The Accidental Courtesan (43 page)

Eva's eyes softened and she nodded. “I promise a husband is now within reach for each of you.”

“I do so want a husband,” Abigail said, sighing.

Eva smiled at the beautiful girl. “Then a husband you shall have, Abigail.”

If not for the limited number of positions for which women could seek employment in this society, and the beauty of her charges limiting the chances of finding work in any household where a husband resided, she wouldn't have needed to use her matchmaking talents to this end.

Eva herself had no interest in marriage and considered the institution dreadfully archaic. But her ladies really had no other choices. So marriage it was for her courtesans.

“Inside this book are information and sketches of men seeking wives; they have no compunction about your lack of virginity.” Eva opened to a page and turned the book so the girls could see the first face. “I asked each man to answer some questions. I wrote down the questions, and their responses, here.” She pointed to the page opposite the sketch. “I've verified the information myself, so each of you will know exactly what kind of man you are choosing and what he expects of his wife. When a man is matched, we remove him from the book so there will not be any confusion.”

She flipped to a page where the sketched face was blacked out. She'd kept his page in the book for an example to show the sort of man she would not tolerate. “Men who abuse women are immediately refused, as are men with drinking or gambling problems. These are respectable men who want a respectable wife.”

“But why would they want to wed one of us?” Yvette, a twenty-six-year-old brunette with tired brown eyes, crossed her arms over a sizable bosom and frowned. She'd had eight lovers during her six years as a courtesan, and her unhappiness with her lot showed in the hard lines on her face. She would be the most difficult to place without substantial effort on Eva's part. “What is wrong with them? Hideous scars? Rotten teeth? A missing limb?”

“Yes.” Pauline nodded, and the yellow feather in her upswept hair fluttered along the side of her round face. “Men do not marry women like us unless there is something awful they are hiding. I want a husband, but could not abide a twisted troll with claw hands pawing at my soft parts.”

Eva's shoulder blades tightened. Odd, women who willingly bedded the highest bidder had lofty standards when it came time to choose a mate.

She grimaced. The itchy gown was making her irritable. Of course she should have a pleasing mate.

“I assure you there isn't a single troll in this book, but neither are there dukes or earls or kings.” Blunt honesty sometimes was exactly what these women required. If they expected to someday be addressed as “Lady” anything, they'd be sorely disappointed. “Men of stature require a virginal wife of impeccable birth to wed.”

At least until they whelped an heir or two to continue their perfect bloodline into the next generation. After that, they set up young women like these in apartments or town houses, away from their wives, and played their lascivious games.

The concept of unfaithful marriages was one Eva found distasteful. Once a man and woman wed, they should forsake all others. Perhaps if the matches were born of love and not for financial gain, it might be the case.

It was rare when a couple found true love. Even then, it did not guarantee a happy ending. She knew the dark side of love well.

Shaking off the press of bleak thoughts, Eva added, “Every one of these men is apprised of the general circumstances of your lives, and they have chosen to be included in this book.” She turned a few more pages and revealed several more faces. Some of the men were quite handsome, and none had claw hands. “They include barristers and shopkeepers and even a baron's younger son. I do not hide what I do from my clients, and select them carefully for stellar character and financial security.”

“Yet they look for whores as wives,” Abigail said quietly, and shared a sidelong glance with Yvette. She plucked at the sleeve of her blue gown and sighed. “Perhaps you should explain to us their reasoning.”

Eva did not judge her charges for the lives they had led, for many had sad tales of desperate circumstances that led them to a courtesan's path. But neither could she understand how resistant they became once under her tutelage.

They came to her.

By the time a courtesan reached Sophie's age, she was well past the first blush of youth and no longer able to command a high price for her services. Suddenly, with age came the realization that her charm, sensuality, and pretty face were waning, and younger courtesans were ready to take her place. It was usually then that the woman became desperate.

If a courtesan had the sense to put aside coin for her future, she could close up shop and disappear into genteel retirement, or flee to the Continent for new adventures.

For others like these five, who had spent most of what they earned on fripperies and were without means enough to retire into obscurity, finding a decent husband was their chance for security.

Eva closed the book. “The reasons vary with the men.” She leaned back into her chair, the book settled on her knees beneath her flat palms. “Some have businesses to build and do not have the time to find a potential wife and court her. Some travel extensively and seek a woman of adventurous spirit to follow him to exotic locations.”

“Oh!” Rose bounced up and down on her seat and raised her hand. “I love adventure!”

Nodding, Eva smiled. The saucy little redhead would be a wonderful companion and wife for several of her clients. She still had the enthusiasm and blush of youth that men craved. “Excellent. I'll keep that in mind, Rose.”

She turned her attention to each woman in turn. Their beauty should be only one part of what men saw when choosing them. Not the main or only reason.

“Truthfully, there are some men who seek to marry only women of rare beauty, far above the type of young lady they could normally attract. They want a peacock on their arm, not a sparrow. For that privilege, they will overlook a questionable past. Over the course of the month, you will be able to study the book and choose several men you feel will best match you. Then we will have a party where the introductions will be made.”

The courtesans fell silent. Each knew the men paid generous fees for Eva's services, and the arrangements were business-based. Even so, several of them she had tutored and their suitors went on to make love matches. It was an end to which many aspired.

“What differs from your old life is that you all have choices here in this house. You pick the man, you decide what kind of life you want, and I put you and your suitors together. It is up to you how the relationship evolves. If you reject one match, we shall find you another until you, and he, are satisfied and we finalize the arrangement with marriage vows.”

Soft sighs filled the room.

“It sounds wonderful,” said Yvette wistfully. Apparently, even the most hardened of courtesans longed for love.

Eva ran her hand over the book and thought of how lucky these women were not to have fallen in love with their benefactors. It had happened with several previous clients and ended with broken hearts. She let out a pensive sigh of her own and blinked back the press of tears. If only Charlotte Rose had had a place like this to turn to before she fell into the love trap, her circumstances could have ended differently.

She mentally shook herself. It was not the time to drift into gloomy thoughts. Today was a day of new possibilities. “Though your suitors have no qualms about your pasts, they do require the public air of respectability. That is where my lessons become invaluable.” Eva peered over the top of her spectacles. “They have mothers, sisters, and families who might not be pleased with a former courtesan as the wife of their son or brother. From this moment on, you will forget everything you've done, every man who once warmed your beds, and live a modest life. And if you cannot do this, you are free to go. I do not force anyone to follow my directives. From now on, your future is your own responsibility.”

A sniff drew her attention, then Rose burst into tears. Pauline slid across the settee and squeezed her hand. “What is wrong, dearest?” She pulled a handkerchief out of her bodice and handed it to the distraught girl.

Rose dabbed her eyes and hiccupped. “Ever since my mother tossed me out on my bum when I was seventeen and her second husband took an interest in me”—she blew her nose loudly into the handkerchief—“I have relied on men for everything.” The last word had a high pitch to it. “I've done things I cannot even confess to my priest, for fear God will hear and strike me down.” She let out a low wail. “I don't know if I can take care of myself.” She fell into a round of soft sobs. Abigail moved over and took a position on her other side. She rested an arm around Rose's shoulder and clucked her tongue.

“Miss Eva will help us,” Sophie said firmly from the other settee. “And you will no longer have to suffer His Grace's cold hands and limp—” She looked sheepishly at Eva and cleared her throat. “She'll find you a man of adventure who knows how to love you as you deserve to be loved.”

Rose dabbed her tears and peered at Eva with measuring eyes, then slowly nodded her head. “Then I shall put my trust in her hands.”

“We all will,” said Abigail, and the others nodded.

Eva set the book aside and stood, hope for a successful outcome to this class springing once again into her breast. Sophie's unexpected show of tenderness to Rose clearly had an effect on all the women. They were no longer facing this as five separate women, but as a collective and supportive group.

With one show of tears, Rose had done what usually took days or weeks to achieve. Togetherness.

Eva walked to Rose and pulled her to her feet. She tipped up the girl's chin and looked into her shimmering eyes. “You need not worry, my dear Rose. By the time I've finished with you, you will be well able to care for yourself.”

With a wavering smile, Rose nodded and pulled her into a tight hug. Eva flinched but allowed the embrace. The other women stood and circled around, their excited chatter infectious. Eva had opened her mouth to offer further reassurance when her butler, Harold, came through the open door with a troubled expression on his face. Eva gently extricated herself from Rose's embrace and stepped away from the group.

A sudden chill seeped into her bones, and she shivered. She looked to the windows, certain one had blown open to invite the cool morning into the stuffy room. But the panes were securely closed and locked and the heavy blue drapes showed not a flutter.

Strange. This was the second time in a week she'd felt that same dank chill slide through her body. If she wasn't a woman of solid mind and not one to dabble in fits of fancy, she would worry that this chill was a sign of impending doom.

Rubbish. She shook her head to clear it and faced Harold. She was a bit ruffled by his intrusion, as her orders were clear: He was not to interrupt the lessons unless it was an emergency. She stepped close, out of earshot of the women. “What is it, Harold? Has something happened to Mother?”

He shook his head firmly. “No, Miss.”

Harold led her to the open doorway by her elbow. Her butler was tall, nearing thirty, and built like a pugilist; a perfect guard for the door of both this house and her home. He kept the girls safe and the riffraff off her front steps.

And Eva trusted him with her secrets. All her secrets.

He leaned toward her and whispered, “A man, a gentleman, is at the front door. He insists he has business with you that cannot wait.” He glanced down the hallway and scowled. “When I informed him you were not taking callers today, he said to explain to you that if I send him away, he will return with a Bow Street Runner in tow and have you arrested.”

 

THE SCHOOL FOR BRIDES
THE ACCIDENTAL COURTESAN