by Julia London
“I should tell Lady Montgomery about this,” Priscilla announced. “She would not like that sort of scandal at her ball. You know how she is.”
Caroline had said too much. “I do,” she agreed. “Perhaps we ought not to upset her with gossip.”
“Caroline! Are you making this gown?” Felicity asked.
“I am.”
“Astonishing! Will you make me one?” Felicity asked.
“Oh, darling, you must!” Priscilla agreed, and passed the dog she was holding to Caroline so that she could hold out the sleeves of the muslin.
When Caroline left Priscilla’s salon, she had orders for two more gowns. Both for Felicity, however. Katherine Maugham had eyed the gown with envy but could not bring herself to ask Caroline to make her one.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The guest list for the highly anticipated Montgomery ball has allegedly been culled by one. This should be a reminder to us all that even a prince of a man may be hiding some sordid secrets that no respectable young lady would want to introduce to her family.
It is said that a well-heeled gentleman, higher in social stature than most, has been spotted in some unsavory locations. It is rumored that this particular gentleman might have removed a skirt quite light in its appearance and placed it in the kitchen of a fine house. Several theories abound as to why, but the most sordid one is certainly the most plausible.
Ladies, it is suggested, if you are inclined toward canine companions, that you endeavor to open your windows and employ a broom so as not to offend your guests with uncomfortable smells and unwanted hair on the hem of skirts.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and
Domesticity for Ladies
IT TOOK A few days before Leo could persuade Mr. Frame to take him to the brothel he’d bragged about. But Mr. Frame, who had heretofore not shown any inclination toward morality, had suddenly developed one when it came to Leo. He thought it unseemly for a prince to make such a call. Leo didn’t know if he should be offended or pleased that a man he hardly knew thought to step in as his moral compass.
In the end, however, Mr. Frame was persuaded by a promise of a rare bottle of Alucian wine to be delivered to his home...just as soon as Leo had it delivered to London.
Fortunately, Mrs. Mansfield, the proprietor of this decrepit house, so wretchedly dark and dank within, did not know who Leo was, other than someone she had deemed important and thereby felt entirely comfortable demanding an outrageous amount of coin to meet Isidora Avalie. “Yes, of course! Winsome lass, that one,” Mrs. Mansfield had said, as she’d plucked at the loose threads on the arm of her chair. The woman’s girth alone was testament to the success of her despicable enterprise. On a table beside her was decanted wine and a plate of meats and cheeses and nuts, as if she planned to snack her way through the evening while women were subjected to God knew what in the rooms one reached through a very dark and narrow flight of stairs.
“It’s quite a compliment to ask for her by name,” Mrs. Mansfield continued, eyeing his clothing. “You look familiar, my lord. Have you visited us before?”
“How much for the girl?” Leo asked coolly.
“Well, she’s one of my best, she is. She’s Weslorian, you know, and they are particularly skilled in the art of pleasure. I get the highest coin for her.”
Leo never resorted to violence. Even in his youth, he’d avoided tumbles with friends—the thought of striking someone or something nauseated him. But he’d never wanted to punch someone in the mouth quite like he wanted to punch the leering smile off of Mrs. Mansfield.
He negotiated what was an extortionist’s rate for the lass, and when he handed over the money, Mrs. Mansfield hoisted herself from the chair and beckoned him to follow. She showed him to a small shabby room with a worn red velvet settee that looked as if it had been host to any number of gentlemen’s asses. There was a narrow gag-inducing bed in the corner, the sheets rumpled from use. Mrs. Mansfield summoned Isidora Avalie from somewhere behind a door in the room. “Hurry along girl, there’s a gentleman asking specially for you.”
Isidora entered the room timidly. She looked very uncomfortable, clad as she was in scarcely a dressing gown. She had dark hair and dark eyes, but Leo was struck by how vacant her eyes looked. She stared at him blankly for a moment then cast her gaze to the floor.
“What are you doing standing there?” Mrs. Mansfield said irritably to the girl and pushed her into the middle of the room, so that she was standing directly before Leo.
“You have an hour, milord,” Mrs. Mansfield said. “I’ll knock on the door ten minutes to, and give you time to dress.” And with that, she’d gone out.
Isidora did not look up. She was trembling. “Bon den,” he said. Good evening. “Weslorina?”
He hadn’t meant to startle her; he’d meant to assure her by speaking her native language. But the language panicked her. She’d turned and lunged for the door, but Leo was able to leap ahead of her to keep her from leaving before he could speak. She tearfully begged him in Weslorian and English not to hurt her, to let her go.
“For God’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you,” he’d insisted.
“Why?”
“Because I do, Isidora. You deserve better than this life. Help me find the others, help me bring the men who did this to you to justice.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“You do,” he said gently but firmly. “Allow me to help you and the others.”
She immediately dissolved into tears. “I can’t,” she said tearfully. “They will force my father to give back the money. My family won’t take me back, not after this. I’ll have no place to go but the street—”
“You do have a place,” he said, although he had no idea where she might go—he would have to think of it. But he would think of something.
He gestured for her to sit on the foul settee and tell him how she’d gotten here. Her family was from the mountains of Wesloria, on the border with Alucia, she said. He knew the mountains were an impoverished part of both countries. Most of the men there worked in the coal mines. She said a gentleman had come and offered quite a lot of money to her father for her. She said her father took it to save the rest of the family from starvation.
Leo vaguely recalled his brother talking about the lack of economic opportunity, particularly in some parts of the country. Leo had barely registered the conversation, as he did any topic that seemed too weighty, because he had long been a man who didn’t want to bother himself with anything of importance. Isidora had been sold so a man could feed the rest of his children. Leo could not imagine what it must be like to live with nothing, or the sort of desperation the man must have felt that would allow him to sell one daughter to save his family.
So Isidora had come to England to work for nothing. That wasn’t enough for Lord Hill, she said—he’d wanted more than her services as a chambermaid, and when she’d rebuffed him, he threatened to send her back to the man who’d arranged it. Ann Marble had tried to intercede and he’d fired her, too, then took his family to the country.
Leo withdrew the five names from his pocket and showed her the list. Isidora shook her head and confessed she couldn’t read. So Leo read the other names to her. Nina, Eowyn, Jacleen, Rasa.
Isidora knew them all, but knew only where Jacleen and Rasa had ended up. Rasa, she said, was a maid in the home of Lord Pennybacker, a name that was mildly familiar to Leo.
Jacleen, however, had been sent to a grand country estate belonging to the Duke of Norfolk. That news caught Leo by surprise—the Duke of Norfolk had attended Cambridge with him. He’d known Henry many years and considered him a friend. For God’s sake, he was married to a lovely woman with three children and a fourth on the way. Surely he had no part in this. “In Arundel?” he asked.
“Je,” Isidora said weakly.
H
is head spun. Who were these men that would use women so ill? How could he be nearly thirty years old and not know men like that existed in his sphere? The knowledge soured his stomach and made him more determined than ever to end this abominable practice.
But first, he had to agree to a price for Isidora. Unfortunately, Leo was not adept at the art of negotiation—when he agreed to the outrageous sum of one hundred pounds, Mrs. Mansfield’s little eyes had gone wide with surprise, and he knew then that he’d been outdone.
He brought Isidora to the Clarendon Hotel, ignoring the looks directed at him, and paid for a room for her. The desk clerk could hardly contain his disgust at what he perceived was happening, and at first he refused to grant her a room. But Leo reminded him how much the Kingdom of Alucia was paying for the rooms he let. The clerk reluctantly agreed to allow one night. Only one night. “Won’t have her type here, Your Highness,” he’d said tightly.
“Her type,” Leo had said, “is that of a woman who has been treated very ill by your country.”
But the Clarendon Hotel was not a solution, and Leo fretted to Josef. “The lass wants to go home to her family,” he lied. “I need a place she might stay until I can arrange it.”
As Josef had not seen Isidora, he had no reason to suspect what Leo was about. He thought about it a moment and said, “May I suggest Mr. Hubert Cressidian.”
Leo knew of the gentleman, an Alucian merchant living in London, who was, by all indications, richer than Croesus. “Do you know him?” Leo asked. “Can I trust him?”
Josef’s expression had remained entirely neutral. “It is my experience, Highness, that Mr. Cressidian may be trusted for a price.”
It turned out that Josef’s instincts were right. Mr. Cressidian was thin and wiry, with black hair and eyes so brown they appeared almost black. Leo told him he needed a place to keep a young woman safe from harm. Mr. Cressidian didn’t ask any questions about Isidora. He didn’t seem to care. He didn’t seem particularly curious about anything, really. He merely stated his terms: a stipend for her keep, and an introduction to a French shipping magnate Leo knew.
Neither did Isidora ask questions—she seemed resigned to whatever fate had in store for her. But when they arrived at the very large house in Mayfair, she looked at Leo. “Who are you?”
She truly had no idea who he was. “I’m no one,” he said, and he meant it. He smiled and said, “My friends call me Leo.”
Three days later, Josef informed Leo that his invitation to the Montgomery ball had been rescinded.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A soiree to be held at the London townhome of the Duke of Norfolk was postponed indefinitely. A friend of the duke has said that the reason might have had to do with one of the guests being unsuitable to dine with someone as dignified as the duke and duchess. Could it be the same gentleman who was disinvited from the Montgomery ball?
Ladies, doctors advise a period of nine hours of complete rest with no distractions or diversions after a period of maternal confinement and birth, with no more than five minutes allotted to one’s husband to assure him all is well.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and
Domesticity for Ladies
CAROLINE HAD A habit of entering her home through the back door if she’d been shopping, lest Beck see her packages. Generally, he was none the wiser when she used this method of entry, but this afternoon, he was striding through the kitchen when she tumbled in with her wrapped packages of brocades and silk fabrics. He took one look at the bundles in her arms, then at her. “What are those?”
She tried to think of an excuse that would spare her. None came to mind.
He frowned at her silence. “Come with me,” he said gruffly.
Things had reverted to normal between them, with Beck complaining about her spending and the fact that she ate his favorite jam—oh, and that she practiced the piano when he was trying to read. And, of course, his favorite complaint—that she did as she pleased.
“Why?” she asked as she hastily shoved her packages beneath a wooden bench in the small entry into the kitchens.
“Why do you think?” He was holding a wooden tray onto which he had himself, apparently, put cheese and bread. “I rang for you two hours ago.”
“I was out, Beck,” Caroline said as she followed him down the hall. He was striding purposefully, and she was struggling to keep up as she tried to unfasten her cloak.
“Yes, you were out shopping again!” he said crossly over his shoulder before turning into his study.
Caroline managed to get the cloak unfastened and pulled it from her shoulders, dropping it onto a chair in the hall.
“I have my own money, have you forgotten? And besides, Felicity Hancock is desperate for one of my gowns. Ladies are beginning to notice—”
“I don’t care,” he said, and dropped the tray onto his desk as she struggled to remove her bonnet. “And need I remind you that your inheritance is in a trust. You are spending our money.”
“Well, whose fault is that?” Caroline demanded.
“It is necessary, Caro, as you have given every indication you would spend all of your trust if given the opportunity.”
Caroline managed to remove her bonnet, but it caught a pin in her hair, and one thick tress tumbled down over one eye. “Blast it,” she complained, and with a sigh of exasperation, she tossed her bonnet onto his desk, too. “I’ll just go and repair my hair,” she said, but before she could turn to the door, he stopped her.
“No, no, we’ll have this said and done now,” Beck commanded her. “I mean to go out soon, and I know your tricks, Caro. If you go up to your rooms, I won’t see you for hours, and when I do, you’ll probably have brought along Mrs. Honeycutt to verbally assault me.”
“Hollis does not verbally assault you, Beck. She is careful to say only what is true.”
“Oh? So is it true that I was born with the head of a monkey and the heart of an ass?”
“Not that, obviously, but the other things she says are true.”
Beck wasn’t listening. He was waving his hand at her. “Enough about Hollis Honeycutt. If Percy were alive today, he’d have her in hand. He shouldn’t have died like he did.”
Caroline tried to push the tress from her face. But the way her hair was pinned, it kept falling. “You have no regard for my very dear friends who have been my loyal companions all my life.” She swiped up a bit of cheese and stuffed it into her mouth and said, dismissively, “Go on then. What is it that is so important?”
“You want to know? I’ll tell you, Caro. You need to marry.”
Caroline froze. Then she laughed. “Not this again!”
“What? You’re six and twenty or very near, and it’s high time you married and it’s high time I let someone else worry about your purchases.” He picked up a stack of bills and waved them at her. “As it happens, I’ve taken matters into my own hands.”
That got her full attention. Beck often ranted about the need for her to marry, but he’d never said anything like this. “Pardon?”
“Your reluctance to entertain an offer before now has left half the eligible gentlemen skeptical of you. So, I’ve let it be known—discreetly, of course—the size of your dowry.”
“You did what?”
“You can’t continue on like this, flitting from one soiree to the next dressmaker without any regard for who you are destined to be.”
“How do you know who I am destined to be?” she demanded, fighting the lock of hair.
“Are you mad? Must I tell you that you are destined to be a wife and mother?”
“Who decreed that I must be a wife or a mother? This is precisely the reason I do not entertain the idea of marriage, Beck. Men think they know all there is to know. Perhaps I’d like to be an artist instead.”
Beck sat down in the chair behind his desk and leaned back, templing his f
ingers. “That would be well and good, darling, had you ever shown the slightest interest in becoming an artist. I hired an art tutor for you when you were seventeen, you may recall, and you deliberately painted as horribly as you could to chase him away. The only interest you’ve shown is being invited to the next social gathering.”
“At which I excel, thank you. And I didn’t say I will be an artist. I was making a point. I might like to be a dressmaker. I happen to be very good at it.”
Beck snorted. “You will not be a dressmaker. I spoke to the prince about it, and he—”
Caroline let out a bark of laughter before her brother could finish. “Your friend Leo? Your dear, dear friend who has been uninvited to everything in the last fortnight? He knows nothing.” She swiped up another piece of cheese.
She noticed Beck had stilled. When he didn’t give her a snippy little retort, Caroline looked at him. “What?”
“I was about to say, Caroline, that I spoke to the prince about it, who happens to be standing just there.”
An icy scrape went down her spine. The top of her head buzzed. She stared at Beck for a long moment before she pushed her hair from her face and made herself turn around to see. The prince was indeed standing there, his back against the wall, one dark brow arched. He gave her a half-hearted wave. She hadn’t seen him because the door was open and impeding her view, and her bloody hair had obscured the rest of her vision. She whipped back around to Beck. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here?”
“I should think it obvious, seeing as how he is just there,” he said, gesturing emphatically toward the prince. “And by the bye, what do you know about the invitations being recalled?”
“Nothing!”
Beck narrowed his gaze.
“And what, pray tell, did the illustrious Royal Highness have to say for my deplorable status of being an unmarried woman?” She knew quite a lot about those invitations, as it happened. It was she, after all, who had suggested to Lady Norfolk that she might want to postpone her soiree, given Lady Montgomery’s rather visceral reaction to the gossip surrounding the prince. Priscilla had relayed to Caroline that while having tea with Lady Montgomery, she’d mentioned the prince’s unsavory habits, and Lady Montgomery had nearly choked on her crumpet, and screeched for her secretary then and there and demanded the invitation be rescinded at once.