The Courtesan's Secret

by Claudia Dain

  “Lord Henry,” she said, leaning forward, “you do yourself an injustice in trying to do me honor. I did nothing, I promise you.”

  “You did something,” he said, having quite got hold of himself again. “Louisa won’t tell me, naturally, but I know she came to you for counsel in reacquiring the Melverley pearls, but that’s all she’ll say.”

  “And what did become of those pearls, Lord Henry? I did hear a rumor that you had won some sort of wager with Lord Dutton and that he had paid you in pearls. Is Louisa now wearing her delightful pearls again?”

  “I think, Lady Dalby,” Blakes said, looking at her in blatant amusement, “that you are far better informed that you like to let on. But, to answer you, Louisa has lost all interest in that particular item and has chosen to give them to her sister, Eleanor.”

  “How very generous of her,” Sophia said. “It is not many women, in fact, I can’t think of one offhand, who would give up such a precious item. She clearly found something she values far more than mere pearls.”

  Upon which, Lord Henry Blakesley smiled the most delicious smile and ducked his head. It was completely charming. She could not possibly have been more delighted.

  “Which brings me to the reason for my visit,” he said. “I wanted to thank you, for whatever you did or did not do, and, knowing that the blanc de Chine cup is no longer in your possession, and hearing a rumor”—and here he smiled most sarcastically—“that you were redoing this room around a new theme altogether, I have brought you this.”

  And he unwrapped the coarse wool bundle which he had been balancing on his knee, to reveal a smaller bundle wrapped in fresh linen strips, which upon being unwrapped revealed the most exquisite vase of celadon porcelain. He handed it to her and she took it as gently as if it were an infant child. It was hexagonal in shape with floral lacework cut into the sides and it was the most brilliant, clear, leaf green in color.

  “You are fond of Chinese porcelain, I trust?” he said.

  “Very,” she said softly.

  “This is from the royal household of the emperor Qianlong. I hoped you would find a suitable spot for it.”

  And for the first time in her life as it had begun in London all those years ago, she said words she had never thought to say again. “It is too fine. I have done nothing to warrant such a gift, Lord Henry.”

  “I have Louisa,” he said. “Without you, I would not have her, no matter what you would say to deny it. Take the vase, Sophia,” he said softly. “I have to thank someone or I shall go mad.”

  “And Louisa knows of this gift?” she said, looking at him and starting to grin.

  “She wanted to give you the Melverley pearls. I convinced her that, by her grandmother’s wish, they should stay in the family. Yes, she knows of the gift,” he said, starting to smile. “She wouldn’t mind a bit if you renamed the white salon the Blakesley Room.”

  “I shall consider it,” Sophia said on a laugh of pure pleasure.

  IT was on that buoyant note that Sophia bid Lord Henry good day and went in to the yellow salon to greet Lady Jordan.

  What a surprising day it was turning into. When life slowed down in London, the citizens revolted, forced to find their own amusements. How lovely for her that they seemed to be drawn to Dalby House.

  Lady Jordan was sitting not at all serenely on one of the yellow silk sofas. She looked uncomfortable. She also looked sober. It was quite startling.

  “How good to see you, Lady Jordan,” Sophia said, signaling Freddy to bring in more chocolate. “You are looking very well and on such a blustery day, too. How do you manage it? I have been closeted within, scarce brave enough to venture out.”

  It was a pleasant enough lie, and entirely harmless.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Lady Dalby,” Mary said somewhat stiffly. “I have enjoyed seeing Mr. Grey again, though I think he is out of Town now?”

  “Yes, he went to Dalby House with the boys, though I should stop calling them boys as they are very much men, but they required some time in the country, as you may imagine. Coming to visit, which I always so enjoy, is something of an effort for them. I do hope that Caro can spend more time with them before they must leave.”

  “Yes, I should say so,” Lady Jordan said blandly, clearly not at all sure how to move from small talk to the real purpose of her visit.

  “And how is Lady Eleanor, now that her sister is wed? Is she eager for her own nuptials?” Sophia said, smiling politely.

  Mary jerked and frowned. “Hardly. She is but sixteen, Lady Dalby. Too young for thoughts of that sort.”

  “I would say that is a matter of personal inclination, Lady Jordan, wouldn’t you?”

  “Lady Eleanor’s inclinations are entirely appropriate for her tender years.”

  “I agree with you completely,” Sophia said pleasantly. “Lady Louisa is a contented bride?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “So it would seem,” Mary said, not at all cheerfully.

  “I’m delighted to hear it. I have not seen Lord Melverley out lately, though, as I said, I have been rarely out myself, but he is well? The exertions of the wedding did not tire him?”

  Lord Melverley had never found an event yet that tired him, unless it be the task of parenting his daughters.

  “Not at all,” Mary said. “And I must thank you, Lady Dalby. Mr. Grey made it clear to me that without your help, the situation with Louisa might have turned out differently than it has done.”

  It was said with some discomfort, with a great deal of hesitation and even a slight hint of distaste. But it was said. Sophia could not help being a little impressed with Lady Jordan’s fortitude.

  “Nonsense,” Sophia said. “I’m sure you put too much upon me, Lady Jordan. Does not love always find a way?”

  According to the poets, it did, but both Sophia and Mary were too old and too experienced to listen to poets.

  Upon which Mary looked at her, and Sophia calmly returned the look.

  “I thought you had arranged the Earl of Westlin for her,” Mary said quietly. “Arranged with Westlin for her, for Margaret. A tawdry jest, a wager, something.”

  “The only thing I would arrange for Westlin is a hanging,” Sophia said just as quietly.

  “I did not understand about Melverley then,” Mary said. “Living in Town, one understands things so much better.”

  “Very true, I’m afraid.”

  “You tried to help Margaret, did you not? She needed to give Melverley a child.”

  “And he has two,” Sophia said. “He should have been most content, but some men do not have the facility for contentment. Why blame ourselves when that proves to be true?”

  Mary jerked again, her gaze going down to the floor and then to the windows and then to the hem of Sophia’s dress.

  “You believe that?” Mary said, her voice just above a whisper.

  “Of course I do, and so should every reasonable woman,” Sophia answered. “Some men refuse to be pleased. It is very sad for them, naturally, but that is all.”

  “Did John tell you? About us?” Mary breathed.

  “Of course not,” Sophia said. “It is only that I see things, perhaps those things that others would prefer not to see. John has always been and ever will be the soul of discretion.”

  “You don’t mind?” Mary said, lifting her eyes to look deeply into Sophia’s. Mary’s eyes were very pretty still, a clear and light blue, and so beautifully tilted at the corners. She had been a rare beauty in her day, as had her sisters.

  “I never mind when people find their happiness, even if it only lasts an hour. Certainly, I have found mine often enough not to begrudge you my brother for a season.”

  After that, they said nothing, but sipped their chocolate and let the rainy afternoon slide by, closing old wounds, erasing old scars. It was, truly, a lovely way to spend an April day.

  IT was some time later, when Lady Jordan had left Dalby House and Sophia had almost decided upon a lovely pale green silk da
mask for the sofas and dark green damask of the same pattern for the chairs, all perfect compliments to her remarkable celadon vase, that Freddy announced yet another visitor.

  For such a dreary day, it was proving highly productive.

  The white salon had been cleared and reordered, still famously white, but with the addition of a single stroke of celadon, which was truly a spectacular piece, when Lady Amelia Caversham was announced and gracefully entered the room.

  Amelia was dressed in white muslin sprigged with a delicate green design, by happy chance, and looked quite at home in the white salon. All except for her tense expression, that is. The girl looked positively intense, which was such an unusual choice for her. Amelia was ever and always pleasing and pleasant, truth be told, almost to the point of plainness, which was such a pity as she was such a good-looking girl: fine white skin, shining blond hair, which was so popular at present, and eyes of a delicate and unusual shade of blue. Truly, she was the exact type that poets made famous.

  “How lovely of you to come and see me today, Lady Amelia. You have brightened my day considerably. But, where is your chaperone, Lady Jordan?”

  “I,” she said slowly, “I am not quite certain, Lady Dalby. She was out, and I suppose, in my eagerness, I left before she returned.”

  “Eagerness? How flattering,” Sophia said. “I was the source of your eagerness?”

  “Lady Dalby,” Amelia said, “please excuse me for being forward, but I . . . I was most impressed, that is to say, actually I found myself astonished by the chain of events surrounding Louisa’s marriage to Lord Henry Blakesley. She is, even more astonishing, quite completely content in the marriage, and I . . . I, well, you may not know it, but we had our come out together and attended most functions together, with Lady Jordan, of course.”

  “Of course,” Sophia said politely.

  Sweet girl, a bit scattered, but being on the marriage mart for too long could do that to a woman of a sensitive nature. It only remained to be discovered if Amelia Caversham was of a sensitive nature. She did hope not. Sensitive natures were such a nuisance.

  “And now, now,” Amelia continued, holding her neck very still and straight, showing it to best advantage, which was certainly wise of her, but her eyes were darting all over the room. It was not in the least attractive. “I suppose that I don’t know what’s to become of me now. I am at a loss, Lady Dalby, and I could not but wonder if you, you would be so kind as to . . . help me.”

  “Help you do what, Lady Amelia?” Sophia asked with a smile of complete understanding. Of course, everyone in Town knew exactly what Amelia needed and what she clearly needed help in achieving. “I am afraid I do not quite comprehend you.”

  Amelia looked appropriately uncomfortable. She squirmed a bit and her eyes did more jumping about and, truthfully, she came very near to knocking over a rather expensive Directoire table that John had brought with him from Paris. It was the latest thing in French design and, of course, she was the first to have one. If one could not be the first, there was hardly any point to French design, was there?

  “Lady Dalby,” Amelia finally got out, her cheeks flushed most becomingly. “Lady Dalby, I would very much like to marry . . . to marry . . .”

  “Yes, darling, you would very much like to marry. Of course you would. Perfectly natural,” Sophia said, for how could she resist the smallest and most innocuous of torments?

  “I mean to say,” Amelia continued, which showed such pluck, it surely did and spoke so eloquently of the girl’s character. Sophia was delighted to see it, she truly was. “What I mean, Lady Dalby, is that I would very much like to marry a duke, and I would very much like your help in acquiring one.”

  “Why, darling,” Sophia said, leaning forward and taking Amelia by the hand, “that sounds positively riveting. I’m quite sure that, between the two of us, we can manage to snare one duke, don’t you agree?”

  Claudia Dain is an award-winning author and two-time RITA finalist. She lives in the Southeast and is at work on Sophia’s next attempt at match-making.