by Darcy Burke
He yanked out all thirteen of his calling cards and dug out the leather satchel containing a little less than ten pounds after the seventeen shilling donation he had made at the front door. He set them on the chair. Ronan pulled out the key to his house, which he hoped to God she didn’t want or need. He also pulled out an uncut Havana cigar he had purchased at the cigar shop on the way over. He set both onto the chair.
And that was it.
Ronan patted his pockets one last time to ensure he got everything and paused when his fingers grazed an object against the wool of his inner coat pocket. His throat tightened. His ‘lucky’ sovereign. The one thing he had left of Caroline. The one thing that represented the three years she had carried him in her heart. The one thing he had lost.
He hesitated, regretting he had brought it with him and dug it out. He slowly set it on the chair, letting it chink against the wood of the seat. His entire life was now laid out on that chair. It was sad. All of this was.
He sighed and gestured toward the chair. He hoped to God the sovereign survived. Though he doubted it would.
Madame de Maitenon sashayed over to the chair and lingered beside him, the flirtatious scent of mint piercing the air between them. Peering down at the amassed collection, she leaned over and paused. “Och. I haven’t seen a coin minted like this since I was a girl. British men from days of old used to toss coins like these when they visited Paris.” She plucked up his gold sovereign and held it up triumphantly. “This.”
Of course. The sovereign that had survived ninety-two years of history, that included Waterloo and his ten thousand pound investment of horses that literally burned to the ground, but a sovereign that could not survive the school tuition. Why he had ever considered the damn thing lucky was beyond him. The only luck it had ever brought him was that he wasn’t dead.
He shifted his jaw, but said nothing.
Madame paused, fingering the large coin. “You appear to be upset.”
He shrugged. “Think nothing of it.”
She wagged it up at him. “Who gave this to you?”
He sighed. “His Majesty.”
Her brows went up, her pink lips parting. “You have the ear of the King?”
He rolled his eyes. “Hardly. I only met the man twice.”
“That is twice more than I.” She smiled and placed the coin onto her bare palm with the date facing up. “So why is this so important to you? Tell me. You have ignited my curiosity.”
He shifted from boot to boot. “In my mind it was going to change my life.”
“And did it?”
“No.”
Her brows flickered. “Then why are you upset about giving it to me? If it did not fulfill its purpose, why this face?”
He knew why. “Because the lady I wish to make my own had carried it with her for three years in my name. So it is worth far more to me now than when I first received it from the King.”
She held his gaze. “You, my lord, understand the underpinnings of romance rather well. We simply have to tap into it more and tug it out.” She held up the sovereign. “I will keep this until you impress me enough to get it back.”
That was one way to motivate him into cooperation.
She patted his arm. “I have no doubt you will. And perhaps maybe even today you will.” She turned toward the chair again and perused the remaining items. She reached down and took up his cigar, running the length of it under her nose. “Havana?”
“The best cigar there is.”
She wagged it at him. “And worth the price of your tuition.”
Her generosity was beyond what he expected. She had to be doing it because of her association with his uncle. “I can buy you a box. I insist.”
She crinkled her nose. “Non. This one here will last me a year. I only puff once. A lady should never puff more than one cigar a year. Otherwise, she becomes dependent on puffing all the time. And a woman should never be dependent on anything. Not even a man. It makes her frail.” She waved toward the chair. “Take the rest. I have no need for it.” She circled away, still running the cigar under her nose and strode toward the statues.
Wonders never ceased. Whoever thought stopping at a cigar shop a little over an hour ago was going to change his life. He was beginning to understand his uncle’s passion for this woman. She was amazingly quirky, yet brilliant.
Gathering everything from the chair, Ronan pushed it back into the pockets he had retrieved them from. Adjusting his morning coat around his frame, he glanced toward her. “So when do we begin, madame?”
She tucked the cigar daintily into the left pocket of the unbuttoned waistcoat belonging to one of the statues, as if adding to a collection she had acquired. She admired her handiwork with the playful tilt of her head, then turned with the sweep of her skirts toward him. “You will begin…now.”
Lesson Sixteen
Set aside what you think you know.
It will allow for the romantic in your heart to peer out and grow.
-The School of Gallantry
God help him, he didn’t know if he was ready for this.
Madame slipped two fingers into the décolletage of her lace gown and withdrew his calling card with the turn of a wrist. She displayed it. “Yours?”
He eyed the ivory card, knowing it was. “Yes.”
She ripped the card into several small pieces and with the flick of her hands, sent them fluttering sideways to the floor. “Formalities between us no longer exist. You will entrust me with your secrets and I will entrust you with mine. Everything that is said between us will not be repeated to anyone, not even Lady Chartwell who oversees the application of my school. She will know nothing of why you are here for reasons I will later explain. Now sit. So we may begin.”
A breath escaped him, knowing she wouldn’t be sharing their conversation with anyone. Ronan sat in the gilded chair set in the middle of the room. He tried to direct his gaze toward anything but the oversized penis a few feet away. “About how…long will today’s session be?”
“That will depend on how cooperative you are. And your humor is rather lame. Do away with it.” Madame de Maitenon promenaded toward the sliding doors and swept them closed to ensure their privacy before promenading back to him. She slowly rounded him, her blue eyes meeting his, and asked, “Do you enjoy life?”
What a question. “There could be more to enjoy.”
“Ah. I see. And do you enjoy taking your horse out into the city?”
How the two were connected, he had no idea. He shrugged. “I suppose.”
She sighed. “And we have found our first problem. A man who answers ‘could be’ and ‘I suppose’ clearly is not enjoying life. You are merely drifting. We must change that. Because a man seeking to be passionate and romantic should never drift. Non. He should know what he is most passionate about, no matter how insignificant it may appear. You must learn to coax the little boy in you out of the shadows and toss him into remembering what he enjoys and why. Cease focusing on your sorrows and focus on your joys. Go out riding next week. Force your horse into a stampeding gallop that will take your breath and move everyone out of the way. That is when you ask yourself if you are enjoying life. It will be your first step outside of this ‘could be’ and ‘I suppose’. Better to say ‘no’ than ‘I suppose’. I expect you to apply this way of thinking to everything. You must be either ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Do things you normally would not do and keep asking yourself whether you would do it again. The more you do and the more you ask, the more you will thrive and understand what ignites not only you but your passion. Will you take my challenge?”
In his younger years, he and his uncle used to race their horses down Rotten Row every week, just to agitate everyone on the path and show off their skills as riders. He bit back a smile thinking about it. It had been years since he had gone riding like that. “I will go riding and take it from there.”
“Bien.” She eyed him and eventually said, “I will now be digging my nails in a bit deep
er, for which I apologize.” She paused. “How much does your Lady Caroline know about what Lady Stanbury did? And does she know about your life with your father and what it was like?”
Ronan swiped his face. His uncle apparently included everything in that letter. “No. She knows nothing.”
“Why?”
He shifted in the chair in agitation. “Because I don’t want her to know.”
She veered toward him, that brisk scent of mint, floating close. Pausing before him, she said, “You must tell her. Otherwise, her doors will remain closed to you because she will have no understanding of who you are.”
Christ. He fell back against the chair. “No. I have humiliated myself enough in her eyes. I’m not doing it. I’m here to learn how to woo her. Not humiliate myself.”
Madame de Maitenon reached down and with a forefinger gently lifted his chin.
He paused and met her gaze.
Still keeping her finger in place beneath his chin, she explained gently, “You did nothing wrong. You were a boy who bore a wicked lash that should have never touched your skin or your mind. But now that you are a man. You must right the wrong done against you for shame destroys the soul. And if you let this shame destroy you, my lord, the woman you wish to claim will never be yours. For no woman wants a broken man. Do you understand?”
He blinked rapidly, his throat tightening. In that moment, he achingly recognized that this courtesan, was worth far, far more than a Havana cigar. “I understand.”
She released his chin. “I am glad you do.”
A breath escaped him. “So when do I tell her? And how do I do it?”
She held up a hand. “Non. You are not ready. Until I say you are ready, you will say nothing and do nothing. You will not write to her or call on her and you most certainly will not send her flowers or gifts of any sort. You must give her time to dim the pain you have caused.”
Ronan gripped the painted, carved arms of the chair hard. Because he knew time was something he didn’t have. “There is another man. If I give her time, and show her no indication of my interest, I am giving him an opportunity to take my place.”
She tsked. “Have more faith in what you share with her.”
He gripped the arms of the chair harder, feeling his fingers pulse. “Faith is one thing, her mother is quite another. She made it very clear to me she would push Caroline into his arms.”
Her brows drew together for a moment. She tilted her head toward him. “And do you think your Lady Caroline would allow for that? Is she one who can be easily persuaded to do something she does not wish to do?”
His grip relaxed. “No.”
“Then we will leave it be. Unless the need arises, have faith in her and above all, have faith in yourself. You are worth more than this doubt.”
His gaze flew up to hers, trying to cradle that faith. “And what if I see her somewhere in passing? As I am still taking these lessons and keeping my silence? What do I do?”
She lifted a silver brow. “If you see her, acknowledge her. Openly smile and speak to her as if no angry words had ever passed. Make her curious. Leave her breathless. Make her want to see you again.”
For the love of— “And how do I do all that? Without making myself look stupid, that is?”
She grinned, causing the wrinkled edges of her bright eyes to deepen. “Starting tomorrow, you and I will be meeting every day, save Sunday, here in this room for two hours in the evening until the school opens. In but one short week, that would be twelve hours of experience you will have acquired which half of London’s men will never see. So you needn’t worry. You will learn to be dashing much quicker than you think. We must, however, focus on something more important in this moment. And that is…facing Lady Caroline’s brother. Oho. That will be a challenge. I know her family all too well and have had dealings with both her mother and father prior to the old earl’s death. The entire family is overly passionate, and coming from me, that says something. They know nothing of control and if given a chance, they would slap the devil and take over hell. Her brother is no different. Do you agree?”
He smirked. “Yes.”
“And yet, now, this same man has resigned himself to overseeing your Lady Caroline’s well-being in the way her father used to. He must be informed of all that has come to pass. But…given his passionate nature, it must be resolved strategically.”
If only it were that easy. “What do you suggest?”
“You will bring her brother here to the school. Next week.”
Ronan’s lips parted. “You want me to bring him…here?”
“Oui. It will do him good to see the efforts you are making in pursuing his sister.”
The woman was out of her mind. God’s teeth, Hawksford was a man’s man who didn’t even read books unless the topic involved Roman history, blood and war. Ronan also didn’t want the man knowing he was taking lessons from a courtesan.
Ronan held up both hands, giving both palms to her. “I am not bringing him here and making an idiot out of myself.”
She regarded him for a long moment and lowered her chin. “Bring him here with you to Berwick Street. May first. Next week, Saturday, in the morning between ten and eleven. Mr. Hudson will be notified of the appointment. You will not only bring Lord Hawksford, but you will ask him to apply for the school. See to it he does.”
Ronan choked and sat up, his booted foot hitting the leg of the chair beneath him. “Ask him to apply? And how the devil do you expect me to do that? The man would never apply to a-a…school whose sole purpose is to educate men on women. What man would? I barely got here myself. And I’m desperate! The moment I tell him, he’ll—”
She snapped up a reprimanding hand. “Argue not. If you think he will not come or apply, then I suggest you not tell him. Give him an excuse. Any excuse. He will be better off. Because we need him to enroll and be part of the school before we inform him of the debauchment. That way, he will be able to see the effort you are making in honor of his sister and have a better understanding of your devotion. The moment we disclose the truth to him, that is when Lady Caroline will be tossed back into your arms, for Lord Hawksford will insist you and she wed, and that is when—”
“No.” Ronan sat up in the chair and pointed rigidly up at her. “Absolutely not. God, what are you— No. I will not force Caroline into my arms like that. No. I wish for her to come to me willingly. I wish to woo her. As a gentleman should.” As Captain Wentworth would.
She angled toward him. “And woo her you shall. But different rules apply. You are not wooing a virgin anymore. That bed and whatever romance you might have created has been sullied by you. Lady Caroline has been debauched, and regardless of what you think, she, as a debutante, without a husband, is ruined and this cannot be approached differently. You must protect her and mere wooing is not enough. If this Lady Waverly your uncle wrote of, knows of her ruin, everyone will know of it soon, too. Let there be no doubt in that. A whisper in this society is a flint spark over a stack of dry hay. You cannot allow your Lady Caroline to carry such a burden on her own should that spark fly prior to you winning her. As a man, you must lay out your honor to her brother first before you are able to even begin to lay out your honor to her and woo her. She may not be willing when she is pushed into your arms, but she loves you. Or at least that is what your uncle has written to be such. Assure me before we proceed with this idea of mine. Does she love you?”
Ronan swallowed, thinking about what she felt for him. “I suppose.”
“Och, and it is back to ‘I suppose.’ Does she love you, my lord? Even a man incapable of professing love knows the difference. Does she love you? Do you know?”
Ronan drew in a deep breath to keep himself calm. He eventually nodded. “What I do know of love…yes. I would say she loves me.”
“Then you are not forcing her into misery. You are ending it and ensuring she finally meets a man willing to educate himself in her honor. So embrace what I offer. It is best for her and it is
best for you.” She reached down and tapped his shoulder twice. “Bring her brother. Bring him under the guise of whatever you see fit. Lady Chartwell will do the rest. She will get him to not only stay but put in an application with the mere pucker of her lips. Done.”
He glowered at her. “You expect me to lie to Hawksford to get him here to the school?”
“Would he attend class alongside you and place both hands on a desk and smile?”
He shifted his jaw. “No.”
“I have made my point. Some men need to be roped. And Lord Hawksford is a man who needs far more rope than you have in your box.”
This mess was about to get a whole lot bigger.
She rotated, using her hand to keep her skirts from brushing his feet and walked over to the statue whose outstretched arm was draped with a corset. The one with the largest carved cock on display. Turning, she wagged a finger at him. “Come.”
Why did he feel as if his first lesson was about to begin? He rose, adjusted his morning coat, and then strode toward her, halting beside her and the sculpture.
She gestured toward the statue, adjusting the corset on its arm. “Face him. Foot to foot.”
Ronan eyed her. “Is there a purpose to this foot to foot? Aside from wanting to make me feel incredibly inferior given the size of his…?” Ronan gestured toward the massive stone cock that had been carved to hang slightly to the right.
She delicately tapped at Ronan’s cheek. “First rule: always trust my intentions. Now face him, s’il vous plait. Or I will call over my Harold from the other side of my school, whom I assure you, is thrice the size of this statue, and I will make you face him for your first lesson. You decide. A statue or a real man. Which?”
Something told him he wanted the statue. Facing the sculpture, Ronan walked straight up to it, determined not to think about what he was expected to do and paused where the arm stretched toward him, just at the tips of its splayed, rounded fingers that angled upward toward the ceiling.