Taste of Temptation

by Cheryl Holt

  She’d gone on dozens of job interviews, pleaded for assistance, and begged for handouts, but to no avail. Harry Hamilton was notorious, so his daughters were, too.

  They were destitute and desperate, and the notion of returning to their boardinghouse, of telling Amelia and Jane that there was no job, that Odell hadn’t liked her, after all, was too depressing to consider.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the previous day. They’d had a few scraps of food remaining, and she’d let her sisters have them, pretending she wasn’t hungry and insisting she’d dine like a queen the moment Odell hired her.

  She snorted with disgust, then reached in her reticule, hunting for a kerchief to dab at her eyes, when she stumbled on the vial the peddler, Mr. Dubois, had given her.

  What had he called it? The Spinster’s Cure?

  He’d claimed it had magical powers.

  “If only it were true.” She sighed.

  A rich husband would definitely come in handy, but there was no magic in the universe strong enough to fix what was wrong.

  Her stomach growled again, protesting its empty state, and she held the vial toward the sky. The liquid appeared to be red wine, which she imagined it was. She pulled the cork and sniffed the contents, detecting a cherry flavoring.

  Eager to quell her hunger pangs, as well as to have a bit of fortification for the long walk home, she tipped the dark fluid into her mouth.

  She’d started to swallow, when suddenly, the door of the mansion opened behind her. She whirled around, and to her horror, she was face-to-face with Captain Odell.

  “Are you still here?” he complained.

  “Odell?”

  She coughed and sputtered, banging her chest, absurdly panicked about having ingested the potion while looking at him. Frantic thoughts rattled her: What if the tonic was real? What if she’d pitched herself onto a new and unexpected path? What if—God forbid—she ended up married to the arrogant oaf?

  The liquid slid down with ease, landing in her belly like the kiss of death. There was the oddest calm in the air, as if the entire world had stopped to mark what she’d done. Fate seemed to be readjusting lives and fortunes.

  She gazed at him until she was mesmerized, drowning, not able to tear herself away.

  Here he is... here he is... finally ... a crazed voice whispered in her head.

  With his being so handsome, so masculine and tough, she didn’t suppose life had ever thrown him for a loop. He was the type who’d brazen it out, who fought and scraped and always came out on top. He’d never be scared or weary, would never be anxious or sad.

  His shoulders were very broad, the kind a woman could lean on in times of trouble, and for a wild, insane instant, she nearly hurled herself into his arms and begged him to never let her go.

  Luckily, before she could make an even bigger fool of herself than she already had, she noticed he was studying the empty vial clasped in her hand.

  “Are you a lush, too, Miss Hamilton?”

  “What?”

  “From your behavior with the earl, it’s clear you’re a flirt. Are you a secret drunkard, too? I feel we’ve dodged a bullet. I’ll have to speak with Mrs. Ford to ask why she’d send someone with so many vices.”

  “You think I’m a flirt? You think I’m a drunkard?”

  He smirked, pointing to the vial. “The evidence does seem incontrovertible.”

  He was so smug, so patronizing. If she’d been a man, she’d have pounded him into the ground.

  How dare he criticize! How dare he scold!

  She was the granddaughter of a baron on her deceased mother’s side. True, her mother had been disowned and disinherited when she’d eloped with Harry Hamilton, but that fact didn’t change ancestry. She had aristocratic blood flowing in her veins, while he was a barely acknowledged Scottish bastard son.

  He might have been temporarily elevated into the ranks of Polite Society so that he could fraternize with his betters, but despite her current difficulties, she was one of those betters, and his conduct toward her was outrageous.

  “For your information,” she seethed, jabbing a condemning finger at the center of his chest, “I am not a flirt ”

  “Oh, really? You couldn’t prove it by me.”

  “The earl of Hastings is a menace. I am a decent female who visited you with honorable intentions only to be accosted by him, and I lay the blame for his lechery solely at your feet. What sort of guardian are you, anyway?”

  “Now just a damned minute, you little—”

  “It’s Miss Hamilton to you, and I am not a drunkard, either. That vial contained a love potion.”

  “A love potion?”

  “Yes. A peddler insisted I try it, but I drank it because I’m starving. I haven’t any idea why I must explain myself to you, but I feel compelled to confide that I haven’t had anything to eat for the past two days.”

  “A likely story, shared to elicit sympathy, but it hasn’t.”

  “I gave my remaining food to my sisters. But do you know what?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  “I was advised to swallow the potion while staring at the man who is destined to become my husband.”

  He was a sailor, and as she’d suspected, he was superstitious as the dickens.

  He blanched.

  “Meaning what precisely?” he haughtily inquired.

  “Meaning I curse you.”

  “Curse me?” He gulped with dismay.

  “Yes. I hope I’ve actually set off some magic and that you wind up wed to me. It would be your worst nightmare, and it would serve you right for being such a horse’s ass!”

  She whipped away and started off.

  “Miss Hamilton!” he barked. “Get back here this instant”

  He’d shouted the command in his most stern, ship-captain’s tone, but she ignored him and marched on, which she was certain would annoy him into infinity.

  Chapter 3

  “WHAT was Captain Odell like?”

  “Very handsome, very charming.”

  Helen nearly choked on the lie, but as usual, she was determined to conceal the grim realities of their situation, although Jane seemed to understand the extent of their plight. With her being eighteen, and Amelia only twelve, Jane was complicit in hiding the truth from Amelia.

  Amelia was the eternal optimist, being constantly positive that prosperity was just around the corner.

  “Why didn’t he hire you?” Amelia’s concern was heart-breaking.

  The three sisters were spitting images of their deceased father: slender, auburn-haired, and green-eyed, with his amiable temperament and penchant for conversation.

  “Oh, he liked me very much, Amelia. He’d simply found someone else right before I arrived. She was older and more experienced.” At Amelia’s worried expression, Helen added, “He was terribly sorry for putting me to the trouble of coming so far, and he offered to send me home in his carriage, but the weather was so pleasant that I decided to walk back.”

  This last was a bit much for Jane, and she spun away and went to the grimy window to gaze outside.

  “Was Lord Hastings in residence?” Jane asked, her finger tracing over the dirty pane.

  Jane was fascinated by the antics of aristocrats like Hastings, and in a fairer, more sane world, she’d have moved in their circle. Not in the direct center of it, but certainly on the edges. Though she never complained about how things had gone, she suffered pangs of envy, and Helen couldn’t blame her.

  The sins of their parents, and the injustices of society, had combined to wear them down till there was nothing left.

  “Actually, I met the earl.”

  “Really? Was he as attractive as they claim in the papers?”

  “More so, I’d say. He was tall and blond and extremely gallant. I liked him very much.”

  She wasn’t aware that she had such a knack for fabrication, and she wondered where she came by it. No doubt, it was a trai
t inherited from her father, who’d been a renowned charlatan and rogue.

  “I wish I’d met him, too,” Jane murmured, and there was such longing in her voice that Helen could barely keep from weeping.

  “I’m sure you will someday,” Helen fibbed with false cheer. “Once this bad spell is behind us, there’s no telling where we might bump into him. At a ball. At a supper. Since I know him, I’ll be able to introduce you.”

  “I’d enjoy that.” Jane glanced over her shoulder. “What now?”

  “Now, I’ll... I’ll talk to Mrs. Ford and have her schedule another interview. There has to be someone in this blasted city who needs a governess.”

  “Who better than you?” Amelia loyally said.

  “Precisely,” Helen agreed.

  “You have to let me try, too,” Jane insisted. “I’ll come with you to Mrs. Ford’s. I’m old enough to work.”

  “We’ve been through this, Jane. If you take a job, there’s no going back. After we’ve returned to our prior status, it would be a black mark that would keep you from making a good marriage.”

  Jane stared and stared, and Helen could practically hear her sister’s cynical retort—they would never return to their prior status, there would never be a good marriage—but thankfully, Jane didn’t mention the depressing prospect in front of Amelia.

  Helen was saved from further discussion by angry footsteps pounding up the stairs. As their landlord hammered on the door, she cringed.

  “He’s been up three times,” Amelia whispered, “looking for you.”

  “Did he say what he wants?”

  Amelia shook her head, but Helen knew what he sought: rent money she didn’t have.

  “I’ll talk to him, then I’ll be right back. Put on your bonnets, and we’ll go for a walk after I’m finished.”

  She forced a smile and slipped into the hall. On seeing her, the exasperating man nearly shouted her penury to the entire building. She motioned him to silence, then proceeded to the rickety staircase and marched down. He had no choice but to follow.

  As she reached the foyer, he wasted no time in getting to the point.

  “Where is my money, Miss Hamilton?”

  “I need a few more days, Mr. Beasley.”

  “You’ve been saying that for three weeks.”

  “I know, but I should land a job any minute.”

  “What happened this morning? I thought you had a position starting.”

  “The interview wasn’t as successful as I expected.”

  “Meaning they learned you were Harry Hamilton’s daughter and they sent you packing.”

  “There’s no need to be cruel, Mr. Beasley—or to speak ill of the dead.”

  “I don’t care about the dead, Miss Hamilton. I care about the living—namely me, and I’m not running a bloody charity. I’ll have my money by nine o’clock tomorrow morning, or I’ll toss you and your sisters out on the street. Don’t make me.”

  He stomped off, and Helen collapsed against the banister, her knees giving out. She sank onto the bottom step, her head in her hands. She was frozen in place, paralyzed by indecision and fear.

  Visions danced in her mind—of the comfortable house her father had owned in the country, the gentle way of life to which they’d been raised. While they’d never been wealthy, there had been servants, and the occasional new gown, and beaux who came calling, and parties and suppers and neighborhood soirees.

  All gone. And she had no idea how to get them back.

  Gradually, she realized she was being watched, and she glanced up to see a woman named Josephine—Jo to her friends—who resided in the building. She was always cordial, always stopping to chat and ask how Helen was faring in the big city.

  She was about Helen’s age, but she had a rough edge, evidence of the hard existence a female endured in London. She dressed in flamboyant clothes, with bodices that were cut too low, and sleeves that showed too much skin.

  There were rumors that she was a doxy, that she entertained gentlemen in ways Helen couldn’t imagine. Under different circumstances, Helen wouldn’t have fraternized with her, but Jo was courteous and kind, and in light of Helen’s predicament, she was in no position to judge.

  Jo had a satchel sitting on the floor next to her, and she was wearing her cloak and bonnet. She peeked outside as if waiting for a carriage to arrive.

  “Are you leaving us?” Helen inquired.

  “Yes, I’ve accepted a new situation. It comes with room and board.”

  “How lucky for you.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” There was an awkward pause, and she said, “I couldn’t help overhearing you and Mr. Beasley.”

  “We weren’t exactly in a spot that encouraged private conversation.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I don’t know. We’re a bit desperate.”

  Jo nodded, studying Helen, taking her measure. “Might I make a suggestion?” she eventually asked.

  “Any advice would be greatly appreciated.”

  “You seem out of your element, what with trying to get by on your own. You’re not very good at it”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “So I was thinking of another option. It’s not what you’re expecting—you being a lady and all. Promise you won’t be offended.”

  “Considering the condition of my empty purse, there is nothing you could say that would upset me.”

  “You might be surprised.” Jo chuckled.

  Helen assessed Jo’s brazen outfit, her exposed cleavage, and she chuckled, too.

  “Perhaps you’ll embarrass me,” Helen admitted, “but I won’t swoon.”

  “There’s the ticket. It’s a cruel world out there. You need to buck up.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Are you aware of my true line of work, Miss Hamilton?”

  “I believe it might have been mentioned to me.”

  “Previously, I found my own customers out on the streets, but I’m moving to a house being operated by a new madam”

  “And this house, it’s a ... a ...”

  Helen couldn’t finish, and Jo bluntly said, “It’s a brothel, Miss Hamilton.”

  At having the word so blithely uttered, Helen gasped. “Are you proposing that I... that I ...”

  “No,” Jo quickly replied. “My employer is Lauretta Bainbridge. Have you ever met her?”

  “We wouldn’t have crossed paths.”

  “For years, she was mistress to Viscount Redvers.”

  “Lord Redvers? Gad, I know him.”

  “Gossip has it that he split with her when he married. His bride insisted on it”

  “I can certainly understand why.”

  Lord and Lady Redvers were acquaintances of the peddler Philippe Dubois. They had stopped by when Helen had been chatting with him by his wagon. The viscount had been gruff and grumpy, while the viscountess had been sincere and friendly. She’d asked Helen to call her by her Christian name, and Helen had liked her very much.

  Hopefully, the licentious viscount would prove himself worthy of his gracious, pretty wife and his philandering would be a thing of the past.

  “Anyways,” Jo continued, “what with Mrs. Bainbridge being dumped over by Redvers, she needs to support herself, so she’s started her own place.”

  “What has that to do with me, Jo? I could never... well... you know.”

  “What if she could wrangle you a post as mistress to some rich nabob?”

  “Mistress!”

  “You wouldn’t be a working girl like me. You’d be in a class high above it.”

  “But mistress!” Helen exclaimed again.

  “Don’t look so shocked. You’d have your own home and income. Your expenses would be paid, and you’d have an allowance for clothes and such.”

  “It sounds so tawdry.”

  “Why would you say so? Women enter into arrangements like it all the time, and Mrs. Bainbridge could negotiate the terms for you.”

  Helen was aghast. �
�People actually contract over this sort of affair?”

  “Yes, Miss Hamilton. Occasionally, you must endure the unpalatable to make ends meet, but in the process, you have to protect yourself. Negotiations are customary.”

  “I shudder to imagine it.”

  “View it as a bridge to getting back on track. You haven’t done much of a bang-up job so far.”

  “No, I haven’t,” Helen dejectedly concurred.

  With each of her decisions, she and her sisters had dropped a few rungs down society’s ladder until they were wallowing at the bottom with a kindly, well-meaning whore.

  Still... to be a mistress! It would be so wrong. Despite the low morals of her father, she’d been raised to behave better.

  “I couldn’t, Jo.”

  “Why couldn’t you? You’d be providing shelter for your sisters. From where I’m standing, you don’t have a way of doing that as of nine o’clock tomorrow.”

  “I know, I know.”

  Jo laid a comforting hand on Helen’s shoulder.

  “I fear for the three of you, Miss Hamilton.”

  Footsteps echoed at the top of the stairs, and Helen peered up to see Amelia on the landing.

  “What is it, Amelia?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we ate the last of the cheese. Did you bring us any food?”

  “No.”

  For the briefest instant, Amelia appeared crushed, but she was a brave child and she hid her dismay.

  “It’s all right,” Amelia claimed. “I’m not hungry. We were just curious.”

  She turned and trudged to their room, the shutting of their door reverberating through the drafty building. Helen stared at Jo, ashamed and at a loss as to how to carry on.

  “Why don’t you talk to Mrs. Bainbridge?” Jo said. “It can’t hurt. See what she says. You never know. She might find you a grand match and all your problems would be solved. Think how it would ease your mind.”

  Helen thought of Jane and Amelia, of having to explain why they were being thrown out on the street, and she simply couldn’t bear it.

  She sighed. “Maybe I should.”

  “Some handsome gent will snap you up in a trice. I don’t doubt it for a second.”

  “HELLO, Lauretta.”