by Sara Bennett
By the time Martin entered the room, they were both perfectly respectable. The manservant’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Francesca assured herself there was nothing to see. She might be a little flushed, a little disarranged, but that could have been the walk to Half Moon Street.
“Miss Greentree,” he said, with a glance at his master. “I didn’t know you were expecting a visitor, sir. I would have delayed my return.”
“That is perfectly all right, Martin. We’re finished now.” Sebastian put down his glass and reached for Francesca’s hand. “Come, Miss Greentree, it is time you went home.”
Outside, the breeze cooled her cheeks, but she still felt wonderfully replete. The contented feeling made up for the knowledge that what they had done was very shocking indeed. Then why did she still feel like giggling?
“Why do you fear being Aphrodite’s daughter?” he asked suddenly, harping back to a previous comment she had made.
Some of her glow began to fade. She didn’t feel like laughing anymore. “I am afraid I will become like her.”
“What do you mean? She is a beautiful, desirable woman who has worked to make her business a success.”
“She has had her heart broken many times, and men have used her for their own ends.”
“I would have thought she used them.”
“She abandoned us.”
“You were kidnapped.”
“If she wasn’t off pursuing some man, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“Francesca…”
“No.” She pulled away from him, tears sparkling in her eyes. “You’ve spoiled it now,” she whispered, and turned and fled up the stairs to her uncle’s house.
Sebastian stood and watched the door close behind her.
So that was what was wrong. She believed she was Aphrodite’s daughter in more ways than one, and to give free rein to her emotions, to her desires, would be to invite disaster. So she bound those emotions inside her, keeping them in tight check, restraining them as a prisoner was restrained in a cell.
It was time someone unlocked the door and showed Francesca Greentree that she was no ordinary woman, and as such she must live her life to the full. There might be tears, there might be hurt, but there would be happiness, too. And yes, there would be desire.
And who better to teach her that than Sebastian?
Aphrodite’s death was taking far longer than he’d hoped. But he had to be careful. He didn’t want any suspicion attached to it, and he certainly didn’t want doctors and magistrates crawling all over the place, pointing the finger of suspicion. The whore couldn’t last much longer.
But there was another problem looming. The little spy he had planted in Aphrodite’s Club wasn’t happy. She hadn’t said so, but Angela knew, and had reminded her where her true loyalties lay. He might have to do something about the spy. But he’d allow the dust to settle on Aphrodite’s coffin first.
He was a patient man, not by nature but because he’d learned that wishes were usually granted if you waited long enough. Obstacles were removed, or died, and if they didn’t…Well, there was always murder.
First Aphrodite, then the spy, and then Francesca.
After twenty-five years he’d finally be free of the dark cloud that had hung over him. He’d finally be able to enjoy himself without fearing discovery.
It was a heady thought.
Francesca could barely keep still as each new dress was draped around her, discussed as if she wasn’t even present, and then removed. Helen was in raptures over the ball gown, chattering away, all her unhappiness completely forgotten. Amy caught her daughter’s eye as if to say, Take heart, your suffering isn’t for nothing.
Toby arrived as they were sitting down to afternoon tea, and greedily piled his plate with slices of cake and little sandwiches. “Ah, here she is, the belle of the ball,” he said, with heavy-handed flattery.
“You’re very kind, Uncle Toby.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it, niece. You’re looking as gorgeous as ever. A goddess! Are you hoping to catch yourself a husband? An earl, I hear!”
“No, a chimney sweep will do.”
For a moment Toby thought she was serious, and then he laughed good-naturedly. That was the trouble with Toby, Francesca decided; he could always take a joke, and therefore one could not hate him as fully as he deserved.
“I think your uncle William is expecting something better than ‘trade,’ if he’s forking out all this blunt. Not known for his kindness and generosity, is he? Not without getting something in return.”
“Aunt Helen is doing a marvelous job helping to arrange everything,” Francesca said hurriedly. “I can’t thank her enough.”
“It’s almost like having a daughter of my own,” Helen gushed, and then her eyes swiveled abruptly to Toby and away again. “If I had one, of course, which I haven’t. A daughter, I mean.”
“But Francesca is the next best thing,” Toby said gruffly. “Come on, my love, time to go. Cook says we have roast beef and gravy, and you know how I love roast beef and gravy.”
“Of course, Toby.” Flustered, Helen rose swiftly to her feet, and Toby bustled her out.
Francesca collapsed into a chair. “I wish Helen did have a daughter; then she could be the belle of the ball and not me.”
But Amy didn’t answer, lost in her own thoughts.
“My love.”
Aphrodite looked up at him, her love, her Jemmy, and sighed. “I don’t feel like getting up this evening. I’m sorry, Jemmy. Can you manage without me? Perhaps, if I sleep for a while, I will be myself again.”
“I’m going to find you another doctor.”
“I’m just tired, dearest.” She’d been ill, unable to keep down any of the treats he had found to tempt her appetite. Now all she wanted was sleep, deep and restoring, but she forced herself to ask the questions he would be expecting her to ask.
“Henri will be able to manage supper, but he will not deal with any of the suppliers. Maeve must speak to the butcher about that ham last week, and the strawberries we bought were rotten before they reached us.”
“My love, forget the strawberries. Rest.”
“I will, in a moment. How is the new girl? I wasn’t sure whether I liked her or not, but she is very clever with her tongue. The guests are always asking for her.”
Dobson sighed and shook his head. “She is booked up with clients until next week,” he said.
Aphrodite nodded, her eyes closing. “Good,” she breathed. She felt his hand on her hair, stroking the wild curls back from her forehead, and then she was drifting, down a long tunnel. She was traveling back into the past, and the years flew by. Soon she was young again, a woman at the peak of her powers. She had two daughters, but that did not lessen her attractiveness to men. If anything her maturity made her more so.
I met him at the salon of one of the most modern hostesses, where there is a mingling of the demimonde and the aristocrats of London society. I am restless, looking for change, and I have found it.
T. is tall, dark, and handsome, but more importantly to me, he is kind. I fall in love with his kindness. And Jemmy is gone, so what does it matter who I live my life with? I don’t want to be alone.
T. isn’t married and he doesn’t seem to want to be. He is a gentleman who enjoys adventure, like a little boy who has never grown up. I am an adventure to him. He has never had a famous courtesan, and my world is new to him, and at first he is a most attentive lover.
We are having a child. T. is very excited. He will be an affectionate father, but I see now that the child and I will not be enough for him.
The world is too big and life too short for him to settle himself down here with us.
I know he cannot be satisfied any longer, and I understand. After all, I cannot give him all of myself, either. A big part of my heart will always belong to Jemmy.
“My love?”
Aphrodite blinked, trying to focus.
“Mr. Thorne is here, Aphrodite.
I think you should see him.”
He didn’t wait for her to answer, and when she opened her eyes again, Sebastian Thorne’s handsome face and lively black gaze were before her.
“Madame, I am sorry you are unwell.”
Aphrodite managed a smile. “I will be better soon.” Her eyes sharpened, and suddenly she seemed more lucid. “I know your secret, Mr. Thorne.”
He looked politely puzzled, but she recognized his anxiety.
“Francesca,” she prompted him slyly.
“Francesca?” Confusion now, and relief.
Aphrodite smiled. “You desire her, and she you. It is a pity your social position makes it impossible for you to accompany her to all of the places you wish to. How can such a man as you, Mr. Thorne, walk beside Francesca in anything other than secret? If you were a gentleman to her lady, you could keep her safe more easily. And you do want to keep her safe, don’t you?”
He didn’t like what she’d said. He didn’t like what she was seeing in his face. “Francesca wouldn’t accept me at her side, Madame,” he told her gruffly. “It wouldn’t matter whether I was a gentleman or not.”
“Sometimes what a woman says and what she feels are two different things. But you will never know, will you, because you’re not a gentleman. Such a pity. I think you are good for my daughter, Sebastian. You’re not afraid to let her be herself.”
“You know, don’t you?” he said quietly. He was watching her closely. “You know who I am?”
She closed her eyes. “I know it is a shame you cannot face the truth. How can Francesca be true to herself if you are not?”
“Francesca has a will of her own, Madame, and I cannot sway it.”
Her eyes opened, fever bright. “But there are ways of bending her to your will, Mr. Thorne. My daughter is very like her father. She is not at all proper, oh no, no matter what she believes. She wants adventure. To experience life through adventure. The more risky…the more risqué, the better.” She smiled. “You can help her to do that. You can show her how to be true to herself.”
He sighed. “Can I?”
“Oui. You can make her very happy.”
Sebastian smiled. He had the sort of smile women swooned for. She beckoned him closer to the bed.
“Tell me, Mr. Thorne, have you ever made love to a woman at a ball?”
Sebastian closed the door softly behind him. Aphrodite was asleep. He was rattled, he admitted it. Give him a thief or a murderer, and put them in a dark alley, and he was right at home. But Aphrodite had crept under his guard. She knew who he was, what he was. She knew about Francesca.
Thinking over what she’d said, he wondered if he would have the courage to do it. He was Mr. Thorne, the man no one wanted to admit to hiring, the man from the shadows. How, he thought bleakly, could he attend a London society ball?
“There you are.”
Surprised, he looked up. She was standing with her hands on her hips. “I thought you were supposed to be a cultured courtesan,” he said, amused, and glad of a respite from his own uneasy musings. “You look more like a disgruntled fishwife.”
“I am.” In a moment she’d changed from fishwife to seductress, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “I like this place,” she said. “Plenty of food and nice soft beds. And they only let the better toffs in. Some gent slapped one of the girls the other day, and now he’s barred from ’ere altogether.”
“You mean you’d leave Dipper?” he mocked.
She grinned. “Nah. Dipper’s special.”
“So, Polly, tell me…what have you found out for me?”
She gave a wriggle, preparing to tell her story. He crossed his arms and prepared to listen, not expecting very much. But, after she had finished her tale, Sebastian was no longer in the mood to be amused.
“We need to find Dobson, and then you’re going to tell him exactly what you’ve just told me.”
“He’ll be in the salon. Now Madame’s ill, he’s doing his best to keep things running as she’d like them. He’s a good man, Jemmy Dobson, and he loves her truly.”
Dobson, when they found him, was looking both harassed and worried. He was a man whose whole world had just turned upside down. At first he was loath to leave the salon, but Sebastian persuaded him that it was extremely important he hear what Sebastian had to say, and ushered him into Aphrodite’s office.
The room was still scented with roses and her perfume.
“What is it then?” Dobson demanded, running a hand over his jaw. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. “I ain’t got long, so tell me quick as you can.”
“First I need you to speak to someone.” Sebastian went to the door and beckoned Polly in.
Dobson’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this then? Louisa? Shouldn’t you be in the salon?”
“Her name is Polly, and she works for me. I’m sorry to be underhanded, Dobson, but when I spoke to Aphrodite about the possibility of there being a spy in her club, she wouldn’t believe me. Polly has been keeping an eye on things and listening for any useful information. I want you to hear what she has to say.”
Dobson looked as if he’d rather not, but he nodded brusquely. Polly began to tell her story, and as she went on, his face grew whiter and more strained. By the time she’d finished he was shattered.
“Poison,” he said, and swallowed, pulling himself together. “What sort of poison?”
“We’re going to have to ask the poisoner that.”
“Aye,” he said grimly, “I intend to.” When he looked back at Sebastian there were tears in his eyes. “I only hope it ain’t too late. If she dies…I might as well be dead, too.”
“She’s a strong woman. A fighter.”
“She’s worn down to nothing over this business with Mrs. Slater and that bastard who kidnapped her daughters.” His eyes widened. “Does that mean he planned this, too?”
“I’ll find out.” Sebastian hesitated. “Do you want me to fetch Francesca?”
“Yes. She’ll like that. It’ll comfort her to see her daughter. Francesca’s the one she worries about the most.” His eyes gleamed as he looked up, tears mingling with rage. “What are we going to do about…?”
“Say nothing just yet. Give me time to plan. Then we’ll close the trap.”
Chapter 20
Lil’s elfin face was so serious. As soon as Francesca saw her standing at the door, she knew there was something very wrong.
“Miss, I have bad news. Your mother…Madame Aphrodite, she is very unwell.”
Francesca heard herself say, “Unwell?” but she didn’t believe it. Was her mother playing at illness to bring her running? But no, that was the way of an emotionally unstable woman—the woman she used to think of as Aphrodite. Not the real Aphrodite, the woman with the ink-stained fingers and tired eyes. “What do you mean, unwell?”
“They’re saying she has the cholera, miss, and they’re blaming Rosie for it, saying she brought it into the house. But it’s not true. Rosie’s not sick. There’s nothing wrong with her.”
Francesca tried to comprehend what Lil was saying, but it wouldn’t seem to sink in. She felt numb.
“She’s very bad, miss,” Lil went on gently. “You need to come.”
“Do you mean she’s dying…?” Her voice rose on the last word, incredulous, disbelieving. Aphrodite couldn’t die! She was indestructible. And besides, there was so much more to be said between them…
“Miss?” Lil had taken her arm, and Francesca understood that the maid was seriously alarmed by her behavior. She must pull herself together. She must be strong.
“I’m all right, Lil. Just let me get my cloak and we will go. We will take Uncle William’s carriage. Ask for it to be sent around to the door.”
Lil, who seemed to be glad to have something to do, hurried off to carry out her orders. Francesca stood a moment in her room, aware that she needed to fetch her cloak and gloves, but strangely unable to move. Some of Lil’s words echoed in her mind. Cholera. Rosie. If that were true, then
Francesca knew she was to blame for this. She had taken Rosie to her mother and asked her to hide her. She had brought danger into Aphrodite’s life in the form of Mallory Street, and now this.
I will never forgive myself.
Halfway down the stairs Francesca heard Mrs. March, her voice raised. When she reached the hall she found the housekeeper and Lil toe to toe, glaring at each other.
“Miss wants the carriage. Now.”
“The carriage is not hers to order. This is Mr. Tremaine’s house.”
“Are you sure it’s not yours?” Lil sneered. “You treat it like it was. You’re not the lady of the house here. You’re nothing but a servant, just like the rest of us.”
Mrs. March lifted a hand, and for one awful moment Francesca thought she meant to slap Lil across the face. Shocked, Francesca cried out, and both women’s heads swiveled around. Lil looked relieved to see her, but Mrs. March’s eyes glittered wildly.
“Mrs. March.” Francesca spoke clearly and calmly as she came forward, reaching out to take Lil’s arm and draw her closer. “I want the carriage brought around to the door. My mother is very unwell and I need to go to her, urgently.”
“Your mother?” Mrs. March repeated, face full of disbelief. “As far as I know, miss, your mother is upstairs, tucked up in her bed. I think you are up to something. Some mischief or other. Another guttersnipe to rescue, perhaps?”
Francesca didn’t believe for a moment that the housekeeper believed what she was saying. This was another of her ways of showing them she was the mistress of this house, in her own mind anyway. But Francesca was in no mood, and had no time, to talk her around to a more amenable frame of mind.
“Mrs. March, you are making yourself look ridiculous. Do as I ask. Immediately.”
Mrs. March’s eyes gleamed with malice. She was enjoying this, and was not about to give up the game without a fight. “I will not do as you ask! You have overstepped your authority, Miss Francesca. I’m going to fetch Mr. Tremaine; he needs to know about this. He’ll soon put a stop to your—”
“Mrs. March, my uncle is asleep. I insist that you—”