Once a Courtesan (Once Wicked Book 2)

by Liana Lefey

  She cleared her throat. “I do hope the heavy rain holds off until you are safely returned home, Monsieur Woodson. Or are you planning to take dinner with us?”

  Glancing up, he shot her a lopsided smile that caused her middle to tighten. “Would that I had known this morning. I told Mrs. Hayton to expect me at seven.”

  “A shame, but your stomach will not regret your promise. As I recall, her table is well laid and the portions generous.” Stepping inside, she meandered about the room, straightening here and there, picking up a lost hair ribbon from the floor. “How went your two final classes?”

  “Well enough.” Closing the book in which he’d been scratching, he laid aside his pen. “I’ve decided your—my—students are quite an accomplished lot. There is very little I can teach the oldest ones. We worked on measures and bargaining skills.”

  “Bargaining?”

  “Yes. It was the one thing I did not see in your former teacher’s curriculum. A very useful skill, bargaining. It can shave pence off the cost of some items and save much in the end. Management of money was one of the skills you asked me to teach.”

  “Indeed it was,” she replied, unable to hide her pleasure. “Congratulations, monsieur. It’s only your first day, yet already you have pleasantly surprised me. I was going to ask if there was anything you felt ought to be altered with regard to the curriculum, but I see you are ahead of me.”

  His brows pinched. “I meant no disrespect to your Mrs. Farrow. Bargaining is not a skill a lady of her position is likely to need.”

  It was an innocent enough assumption. “How came you by it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I’m from a large family of little means, Headmistress,” he said with a laugh. “We lived quite frugally, but I’m unashamed of the hardship we endured. It taught me the value of hard work and to appreciate what I have. Two of my sisters work in great houses. It’s unfortunate that all too frequently the payment for their services is either late in the coming or short of what was promised. Funds must be stretched to cover their families’ needs, and bargaining is a way to extend their coin.”

  It was the first time he’d made mention of his family, and what she heard pleased her. She liked his humility and frankness. “I am most grateful for your willingness to share knowledge earned through experience, as well as that which may be learned from books. My girls will no doubt benefit from it.” Their eyes met and held, and deep inside Jacqueline a spark kindled. Again unexpected and unsettling, but not unpleasant. “Your parents must be very proud of you.”

  “My mother claims to be content with me,” he replied with another charming, lopsided smile. “My father died some time ago, but I think he would have been pleased to see his only son follow in his footsteps.”

  So his father was a teacher, too. “Are you lacking any materials necessary for training the students in this new skill?”

  “None, although I’d like to propose having some of your kitchen staff speak to the older girls concerning the current cost of common items. They’ll know what’s reasonable and thereby lessen the risk of your pupils being taken for fools when they leave here.”

  His suggestion was something she had until now addressed on an individual basis with each young lady as she was deemed fit for service, usually by means of a chaperoned outing. But if it kept him happy and occupied, she’d oblige. It would certainly do the girls no harm to learn the likely reach of their wages a bit ahead of schedule. “An excellent idea. I shall make the arrangements. I may be unable to spare anyone from the kitchen until next week, but it will be soon.”

  “Thank you, Headmistress,” he replied, sounding as though he hadn’t really expected her to acquiesce.

  “Have you any questions about your students?”

  “Indeed, several.” He rifled through the stack of parchment on his desk. “Ah, here it is. Yes. Misses Janet Fairfield and Suzette Bagley. Are they related?”

  “No, monsieur,” she said with a smile. “But they are like sisters.”

  “Ah, that explains it, then.”

  She frowned. “Is there a problem with either of them?”

  “No, not at all. I just marked how close they appeared when I met them in the library this afternoon. Miss Fairfield recommended some reading material.” He held up a copy of Aesop’s Fables. “You allow the students unsupervised access to the library? Do you not worry they might damage the books?”

  “Why would they do such a thing?” The look he gave her in return was comic. “All but a few of my students came here not knowing how to read,” she explained. “I often find that once a child unlocks the secret of words, they hunger for them. There is a kind of magic in reading. It takes the mind to places where the body may not go, allowing one to forget, for a while, life’s troubles.” Indeed, they were a desperately needed escape for some.

  Reaching out, she took the little copy of Aesop’s Fables from his hand. As before, when their fingers touched, warmth coiled in her belly. Determined not to show how it discomfited her, she stroked the old book’s worn leather spine with a loving finger. “These books are precious, treasured by us all, monsieur. My girls would sooner hurt themselves than damage them.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, blue eyes narrowed as if he was trying hard to see inside her, then cleared his throat and again perused his list. “Miss Emma Stone. Is she new to the school?”

  It took all her willpower not to show her panic. “Emma is indeed recently come to us, yes. She and her sister were left here by their uncle after their widowed mother succumbed to illness. We tried to find him, to no avail. I could not turn them away.”

  “Do you take in every waif left on your doorstep?”

  A bitter laugh burst out before she could stop it. “Would that I had the resources to do so, monsieur, but no. I petitioned the school’s sponsor to allow them to stay, as the girls showed both aptitude and willingness to learn.”

  “Forgive my saying it, but is not the elder Miss Stone a bit long in the tooth for an orphanage? In fact, I’ve marked several of the girls here are quite beyond the typical age allowed by other establishments.”

  Her hackles rose, and she had to force herself to speak in a civil tone. “Firstly, monsieur, this is a charity school, not an orphanage. I know of no orphanage in all of England that strives to educate its wards or better their lot as we do. As for Emma and her sister, they came from a tragic situation. I shan’t elaborate further, and I adjure you to put aside any lurid curiosity concerning their past, lest you inflict pain on the innocent and invite the loss of your position. The school’s sponsor has approved their presence and paid their tuition, and that is sufficient enough reason for you to accept it. Your job is to teach the children of this school, not to judge them.”

  Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “Now, unless you have questions pertaining to academic or specific behavioral issues with your students, I shall take my leave and allow you to finish your task here so that you may not upset Mrs. Hayton by being late to dinner.”

  Shock and contrition warred on his face. “I humbly crave your pardon, madame. My intent was not to judge, but only to better comprehend. This…school is unlike anything in my previous experience. I have but recently come from an environment where the children were loved, spoiled even, by their parents. Forgive me, but I must know…do all the students here originate from unfortunate circumstances?”

  Damn. Damn, damn, and damn! Her face ached from the effort it took to maintain a placid demeanor. “I can tell you only that all were abandoned and have no family but the one they create while here. The details of their personal histories belong to them, not to me. I’m charged only with safeguarding them and providing them the necessary tools to forge a future for themselves.”

  His face grew pensive. “Again, I beg your pardon, Headmistress. I did not fully understand the mission of this establishment. Had I known, I might have handled things differently today.”

  The breath caught in her
throat. “What do you mean?”

  “In the library this afternoon, I believe I may have unintentionally frightened Miss Fairfield and Miss Bagley.”

  Oh, mon Dieu… “Tell me.” Relief flooded her as she listened. It wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined, but it certainly explained why he was questioning things. I should never have hired a man to work here! But at this point, it was too late. If she dismissed him, he’d cause trouble. She was sure of it.

  “Now that I’m aware,” he continued, “I shall endeavor to be more careful. Given their reactions, I can only assume they have good reason to be afraid of me.”

  She tried hard not to show the depth of her upset. “Not all of them are wary of men, monsieur. Some are simply unaccustomed to males. They will overcome their reticence in time.” If he does not worry them to death first. Tonight, after he left, she would call a general assembly. In retrospect, she ought to have done so before his arrival. Instead, warnings had been issued from each teacher individually. My girls need to know they are safe.

  “I’ll do all I can to ease their fears,” he promised quietly, echoing her thoughts.

  It was spoken with all the solemnity of a vow. Inside Jacqueline, the tension that had been coiling relaxed a little. There was no lie in his eyes.

  Fool! That means nothing! The last time she’d trusted a man—other than Tavistoke and Lady Montgomery’s husband—she’d nearly died for her mistake. Stiffening her spine, she gave him a curt nod. “I appreciate your understanding and discretion.” Moving to the door, she paused. “Until tomorrow, Monsieur Woodson.”

  The back of her neck stung as she strode out and down the silent hallway. Heart racing, she hastened away as quickly as possible without actually breaking into a run. The clack of her heels on the floor echoed eerily, sounding for a moment like the footsteps of a pursuer. Dread filled her at the thought.

  No. Taking a deep breath, she slowed her pace and reinstated calm. Mr. Woodson wasn’t Fairford. His references had spoken highly of him, especially Lord Mulgrave. She’d visited the man herself, and he’d been effusive in his praise.

  Her office was dim, its window pelted by the torrential downpour outside. The sky flared white for an instant, and thunder rumbled. A shiver wracked her body, one that had nothing to do with the cold. Don’t think about it. Just freshen up and go down to dinner. Focus on the girls, on allaying their fears.

  Going to her desk, she penned a note summoning Dr. Horton at his earliest possible convenience. She must speak with him and adjure him not to reveal too much to his old friend.

  Tying on her apron, she grimaced. She’d wait until everyone was finished eating and then address them. It was more important than ever that every single person at this school guard her tongue.

  Chapter Six

  September 21

  Terror paralyzed her. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks as she awaited the next humiliation. Fairford lay pressed against her back, panting, sated—she hoped. Her wrists were raw, her arms already beginning to color where his fingers had dug into the flesh, and her innards ached.

  He’d been particularly vicious tonight. She’d have a hell of a time tomorrow.

  A shudder of revulsion ran through her as a hot, sweaty hand ran down her flank, the flesh stinging where his cruel fingers brushed across livid welts. “I’ve been a bit more severe than was perhaps warranted,” Fairford’s hated voice murmured at her ear. “I shall make a special apology. Roll onto your back, mignon, and let me see your beautiful face.”

  Suppressing a sob, Raquel obeyed, forcing herself not to close her lids against the sight of her tormentor. The devil himself dwelt behind his eyes.

  His pale gaze sent a shard of ice into her heart. A terrible smile tilted his mouth as he ran a thumb along her bruised lower lip. “Truly, you have the face of an angel,” he whispered. “Worth every penny. Spread your legs again, my dear, and allow me to apologize properly.”

  A scream rent the air—her own.

  Jacqueline sat up with a jerk, gasping for breath.

  Alone. She was alone in her bedroom at the school. Relief pushed a sob past the knot in her throat. Sagging against the pillows, she gave in and let herself cry, muffling the sound lest anyone walk by her door and hear.

  Like the tempest raging outside her window, her tears ran unabated, fueled by regret for what was forever lost, fear that refused to be extinguished by logic, and rage that hadn’t yet died despite her tormentor’s demise. By her own hand she’d slain Fairford. She’d watched the light die in the bastard’s eyes as his soul had been consigned to eternal damnation.

  Yet still he haunted her.

  Fury settled like a cold stone in her gut. Woodson brought this on. It’s his fault.

  Reason fought back against irrational blame. No. It’s my fault. How could she have allowed herself to be charmed into letting him past the door a second time? She was no starry-eyed waif to be cozened by a handsome face or an endearing smile. Evil was all too easily concealed by such masks.

  But is he evil? Every instinct told her he wasn’t. And rationally, she couldn’t blame him for her nightmares.

  Lightning flickered outside her window, illuminating her wrapper where it hung on the corner of the wardrobe door, for an instant making the pale pink silk appear white.

  A white gown…

  Her throat closed, and she forced the intrusive memory away. Rising, she turned up the lamp until it shone brightly, a bulwark against the darkness inside and out. The clock told her it was nearly time to get dressed. At least she’d managed to sleep through most of the night. Rain continued to spatter the window. At this rate, the courtyard and garden would flood.

  The girls had responded well to her speech last night. They now knew everything she knew concerning Mr. Woodson. She’d withheld nothing. Her apology for not having spoken with them sooner had been met with equanimity and instant forgiveness. In addition, Janet and Suzette had chosen to share their encounter with the others, casting him in a surprisingly positive light.

  Satisfied with the meeting’s result, Jacqueline had gone to bed at peace—or so she’d thought. Again, the wrapper caught her eye. Again, the disturbing memory intruded.

  A white gown…symbol of purity…he always made me wear a white gown…

  Going over, she grabbed the wrapper and shoved it into the bottom of the wardrobe, slamming the door. I will ask the laundress to dye it.

  Taking up her lamp, she went to her desk and rifled through her letters. Lady Montgomery had written her yesterday, but she’d been too tired to read it before going to bed. She tore through the seal and unfolded it.

  My dear Jacqueline,

  In speaking with Lady Dibley yesterday, it came to my attention that she is soon to have need of a new lady’s maid. I spoke to her of your school, of the fine training your girls receive, and she said she would be most willing to meet with and interview any candidate deemed ready to accept such a position. Do let me know if any of your students are prepared to enter into service and when they might be able to speak with Lady Dibley.

  Yours in friendship,

  Lady Montgomery

  A little thrill shot through Jacqueline, driving away all other thoughts. At last! Suzette and Coralline were both ready. But which one ought she to put forth? Coralline was a wonder with hair and cosmetics, but Suzette spoke better French. Of the two, Suzette was the more reserved.

  Laying out a sheet of parchment, she took up her pen and dipped it into the inkpot.

  Dear Lady Montgomery,

  I am pleased to inform you of the availability of two candidates for the position. Both have been exemplary pupils and are prepared and eager to enter into service. Please let Lady Dibley know I will happily convey both young ladies to her residence at her earliest convenience for an interview.

  With warmest regards,

  She signed it with a flourish, taking care to write Mme. Jacqueline Trouvère. Even after three years, she still had to pause and think before signing anyt
hing. Laying the letter on the blotter, she let the ink dry before folding and sealing the correspondence.

  With any luck, both young women would be placed within a fortnight. The thought of separating little Janet from Suzette caused a momentary pang of regret, but it couldn’t be helped. Their departure would open up space for two new students, which presented another dilemma. Eventually, whether by choice or necessity, she’d have to decide whether or not to trust Woodson and, if not, what should be done.

  A glance at the window showed the beginnings of a watery sunrise. Autumn had most assuredly arrived. Stretching, she rose and began to dress. She spied the wadded-up wrapper in the wardrobe’s bottom.

  Such foolishness! The stubborn streak in her made her hang it back up neatly. She’d not have it dyed for no better reason than a stupid nightmare, even if that nightmare was more memory than dream. Giving in to her fears would mean he still had power over her, and that was something she refused to allow.

  By the time Henriette knocked, Jacqueline was ready for the finishing touches on her toilette. As soon as she was presentable, she snatched up the letter she’d written and handed it to the maid along with the summons she’d drafted for Dr. Horton the night prior. “I want these delivered as soon as it’s fully light.”

  “Yes, madame.”

  “Send someone else with the letter to Dr. Horton. I want you to deliver Lady Montgomery’s yourself, and you are to await her reply.” The girl nodded, and Jacqueline dismissed her. It was time to put aside worrisome visions and concentrate on the day ahead.

  When she walked into the dining hall, she marked Mr. Woodson’s absence and wondered briefly if he would show up this morning. She didn’t think him the sort to abandon his post without giving notice, but one never knew with a man.

  He appeared just before classes were to start, looking rather sodden and bedraggled, yet still wearing a cheery smile. “It’s but a short walk; however, I nevertheless think I’ll have Mrs. Hayton’s driver bring me around whenever it rains. The streets are not to be trod in anything less than boots—with stilts. I nearly drowned crossing Stafford Street.” Pausing suddenly, he whipped out a kerchief and covered his nose and mouth just as a loud sneeze burst forth. “Your pardon, ladies.”