Gail Ranstrom

by The Courtesans Courtship

  She delivered a riposte to Prescott’s parry and then attempted a quick retreat. The button on the end of Prescott’s foil pressed firmly to Miss Lovejoy’s left breast, just above her heart. Panting, she grinned at the teacher and spread her arms wide in surrender. God, what Geoff would give to have her face him in so charming a surrender.

  “Your match, Mr. Prescott,” she said.

  “You are doing remarkably well, Miss Deauville. Another week and you will acquit yourself in any setting.” He lowered his sword to point it at her feet. “Better, of course, if you had boots and did not slide when riposting.”

  Geoff looked down at her stockings. Of course she wouldn’t have suitable boots. He’d remedy that today. A pair of handmade Hessians. Yes, those trim calves would look good in Hessians.

  Prescott saluted her with his sword and Geoff did not like the look in his eyes. He’d be willing to wager that swordplay was not the only thing on the teacher’s mind. Geoff came forward, covering his annoyance.

  “Ah, here you are, Miss Deauville. Go change, if you please. We are going shopping.”

  She turned to him, her eyes alight. “Shopping? Am I to get a new shawl and fan as you promised?”

  “At the very least,” he told her.

  Prescott replaced his foil in the rack and shrugged into his jacket. “Tomorrow, Miss Deauville. Practice your lunges, eh?”

  She nodded and hurried from the ballroom. Geoff had never seen anyone so anxious to go shopping. She must be more bored here than he’d thought. He’d have to come up with some other ideas to keep her busy. The busier she was, the less likely she’d be to get in his way. Or in trouble.

  He walked Prescott to the door and couldn’t resist a warning. “I would take it badly, Prescott, if I should learn that there is anything improper going on between you and Miss Deauville.”

  Prescott looked offended. “Miss Deauville is a fine, high-spirited young woman with a natural ability for the blade. I believe she has the talent to outshine most of my students. My interest lies in that, Lord Morgan.”

  Geoff wasn’t convinced but he let it pass. Almost before he could shut the door, Miss Lovejoy appeared at the top of the stairs in her plain blue gown and dark wig.

  “Shall I need a spencer, Lord Morgan? Is it crisp outside?” she asked.

  The gown was the same one he’d seen her in for three days. She couldn’t have had much in the small valise she’d taken away from the Thayers’ house. He knew she’d remade two of her dresses into evening gowns. It was unlikely that she would have much more with her.

  “No, Miss Lovejoy. It is a fine afternoon. Come along. Madame LaFehr will be waiting. I made an appointment with her this morning.”

  Madame LaFehr opened the door to her salon and waved them in. “I ’ave been wondering where you were, my lord. As you instructed, I canceled my appointments to accommodate you.”

  “For which you will be compensated, Madame.”

  “Mais oui. I know your generosity, my lord. But some of my best patrons are not pleased that they were put off.” She gave a typically Gallic shrug and turned to face Miss Lovejoy. “Miss Deauville, I cannot wait to dress you! Your coloring is unusual for a brunette, with the fair skin and the blue eyes, eh? We shall create a look that will be all the rage.”

  Miss Lovejoy’s eyes widened. “A shawl and a fan, Miss LaFehr. That is all I’ve come for.”

  Geoff smiled. “I insist on a few new fripperies, Miss Deauville. Your appearance will reflect on me now, and I won’t look penurious.”

  Miss LaFehr led them toward the same dressing room she’d used for fitting the trousers, and Miss Lovejoy leaned close to him to whisper, “But I haven’t the means for this, Lord Morgan. Truly, I haven’t the means for the shawl and fan, but you said you’d replace those.”

  “I can bear the cost of a few gowns, Miss Deauville.”

  “But it wouldn’t be proper. Accepting such things from you would be scandalous.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “A little late to be thinking of that, Miss Deauville. Everything you’ve done for the past week or more has been scandalous. And just think! You did not even need my help to get yourself into this predicament. You managed it all on your own.”

  “But I do not like taking gifts from you.”

  “From men in general, Miss Deauville, or just me? Then think of them as coming from your aunt, or your cousin, or even Mr. Talbot. After all, it is their money that will pay for your fripperies.”

  She looked up at him again and a slow smile curved her lips. “Very well. I shall love to spend your money.”

  And she did. After confirming the measurements she had taken for Dianthe’s fencing outfit, Madame LaFehr brought out dozens of fashion catalogs from French, German and London designers. Geoff found that he actually enjoyed selecting styles that would complement Miss Lovejoy’s slender figure and then pairing them with the rich array of fabrics and colors Madame LaFehr arranged before them.

  After an hour, tea was brought to the dressing room and Madame LaFehr excused herself to check on her seamstresses. “I shall be back presently,” she said as she shut the door. “Amuse yourselves, mes amis.”

  Geoff sat back and watched Miss Lovejoy pour the tea. She was touchingly lovely and a pang of yearning shot through him. He needed to distance himself from the girl before he became too attached. Reconciling himself to losing Constance had taken him years. If he went so far as to let himself love Miss Lovejoy, losing her would be the end of him. She had the fresh innocence of youth and a willingness to fully engage in life. Lord, she made him feel young again instead of the world-weary cynic he’d become. Ah, but he’d always been cursed with wanting what he could never have.

  She handed him his cup of tea and sat back. “Are we done now, but for my shawl and fan?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “We’ve only selected four evening gowns, and you have nothing for daytime but the dress you’re wearing. I think you should have four of those. And, perhaps, some underpinnings.”

  A deep flush infused her cheeks and she looked down into her teacup. “You are spending entirely too much money on me, my lord. I’ve never had so many things at once.”

  “Not even for your presentation to society?”

  “We saved for that for months and years in advance. Then, when I came to London, I was fitted with accessories. Gloves, handkerchiefs, stockings, dancing slippers and a few new gowns. After Papa died, we were in a terrible bind. Every pence we made from market and craft went to taxes, paying our brother’s tuition at Eton and preserving his inheritance.”

  “You were poor?” He would never have guessed she’d been anything but the pampered, willful little debutante he’d thought her.

  “As church mice.” She nodded. “My aunt Henrietta had to come to town to earn a living, and later Afton came to be Aunt Grace’s companion.”

  “Was it difficult?” he asked, trying to picture Miss Lovejoy washing dishes, doing laundry or cooking.

  “In many ways it was the happiest time of my life. In London, I feel so useless. At least in Little Upton, I was doing something constructive and of value.”

  “Is that why you seek a murderer?” he asked, beginning to understand her determination.

  “Yes.” She sighed. “And help others when I can.” She sipped her tea thoughtfully.

  He waited. He’d read enough faces over gaming tables to know that she was on the verge of broaching a dangerous subject.

  “Laura Talbot was my friend,” she finally said. “I tried to help her. She came to me when her brother lost her to you in a card game. She told me her brother said you’d cheated him. I took her to Aunt Grace, and we vowed to do everything in our power to save her from that fate.” She glanced up at him and winced. “Not that you are so awful that…well, she did not even know you, my lord, and your reputation is not exactly…reassuring. It seemed so unfair. How could she be no more than a pawn on her brother’s chessboard?”

  “Her brother is the
worst sort of gambler,” Geoff said softly, hoping she would understand. “Everything he possesses is subject to his addiction. If I had not won Miss Talbot, someone else would have. Perhaps someone worse, perhaps someone better. I, at least, would have provided for her and would not have abused her trust.” And he would not have loved her. Their marriage would have been one of convenience, requiring nothing he could not give—love, commitment.

  “But you would have…” she bowed her head over her teacup again “…exercised your marital rights.”

  Geoff fought his smile. “Yes. And I would have expected what any husband has a right to expect. Fidelity, loyalty, children. In exchange, she would have had my name and protection, every comfort at her fingertips, and an indulgent husband who would not have taken too much of her time or made unreasonable demands.”

  “But you did not love her. And you lost her in a game of chance with my aunt. Isn’t that as reprehensible as what her brother did?”

  Only he and Adam Hawthorne knew the truth of that wager, and he wouldn’t betray it now. “I didn’t lose her, Miss Lovejoy. Your aunt won only the right for Miss Talbot to make her own choice of marrying me or remaining at her brother’s mercy. In the end, and at her request, I released her from her brother’s debt. The choice was hers. And how has it served her? I hear she ran off with a fortune hunter who abandoned her when he learned of her brother’s losses and that there’d be no dowry.”

  “Laura’s judgment, it seems, is no better than her brother’s.” Miss Lovejoy looked up at him and, for the first time during the conversation, her clear blue eyes held no trace of suspicion or contempt. “She told me after her interview with you that you did not try to coerce her, nor behave improperly, and that you gave her that choice. For whatever it is worth, my lord, I have come to believe she made the wrong choice. For her, but not for you.”

  He was disconcerted to realize just how much it was worth. He put his cup aside and leaned toward her. “Why was it the right choice for me?”

  “Because you deserve more. You deserve to be loved.”

  Loved? He hadn’t expected that. That Dianthe could wish more for him… He leaned toward her, reaching out to cup her cheek.

  Madame LaFehr hurried into the room like a small whirlwind. “Eh bien! Now we shall finish with the day dresses. I ’ave told my girls that they will earn extra to ’ave these things ready as you requested, my lord. And they will be ready for fittings within a few days.” She clapped her hands and a seamstress bustled in with more catalogs. “Come, sweet’ earts, make your choices!”

  Chapter Ten

  Lord Morgan deposited her on the doorstep of his house on Salisbury Street with a promise to fetch her after supper, but Dianthe was restless. She’d been caged for days on end with nothing to do but practice her fencing. She longed to stretch her legs. Instead of going inside, she turned right and headed for St. James Park.

  Within twenty minutes, and with nothing more than her wig, a bonnet and a parasol to disguise her, Dianthe strolled past Hortense and Harriett Thayer’s bench twice. She trusted the twins not to betray her, but she couldn’t be certain of the maid. Dianthe took careful note of their abigail’s position with other servants near the pond before approaching them.

  “Psst. No greeting for your dearest friend?”

  Hortense, the shyer of the two, glanced down at the path, presumably to indicate that they had not been introduced. Harriett, though, looked up and studied her face, narrowing her eyes.

  “Do we know you, miss?”

  “’Tis me. Dianthe. In disguise,” she said.

  Hortense looked up and met her eyes for the first time. “Heavens, Dianthe! We’ve been so worried! No one knows how to reach you or where you’ve gone.”

  “Oh! But this is too delightfully wicked!” Harriett whispered, pulling Dianthe down onto the bench between them. “Here we are, in the very center of polite London, speaking with a…well, an accused murderess.”

  Dianthe’s stomach clenched in a sudden cramp. “Then it is official? I’ve been indicted?”

  Harriett heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Everyone hushes when we come ’round,” she complained. “They know how close we’ve been and they think they are protecting us from…well, who knows what. But we are unable to gather any news.”

  “Yes,” Hortense agreed, “and Papa said last night at dinner that he was a little relieved you ran off. Especially after the authorities came to question us. He said bankers must be careful of their reputations and the company they keep, lest investors withdraw their funds.”

  Harriett shot her sister an angry look. “All the same, Dianthe, I think we should smuggle you home and hide you in our room. Our abigail would never tell, and then at least we would know you are safe. And where are you staying? No one has seen you in days!”

  Sighing, Dianthe glanced around at the passing riders and pedestrians on the path. Any of them could be Bow Street runners sent to follow the twins and see if they met with Dianthe. “This is not a lark, Harri. I could hang. And all because I stopped to render aid.”

  “Oh, that’s not all,” Hortense volunteered. “The magistrate told Papa that when they searched Miss Brookes’s rooms, they found your calling card, as if you had sent it to her by way of appointment.”

  Dianthe frowned. Yes. Afton had written about sending Nell her card. Now the authorities were using it as evidence of her guilt. If the truth came out—that Nell was her cousin—they’d consider it as additional motive to keep Nell quiet and prevent her from ruining Bennett’s bright future and Dianthe’s own marriage prospects.

  Hortense leaned nearer and lowered her voice. “Papa said that, should we run into you, we must give you the cut sublime. But do not worry. We’d never do that, would we, Harri?”

  “He believes I am guilty?” Dianthe asked.

  “I do not think so. ’Tis just that, well, he thinks that, no matter the outcome, your reputation is irretrievably damaged. To become involved in a murder, no matter how inadvertently, places you beyond the pale, if you know what I mean.”

  Yes, she knew. “I should not compromise you further. What if I were recognized? Your papa would shut you in your rooms and not let you out until spring.”

  “There is not the slightest chance anyone will recognize you, Di,” Hortense disagreed. “The dark hair and beauty patch completely threw us off. And we know you better than anyone outside your family.”

  She stood and smoothed her skirts. “I just wanted you to know that I was safe so you wouldn’t worry. And I knew I could count on you to tell me the on dit.”

  “But when will we see you again?” Harriett asked.

  “And where are you staying?” Hortense interjected. “Can you be certain they will not evict you if they learn what you are accused of?”

  “They…they know. They—” Well, to be honest, she didn’t know if Lord Morgan cared or not. She’d never asked. “I will not be evicted,” she finished weakly.

  “Can you meet us here tomorrow?” Harriett asked.

  She shook her head and backed away as she saw their maid separating herself from her friends and coming toward the bench. “I shall look for you when I can, but I am not certain when I might come again.”

  “Keep well, Dianthe,” Harriett whispered after her.

  Head down, she hurried away, fretting over this news. Her family had come perilously close to losing credibility with the ton before, but they had always managed to avert disaster. But not this time. There was no hushing up her scandal, or sweeping it under the rug. No, this time all of London was privy to the details.

  She most regretted what it would do to her family. Society would tar them with the same brush they used for her. Bennett would receive no more invitations from prominent families to spend holidays or vacations. Afton and her husband would remain relatively unscathed by virtue of his title, but Dianthe could no longer expect a good marriage.

  Though the lighting was dim and subdued, Dianthe felt the weight of eyes upon
her as she stood at the rouge-et-noir table in the main salon of the Blue Moon that night. Here, courtesans mixed freely with members of the ton and aristocracy. The lines between the classes were blurred and money was the only measuring rod.

  She turned slightly and caught Geoffrey Morgan’s gaze. He was standing alone near a door to a private room, leaning against the jamb in a pose of relaxed boredom, and jingling his counters in one expressive hand. He raised his glass to her and drank. Was he inviting her to join him? Or had he simply tired of the tables? She smiled. He was so disturbingly handsome that she could not resist.

  “Ah, so it is mutual?” the woman beside her at the table asked in an undertone.

  She returned her attention to her wager. She’d lost, and the croupier was sweeping the house winnings away. The little hoard of cash Lord Geoffrey had given her to gamble was dwindling quickly. Rather than place another bet, she linked arms with her new acquaintance, who introduced herself, and strolled toward a punch bowl. Miss Emma Tucker was a lovely dark-haired courtesan dressed dramatically in a red satin gown.

  “It is mutual, is it not?” she asked again.

  “Mutual? ’Ow do you mean, Miss Tucker?”

  The woman shrugged. “It is plain to see that the others are right and Lord Geoffrey is smitten with you, but…well, as you know, women in our position cannot afford to be sentimental. If we allowed our hearts to rule our heads, we would die impoverished castoffs. I conceive your dilemma, however. Lord Geoffrey is so charming that you would have to be made of stone to resist.”

  Smitten? Lord Geoffrey was smitten with her? Absurd. Miss Tucker must need spectacles. As for resisting…well, she supposed she hadn’t. Physically, at least. She couldn’t forget that night in his coach when she’d—no, she couldn’t think of that now. She must remember that she and Lord Geoffrey were from different worlds, and any connection between them would be utterly unsuitable. Ironically, he was now more respectable than she.