by Lavinia Kent
“I don’t see how that is possible.” Although part of her did. Part of her had always longed to live beyond the rules, to have adventures, to give in to her curiosity, but that was not important now. “And even if people didn’t really believe, they would pretend to, and that is what matters.”
“It is not that easy and you know it. And my father would never take my bastard into his home.” Madame Blanche’s voice became bitter.
“I can’t believe that Scarlett would—”
“All I can do is assure you that it is true.” Madame Blanche lifted a hand and pressed it against one breast. “And now it is about time to feed my daughter.”
It took Cynthia a moment to understand. “You feed her yourself? You do not have a wet nurse?” That thought was as unsettling as any of this tangle.
Madame Blanche smiled. “No, and I am glad of it. Feeding Hope is the brightest moment of my day.”
“Hope? You named her Hope?”
“Yes, because she is my hope for the future.”
“I like it.” There was something very right about it as a name and Cynthia had not yet even met the child.
Madame Blanche walked to the door and opened it again, speaking to someone though the crack. A moment later, a well-padded older woman walked in holding a bundle of blankets, a kicking, wiggling bundle of blankets.
“The little thing is just beginning to bother. She slept for a good two hours, but I reckon she wants her mama now.” The woman handed the bundle to Madame Blanche and then looked over at Cynthia. Her eyes moved to the pile of veils tangled on a chair. “And who might this be?” She turned to Madame Blanche. “Are you taking over Ruby’s habit of helping ladies? It is a dangerous business.”
Other ladies came here? Why? That was a peculiar thought. Cynthia pursed her lips.
“Don’t worry, Cook,” Madame Blanche replied. “I have no such intentions. I am merely advising an old friend that I do not need help and that she would best be on her way.” Madame Blanche cuddled the baby close. A chubby hand poked out, and then another, two little starfish waving in the air.
“Oh, do let me have her. You promised I could see her.”
Madame Blanche’s eyes rose to hers, studied her. She turned slightly, holding out the bundle. “I do hope you know how to hold her.Be sure to support her head.” A slight pause, and then, “This is Hope. She is the only thing important in my world. I need you to believe that. The past is unimportant. Let it go.”
Cynthia reached out and took the child. “She’s so small, so light. I’ve never felt anything so delicate.”
“She was born a trifle early,” Cook said.
Madame Blanche paled, but did not move.
A trifle early. Cynthia did not know much about childbearing, but she did know how to count. She knew just where Jasmine had been at that time. “That would mean…“
“I have told you it means nothing. The past means nothing. Accept that or go now.” She turned to Cook. “And don’t you have something on the stove that needs to be stirred?”
Cook shook her head but said, “Of course, Madame. Call for me when the little one is ready for another nap.” She exited the room.
Cynthia forced her focus back to the bundle, shifting it so that a small face was revealed.
And instantly she was captured.
Serious blue eyes stared up at her. A small nose wrinkled and precious lips tilted up in a pout.
The baby twitched and considered—and stared and stared.
“She’s beautiful,” Cynthia whispered. “Beautiful. So beautiful.” Holding the baby with one arm, she lifted a hand and stroked the rosebud cheek. “I’ve never held one so young. I spent some time with my cousin when her youngest was half a year, but that was so different than this. She looks like she knows all my secrets. I swear she’s reading every thought that passes through my brain. And those eyelids—you can almost see through them.”
Madame Blanche gave a smile and then said, “Cook swears that babies know all the secrets of the universe until they begin to speak, and then forget them instantly. She says it’s the great curse of humanity.”
“I would not have taken her for such a philosopher.” Cynthia did not look up, but continued to stare down at the pensive infant.
“You would be surprised—and I sometimes think she, Cook, is the one who knows everything. I could never have done this without her. Whenever I have a question about the house or the baby, she is there with a ready answer.”
Cynthia felt a wistful pang. “It would be nice to have someone to fill that role. Since my mother’s death, I always feel I am discovering the world on my own.”
“Surely your father…” Madame Blanche’s voice trailed off.
“He tries, but he is not a woman. I doubt that he could tell me anything about babies beyond the making of them. I want someone who can tell me all the secrets of what happens.” Her eyes darted up from the baby to her friend, and for the first time she really did see Jasmine under Madame Blanche’s placid mask. “I did not mean that—or at least I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I just meant that…And Gillian, my new stepmother, she—”
“I do understand.” Madame Blanche cut her off, her mouth tightening and then relaxing in a way it had not since Cynthia entered the room. “I can tell you do not judge me. It surprises me, but I do believe you accept my daughter and me; I do feel it. I had come to believe that no one would ever realize that I am still the same, that life has changed but I have not. I thank you for that.” Jasmine, for she was now Jasmine, reached out and stroked her daughter’s cheek, then looked up, almost shyly, a friend ready to share a good piece of gossip. “And perhaps sometime I will explain how such things work and what you need to know.”
“If you would just explain to me how you…”
Jasmine released a long sigh, her face again growing stiff. “That is not what I meant. It does not matter what happened to me and you do not really wish to know. There are some things that nobody wishes to know.”
Why would Jasmine say that? They had always shared everything. What could be so bad? “Don’t you remember how we always promised that which ever one of us married first would be sure to tell the other all about what really happened on a wedding night? And you were just hinting that…”
Jasmine did not answer, but turned to walk away to stare at a painting over the fireplace, a rather vivid still life of a vase filled with an improbable mix of flowers. Tulips and roses rarely overlapped in season. And were those crocuses? And bluebells? No, such a bouquet was not possible outside of an artist’s mind.
Trying to bring a smile to her friend’s face, Cynthia continued, “And I do still want to know about wedding nights. Do you know how curious it made me to hear that you had come here? You must have some secrets you can share. Do not leave me ignorant.”
“You do not want to learn the lessons I have,” Jasmine answered quietly, not following Cynthia’s lead.
As if sensing the lack of attention, the baby began to fuss and whine, her delicate cheeks turning a startling shade of plum. Cynthia tried to rock her and cuddle her close, but the whimpering grew to a cry.
Jasmine turned and walked back. “Hope’s decided that she’s truly hungry. It is always sudden like that. One moment she is my sweet angel and the next a starving monster. Hand her to me and I will settle her.”
Cynthia handed Hope over and then crossed her arms across her chest, feeling a strange emptiness. She’d never thought of having a child, beyond knowing it to be somewhere in her future, but suddenly she could only wonder at what it would feel like to cradle her own babe in her arms.
Jasmine settled herself in a wing chair, laying the baby across her lap for a brief second. Her head rose and she stared at Cynthia before reaching up to untie the mask and set it aside. Even without the actual mask, it was hard to see her friend in the pale and painted features. And then Jasmine looked down at her daughter, lifting her and cuddling the still-fussing babe, and Madame Blanche me
lted away, leaving only Jasmine, with a soft smile spreading from cheek to cheek.A few quick movements and one breast was bare. Hope smacked her lips as Jasmine lifted her and then the babe latched on, her lips forming a wide circle against the white flesh. Cynthia tried to look away, uncomfortable, but found her eyes drawn back in fascination. She’d had a dozen questions before, and now she had a dozen more. What did that feel like? How did it work? Did it hurt? She had to fight to keep her hands from rising to her own breasts in exploration and wonder. Perhaps she should just ask. There would never be another moment like this. And Jasmine had indicated that she might share secrets, even if not how she had come to be here. And there were so many things Cynthia wanted to know, things about men and women, about babies, about what happened in bedrooms and brothels, questions about…
But even as her lips formed the words, a commotion arose outside the door.
“I will see her and see her now,” a loud and commanding male voice stated.
Jasmine’s eyes rose from her daughter and met Cynthia’s. They both knew that Cynthia could not be found here.
“Really, sir, just let me announce you and…”
“It’s ‘my lord,’ and I am quite capable of announcing myself.”
Cynthia’s gaze flew about the room. There was no exit. No way out. Then there must be some place to hide. There must be.
She glanced back at her friend. Jasmine was trying to calm the baby, who evidently could sense the sudden unrest.
Fruitcakes! Fruitcakes! What was she going to do? Hide behind the drapes? They didn’t seem full enough for that.
Boot heels clicked in the hallway, drawing closer and closer.
It seemed impossible to move. Her whole body was as frozen into stillness as an icicle. Any movement would mean shattering into a million pieces.
The click of the door handle.
In a single motion she dived behind the settee, flattening herself on the floor. She was not even sure whether she’d gone over the top or around the side. It was not a good hiding place, but it was the best she could do.
The door flew open, banging against the wall. It would be a wonder if the plaster was not cracked.
The footsteps pounded closer.
Her breath caught and held.
Chapter 2
“So it is true.” The furious words filled the room, their tone so sharp that Cynthia could feel their cut.
“Hello, James, how nice of you to call,” Jasmine answered calmly. “I do wish you’d treat Simms with more care, however. It is hard to find a good porter and I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
Cynthia tried to flatten herself even further, wishing she could manage to slide beneath the settee, not that it would provide much shelter.
“Can’t you even pretend to be ashamed?” the deep male voice continued, its force echoing all about.
“Why should I pretend?”
“You are everything Father said about you.”
Father. It was James. Jasmine’s brother. Cynthia’s mind filled with a picture of the lean, young man she had known years ago. She must have seen him at some ball or soiree since then, but she could not remember. Odd, since she’d more than admired him when they were younger. She might even have dreamed of marriage to the tall, thin duke’s son.
Pressing her face to the rug, she tried to peek beneath the settee, but all she could see was the bottom of his glistening boots. Was he the same long, thin boy he’d always been? The temptation to peek about the edge was great, but she held back. It might have been years since she’d seen him, but still he was likely to recognize her if he saw her. If only she could die now.
Jasmine’s voice turned completely cold. “And when have you ever listened to Father? I thought you left that to Langdon. I thought you of all people would listen to my story, would have sympathy, might even try to help me.”
“And what story would that be? How do you explain suddenly being at Madame Rouge’s with a baby in your arms?” A pause. “My God. What are you doing? Cover yourself!”
He must have just realized that Jasmine was feeding Hope. Remembering her own discomfort, Cynthia could feel some sympathy for him.
“My daughter is hungry and we were not expecting company,” Jasmine replied, her voice icy. “If you are offended by the sight, then please leave. I would much rather you make yourself scarce before you sour my milk.”
“That’s what you’re worried about? You bring ruin to the family and you worry about feeding that brat?”
“Do I need to call for a footman to have you removed?”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“I believe that my footmen should be more than equal to the task, no matter how many hours you’ve spent sparring.”
The boots paced across the room and then back.
Cynthia had only seen one of the footmen as she entered, but if the others were anywhere near his size, she reckoned that Jasmine was correct. James had always been strong, but he was only one man.
James gave a deep sigh and then collapsed onto the settee, his feet spread wide. If he so much as glanced over his shoulder, there was no way he could miss seeing Cynthia. She tried to make herself even smaller. James spoke again, and this time his voice sounded beyond tired, exhausted. “God, Jazzy, I didn’t believe it, even with all of London whispering about it. Why did you have to do this? Couldn’t you have waited until I came back from the north? I was only gone a few months. And surely you must have known before I left. Why didn’t you turn to me for help before…?”
“Before I gave birth to an illegitimate child and decided to take over one of the most notorious brothels in London?”
“What? Take over? You don’t mean…? Madame Rouge’s?”
“It’s Madame Blanche’s now.” Jasmine’s voice was firm. “And what could I have said to you? What could you have done? I did think of it, but this truly was my only choice.”
“Father says he had several men ready to marry you.”
“Men he was paying or bribing in someway. Is that what you want for me?”
“Surely it is better than this!” His deep voice spoke of a wide gesture that Cynthia could not see.
“Is it? I am not so sure. In fact, I am sure it is not. I know each of the men father had in mind and I not would trust a hound to any of them, much less myself and my child.”
“Sir Preston is still willing to marry you, according to Scarlett.” James’s boots began to tap with anxious energy. “I know he’s not who you’d want for a husband, but surely you can see that it would be better for all. Scarlett is still telling everyone that you are in the country recovering from a bad chest cold. No one will know the truth—or at least they will pretend not to.”
Yes, the duke would keep up pretense as long as he could.
“And my daughter?” Jasmine asked.
“I will promise to find her a proper family and see to all her needs. You know you can trust me, Jazzy. When have I ever let you down?”
Jasmine did not bother to answer. “I will not be parted from my daughter.”
“You can have another. Lord Preston had five daughters with his first wife.”
“And you think that I can just replace one child with another? Is that really how you feel?”
“It is the only reasonable answer.” He was speaking more powerfully now, clearly convinced that he was right. He’d always been sure he was right. Always.
Cynthia had only held Hope for an instant, but she understood Jasmine’s feelings. If Hope were hers she would rather die than be parted from her.
“I do not think you understand. I will say it again; I will not be parted from my daughter. I do not care what is reasonable or respectable. All that I care about is Hope.”
“Hope, is that what you call her?” The boots stopped moving.
Cynthia pressed her face to the floor, trying to get a better view beneath the settee, wishing she could see more than heels and polished tips. What did the man look like? His voic
e had certainly deepened and changed since those long-ago memories. It was man’s voice, deep and resonant, not at all the soft, occasionally squeaky tones that she remembered.
“Yes.” Jasmine gave no further explanation.
“And do you really think being brought up in a brothel is the best thing for her? I can find her a respectable family.”
“Oh, can you? I rather think she’ll end up dumped on a local parish or given to a poor family that will do anything for the money you will provide. And I do not doubt you will be generous, James—at least for as long as you remember. I know you mean well, but I do not trust that all will go as you desire, or that in a few years you will not become less careful on checking up on her. If she were yours, perhaps you would understand more—or perhaps not. I have known many gentlemen who have not cared what happened once they spread their seed.”
“Must you talk so crudely? And I assure you that I would care. I would provide well for any child that I had, although I admit I take all possible precautions to be sure that I am not faced with the situation.” The settee groaned as James stood, beginning to pace again.
Precautions? Cynthia had never heard of such a thing. What could you possibly do that could prevent a child—and if such a thing were possible, why had Jasmine not done it? Unless she’d wanted a baby? No, Cynthia knew that she had not.
The boots became still, turned to face Jasmine dead on. “What if we said the child was mine? I could find a woman who would pretend to be the mother and be sure that she is cared for. I could settle funds upon her and even send her to school. I know that there are such places. I have friends who have made use of them. And if I recognize her publicly it may even be possible for her to make a decent marriage, a tradesman who wants to curry favor.”
Jasmine let out a long and very audible sigh. “You know, if you had suggested that to me before she was born, I might have agreed. It might even have been possible for me to keep some contact with her. But now I know that is not enough, would never have been enough. She is mine. I will not be separated from her.”