing. Everything you see here belongs to someone else. None of it is mine.”

  “Miss Bergeron,” he said, stepping closer to her. “Do you really think I came all this way for money? I have a personal message for your man,” he said snidely, his gaze on her bosom.

  Kate suddenly understood. “This is how you will punish Digby? By abusing me?”

  He snorted. “Do you know a better way to gain a whale’s attention than by dangling a prized fish before its snout?”

  A knife. She needed a knife to defend herself, but realized that if she bolted for the kitchen, he would catch her. She had to somehow maneuver around to the corridor to have even a chance. “Leave my house, Mr. Fleming,” she said, her voice shaking with impotent fury.

  He chuckled and his gaze drifted lower. “I won’t leave until I have what I want, Miss Bergeron. I’ve wanted it from the moment we met, and I will have it. One way or another.”

  Kate’s fear made her feel ill. “Do you honestly think you’ll get away with something so vile?” she asked as she backed away from him, toward the hallway door.

 
Fleming’s cold smile disappeared. “No one will believe the word of a whore,” he said, and suddenly lunged for her, grabbing her hair when she whirled and tried to run.

  “Take your hand from me!” Kate cried.

  “You seem to forget, madam, that I have the power to put your wards out on their arses by morning.” He wrapped her hair around his fist and yanked it hard. “And I can put you on yours, here and now.”

  Kate’s blood ran cold. She tried to pull away from him, but he yanked her hair again, causing her to gasp with pain. “I shall tell the duke!” she cried.

  “Tell him,” Fleming snarled. “Likely he will hold you responsible for not having safeguarded your body for him, aye? You will lose all this,” he said, gesturing with one hand while yanking her hair with the other.

  Kate swung with her elbow, connecting with the soft part of Fleming’s belly. He grunted, yanked her hair harder, and pulled her head back. He leaned over, so that she could see the harsh expression on his face. “Think of what you are doing, woman,” he said hotly. “I will take my pleasure whether or not you take yours.”

  That sickened her; her mind swam back to another bitterly cold and dark night.

  “Be a love now, and don’t fight me.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Grayson didn’t intend to come to Kate’s when he’d stepped into his carriage that evening, but he found himself before her house nonetheless. He noticed, standing outside his carriage, that her door was ajar and imagined that a party was taking place inside, with gentlemen and courtesans.

  And him, out of place, the fool who had stopped here like some lovesick lad. He was expected at Mary’s for supper in an hour, but he couldn’t keep away from Kate one more moment. He felt ridiculous, standing there on the street, looking at her door.

  The wind was picking up; a winter storm was moving in. Grayson walked to the door. Even if there was a party within, the wind would make the house cold, and he could at least make himself useful by seeing that it was shut. But as Grayson neared the door, he heard the snarl of a male voice and the distress in a woman’s cry. That alarmed him; he didn’t bother to knock, but pushed the door open and saw the man with his hand in Kate’s hair.