A 19th century London courtesan agrees to a phony courtship with a navy captain and finds herself negotiating uncharted territory outside the boudoir.
*****
The year is eighteen-t...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
~ Friday, Jan 15, 1813 ~
Like every morning at seven AM, Tilda knocked on my bedroom door announcing the arrival of my breakfast tea. Because she had instructions to enter without requiring an invitation, she opened the door and gasped, nearly dropping the tea tray.
I was just uncurling from an uncomfortable position on the chaise lounge, where I had spent the past few hours tossing around like a cricket ball. As I stood and stretched to work out the kinks in my back, Tilda continued to stare at the man lying comfortably beneath my bed quilt.
"It looks like Captain Thompson never made it home last night." Finally regaining her wits, Tilda walked to the serving station and began pouring out my tea as she took in my state. I was still wearing my dressing gown.
"Your powers of observation have not failed you," I said inside a yawn. "He passed out when I told him not to. I had no choice but to let him sleep off his drunkenness here."
"You could have woken me and Jasper to help."
"He was in no condition to be sent home unescorted. And none of us needed that imposition."
"We could have moved him to the guest room down the hall."
"It's fine, Tilda. What is done is done. Perhaps he will learn not to pass out in a courtesan's bed uninvited. Will you make sure Clara sets an extra plate for breakfast."
"Do you think he'll stay? When he wakes, he might hightail it out of here and never look back."
"I doubt that will be his reaction, but just in case, have a carriage standing by. I have an appointment this morning as it is, and I will need one to carry me there."
"As you wish, Mistress." Tilda offered a curtsy as she backed through the door, straining to get a better look at the captain; most likely curious to know his state of dress as he snored under the linens. Of course, I wasn't about to let a man sleep naked on my fresh bedclothes.
Wishing not to have the captain find me in my dressing gown, I hurried to find something appropriate for my meeting with the army paymaster. Although my hair was in a terrible tangle, I would have to worry about that after Clara finished preparing breakfast. She could work miracles with a comb. I carried my chemise, stay and petticoat to the dressing screen and began changing. This was when the captain decided to wake from his nasally slumber.
"What the thundering blazes am I wearing?"
Although those were not the first words I expected to hear from him, his complaint was well-founded, and I peeked around the screen to put his mind at ease. "It's a nightshirt. I could not let you sleep in the nude, now could I?"
His head snapped to the screen, although his eyes hadn't quite opened completely, and I ducked my body back out of sight to continue dressing. "Mistress Hayes? What are you doing there?"
