A Pregnant Courtesan for the Rake

by Diane Gaston

‘From the disarray I just surveyed, it was a wild night,’ Frederick said.

  Oliver took a deep, resigned breath. ‘I might as well see for myself.’

  The two men walked together to the door to the public part of the club. They entered the hall, which was in reasonable shape.

  ‘The ballroom is what you should see,’ Frederick said.

  The ballroom floor was filled with scattered oddments. Masks. Gloves. Scarves. Shoes. Broken glasses and spilled drinks. Remarkably, some undergarments, as well. Some maids were already busy with brooms and dustpans. One maid went ahead of the others and picked up the items of clothing. Nothing seemed valuable enough to save for an owner to collect it. The maids would sell the clothing on Petticoat Lane and make a few extra pennies.

  ‘Take care,’ Oliver said to the maid gathering up clothing. He pointed to the broken glass.

  The maid glanced up and smiled. ‘I will, Mr Gregory.’

  ‘Mary?’ The girl he’d hired as Cecilia’s lady’s maid was assisting in the cleaning up.

  ‘My uncle asked Mr Bell if I could help. The extra money will help me a lot.’

  Frederick pointed to Oliver’s bandaged hand. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Ah...’ Oliver laughed sarcastically. ‘It is quite a story. Let us look at the other rooms first and I’ll tell you over a drink.’

  It appeared that Mr Bell had matters well in hand. He’d hired extra help for the day. So far nothing too alarming had been found, except one hungover gentleman who’d passed out on the floor in one of the bedrooms and had gone unnoticed. The singers and dancers had all taken off and would not return until after Christmas.

  Back in the private owners’ rooms, over brandy, Oliver told Frederick about Sir Nash Bowles.

  ‘That reprobate!’ Frederick banged his fist against the table. ‘I thought we’d rid ourselves of him after his treachery with Georgiana.’

  ‘I am reasonably certain he will not return,’ Oliver said.

  ‘I think we should be watchful,’ Frederick said. ‘The singer, Fleurette—will he leave her alone, I wonder?’

  ‘He had better,’ Oliver said fiercely. He poured them each another brandy.

  Oliver had not mentioned Cecilia. How to talk about her with Frederick? He must, because Fred would eventually see Jake and Jake or Rose would speak of her.

  ‘We have a new worker,’ Oliver began. He gave a very short version of the events that led to Cecilia being hired, leaving out any mention of his meeting her in Paris.

  ‘We need a hostess?’ Frederick looked sceptical.

  Oliver could not disagree, but of course, he knew Cecilia’s reasons for wanting to work. And he knew her employment would be temporary.

  ‘One thing more.’ Oliver could not leave this out. ‘She is living at my house.’

  ‘Your house?’ Frederick’s brows rose. ‘Is there more to this?’

  Much more. ‘She is an employee and a lodger.’

  Frederick laughed. ‘Since when do you take in lady lodgers?’

  ‘It is complicated.’

  ‘And you do not want to talk about it,’ Frederick added.

  ‘That is so.’

  His friend leaned forward. ‘Well, here’s the thing. Georgiana and I want you to come to dinner. The rest of the family are still in the country, so that should keep things calm. Come to dinner the day after tomorrow. Bring this hostess lodger with you.’

  ‘She will not come.’ Oliver was certain of that.

  ‘Then invite us to dinner at your house in two days. I want to meet this hostess.’ Frederick grinned. ‘We will be showing up on your doorstep, so refusal is out of the question.’

  There was no sense in countering Frederick when he acted like that. He took it upon himself to oversee the welfare of Vitium et Virtu and his friends.

  ‘Very well. Dinner in two days’ time.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cecilia did not see why she must attend this dinner with Oliver’s friends. Oliver said this Frederick Challenger was one of the owners of Vitium et Virtus and he wanted to meet the new hostess. If so, she could merely appear and be introduced.

  They had a little row over it.

  ‘You are making it seem as if we are attached and we are not,’ she protested.

  ‘Are we not? If you claim the baby is mine, does that not mean we are attached?’ he shot back.

  ‘I don’t claim it,’ she countered. ‘It is the truth.’

  They went on like that for a good quarter of an hour.

  Finally, Oliver said. ‘I’ve given you a place to live, allowed you to work at the club and have promised to support you and the child. I think you could do this one thing for me—attend this dinner with my friend and his wife.’

  Cecilia could not counter that argument.

  * * *

  The night of the dinner she wore a purple dress, one of the ones she wore at Vitium et Virtus, because the black one he’d bought her was not fancy enough for a dinner dress. She cared that his friend’s wife approve, but, at the same time, it irritated her that it mattered to her.

  Mary finished arranging her hair, stared into the mirror and spoke to Cecilia’s reflection. ‘Will that do, do you think?’

  It looked effortless and not as fancy as she might wear as a hostess, but not as plain as she wore every day. Mary had pulled her hair into a coil at the top of her head and picked out a few tendrils to caress the back of her neck. The only jewellery she wore was the only jewellery she still owned—her pearl necklace.

  ‘It is perfect, Mary.’ The girl had done precisely what Cecilia wanted.

  She stared at her reflection and frowned. ‘The neckline is too low.’ It was suitable for Madame Coquette, but not Cecilia.

  Mary stepped back. ‘I have just the thing!’

  She ran out of the room and returned with a piece of black net with black embroidered flowers on it. ‘A fichu!’ she called triumphantly.

  ‘Where did you come by this?’ Cecilia asked.

  ‘At Vitium et Virtus,’ Mary responded. ‘Uncle Irwin got Mr Bell to hire me to clean up after the masquerade. Mr Gregory let us keep some of the things we found that was not likely to be sought by the owners.’

  ‘This does not fit in at all with the masquerade’s costume theme.’ But it was perfect for Cecilia.

  Mary helped her tuck in the netting around the neckline of the dress. When Cecilia again looked in the mirror this time it made the gown even more elegant.

  ‘It is perfect, Mary. Thank you.’ Cecilia stood. ‘I suppose I should go downstairs.’

  The maid gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I do not know why you are so unhappy about this. Mr Challenger seemed like a nice man when he was at the club with Mr Gregory. Maybe his wife will be nice, too.’

  Cecilia sighed. ‘I am sure she will be nice. That is the problem. What am I doing sharing dinner with nice people?’

  To her surprise, Mary gave her a hug. ‘You have been more than nice to me, Mrs Lockhart. There is no reason why they should not like you very much.’

  Except that she worked in a decadent club and was bearing a child out of wedlock.

  ‘I suppose I should go and find out.’

  Oliver said he’d not told his friend and his wife that she was carrying a child. He’d not told anyone outside of this house. Though, they would still assume she and Oliver were a couple, would they not? Especially since she’d be dining with them.

  She left the bedchamber and went downstairs with butterflies in her stomach, chastising herself for feeling nervous. She knew they’d already arrived because she saw their carriage pull up while she was dressing. As she approached the drawing-room door she decided to borrow a little confidence from Coquette. She straightened her spine and entered the room.
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  They all turned to her and rose from their seats.

  Mr Challenger, who stood next to Oliver, was tall like Oliver, but he was light to Oliver’s dark with light brown hair and brown eyes that did not exactly welcome her as much as they assessed her. His wife had the sort of looks Cecilia always envied as a girl. Blonde with blue eyes, taller than was fashionable, though, but with an elegant figure.

  ‘Allow me to present Mrs Lockhart,’ Oliver said. ‘Cecilia, Mr and Mrs Challenger.’

  They would notice, of course, that Oliver addressed her by her given name.

  Cecilia curtsied.

  Mrs Challenger stepped forward, extending her hand. When Cecilia accepted it, Mrs Challenger held on in a friendlier manner than a handshake. ‘Oh, but you must call us Frederick and Georgiana. Oliver does and it will be so much more comfortable.’

  Comfortable for her, perhaps, but it reflected an equality that Cecilia could not feel.

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Challenger said less enthusiastically. ‘Call me Fred.’

  ‘How do you do,’ Cecilia managed. She would endeavour not to address them by name at all.

  ‘Some claret, Cecilia?’ Oliver asked, having already poured a glass.

  She reached for it. ‘Thank you.’ She’d take a few sips and leave the rest. Since her pregnancy, wine unsettled her stomach, but she did not wish to call any attention to herself by refusing what everyone else was drinking.

  Though why she cared what these people thought of her was a puzzle. And yet she wanted them to accept her as if she’d stepped out of her parents’ house, never having met or married Duncan.

  ‘Come sit with me,’ Georgiana said.

  Could she refuse?

  ‘Where are you from?’ Georgiana asked.

  ‘Surrey,’ she replied.

  ‘Oh, Surrey?’ Georgiana smiled. ‘Where in Surrey?’

  ‘Near Haslemere.’

  ‘I have never been to Haslemere,’ the lady said.

  All the better. Think how hard it would be if Georgiana had lived in Haslemere and knew people she knew. Or maybe she should tell her whole story. What difference would it make? If Oliver supported her as he promised to do, she’d go where no one knew her and never see these people again.

  Never see Oliver again.

  Cecilia suspected Georgiana wished to ask more about her, but could not do so without showing she was pushing for information like a concerned mother interviewing a woman her son wished to marry.

  Except marriage was certainly not what Cecilia and Oliver were about.

  ‘Have you spent much time in London?’ This was more conversational.

  ‘Not before this.’

  Irwin appeared at the door. ‘Dinner is served.’

  Cecilia did not expect the evening to improve over the dinner table.

  But it did.

  Instead of continuing to interview her, they talked of Vitium et Virtus, how it began when Oliver, Frederick, the Duke and another friend were all attending Oxford. The other friend, Nicholas, had originated the idea and put up the most money. This was the first Cecilia had heard of Nicholas. She’d heard talk of Frederick and of his marriage to Georgiana, but no one had ever mentioned Nicholas.

  ‘What happened to him?’ she asked.

  ‘To whom?’ Oliver responded.

  ‘To Nicholas. I never heard of him before.’

  Oliver lowered his head and tension filled the room.

  Finally, Frederick spoke. ‘Nicholas disappeared six years ago. We do not know where he is or if he is even alive.’

  ‘He is alive.’ Oliver’s voice turned low and firm.

  His was obviously the final word, because a pall spread over the room after he spoke.

  Georgiana broke it. ‘Cecilia, did you know that Vitium et Virtus is the reason Fred and I married?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ She was glad of the change of subject and disturbed by Oliver’s change in mood.

  Georgiana told of how she contrived to expose the perverted character of the man her father was insisting she marry.

  ‘I knew he would be at Vitium et Virtus, so I came and set up an auction,’ Georgiana said.

  Cecilia was not following this logic. ‘Auctioning what?’

  ‘Her virginity.’ Frederick groaned. ‘We do not do such things at Vitium et Virtus. There was nothing for me to do but stop it.’

  ‘So he outbid everyone and ruined everything!’ Georgiana cried. ‘Then that odious man threatened to expose what I’d done and ruin my reputation—’

  ‘So I had to marry her.’ Frederick grinned.

  ‘Do you know who the odious man was?’ Oliver asked her.

  She was glad he spoke. ‘Who?’

  ‘Sir Nash Bowles.’

  ‘No!’ She swung a look to Georgiana. ‘You are lucky you did not marry Bowles. He would be a brutal husband.’

  ‘Yes, he would be,’ Georgiana agreed, going on to let Cecilia know she and Frederick had heard of Bowles’s latest escapades.

  Cecilia lifted her glass. ‘May he stay away for good.’

  They all joined her in that toast, finishing the wine in their glasses. Cecilia merely sipped hers.

  * * *

  When the pudding was served and even more wine was poured, Frederick leaned towards Cecilia.

  ‘You look familiar,’ he said. ‘I wonder if we have met before?’

  Her heart started to pound. He did not look familiar to her. She remembered every one of the men who’d sought Madame Coquette’s favours, but there were others who might have seen her at Maison D’Eros. Sir Nash Bowles, for example.

  ‘I think I would remember you, sir,’ she said cheekily, making herself smile.

  Georgiana laughed and the dangerous moment passed.

  * * *

  After the pudding, the ladies returned to the drawing room. Oliver and Frederick stayed in the dining room, sipping brandy.

  ‘She is not what I expected,’ Frederick said.

  ‘I was not asking,’ Oliver countered.

  Frederick grinned. ‘I do not care a fig. You’ll hear what I have to say about it anyway.’

  Oliver took another sip of his drink, letting the amber liquid warm his throat. ‘Of course I will.’

  Frederick stared into space as if tallying up a list of figures. ‘She is a mystery, is she not? Not much for talking about herself.’

  ‘She probably resented the inquisition.’ Oliver could share a lot more about Cecilia. About her husband. Her parents. That she was carrying a child. It seemed disloyal to her, though, even with his good friend. ‘But, I agree. There is much she holds back.’

  Frederick went on. ‘I liked her, even so. Georgiana liked her, too, I could tell. She would have persisted in her inquisition, if she’d not liked her.’

  Georgiana was fearless when she wanted something. He thought of the virginity auction. Or the reckless curricle race to which she challenged Frederick. A challenge he, of course, readily accepted.

  ‘Something about your Cecilia...’ Frederick gazed into the air again.

  Oliver lifted his glass to his lips. He wanted to tell Frederick that she was not his Cecilia. Better to just change the subject. ‘How long will you and Georgiana be in London?’

  ‘We’ll stay through Christmas,’ Frederick answered. ‘Our primary reason for travel here was for the masquerade, you know. But we thought it would be nice to have Christmas just the two of us here in London.’ He finished his brandy. ‘Out of the chaos, you know.’

  Frederick came from a family who thought drama and discord were everyday events.

  Christmas was only days away.

  Christmas was not a holiday Oliver looked upon with any eagerness. Growing up, he made the obligatory trip to his father’
s country house, where his stepmother did not want him. She always planned a house party so, as a boy, he could not attend, and as he got older, he felt no more welcome. His father always managed a nice present, usually presented in haste before going off to the next planned activity for the guests.

  Oliver finished his brandy and stood. ‘We should return to the ladies.’

  Frederick grinned. ‘Just in case Georgiana is firing more questions at Cecilia.’

  * * *

  The next day Oliver met Frederick at Vitium et Virtus so they could discuss club business. They’d sent a message to Jacob to meet them there, as well, but one never knew if Jacob would be free of ducal affairs and able to attend.

  They met in the drawing room. The ledgers were on the table in front of them, but neither Oliver nor Frederick were particularly interested in figures, costs and profit. That was Jacob’s forte.

  ‘So...’ Fred began. ‘What did Cecilia say about us after we left last night? Will she speak to us again?’

  ‘I cannot say,’ Oliver replied. ‘She retired to her room as soon as you left.’ And not before giving Oliver a withering look.

  She did not come down for breakfast, either.

  ‘I have not seen her today.’

  She’d looked so beautiful the night before. So elegant and ladylike. No reason she should not look ladylike; she was a baron’s daughter. He’d even admired her skill at evading Georgiana’s questions. He respected a sense of privacy.

  Even so, it rankled that she held back from him.

  Frederick drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Will Jake come, do you think?’

  ‘Jacob stops by when he has the time.’ Truth was Jacob rarely stayed for more than a few minutes when he was able to come.

  Frederick looked around. ‘What are we doing with this place? Can we keep it up?’

  Oliver gave him a direct look. ‘We must.’

  It went without saying. They could not sell or end the club, not with Nicholas the owner with the most shares.

  Fred took another sip of his drink. ‘At least for another year.’

  In another year, if Nicholas did not return, he could be declared dead.

  They both lapsed into a depressed silence that was not going to help anything.