A 19th century London courtesan agrees to a phony courtship with a navy captain and finds herself negotiating uncharted territory outside the boudoir.
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The year is eighteen-t...
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~ Saturday, Jan 16, 1813 ~
My fingers cramped as I lifted the teacup to my lips. Sat behind my writing desk, I had been composing missives all morning. First, I had responded to Lord Kingsley's letter, delicately avoiding the mention of his desire to plunge into my well and encouraging him to tell me about the outcome of his family's ball. The next letter was written to the Thompson siblings, asking if they would attend me in my home that evening so I could hear their account of the festivities. I also needed to discuss another matter that had troubled me all through the night.
Finally, I penned a brief message to Captain Forrest Remington at the Office of Seaman's Wages, asking that I be scheduled to see him about a matter of military importance. I wished to enlist his help as I built my case for the disabled soldiers. Hopefully, he wouldn't misconstrue my meaning and send the king's guard to my door. As I counted out the coin for the bellman, I watched the snow fall past the parlor window. If it kept up much longer, I might have to cancel my visit to the orphan asylum. And, more than anyone else, I hated to disappoint the children.
By the time I had donned the appropriate winter dress, the snowfall had slowed to the occasional wisp. Still, the coachman navigated the streets carefully, avoiding the snowbanks and delivering me safely into the orphans' welcoming arms. His employer, Mister Morrisey, would have been unforgiving if I had arrived in any other state.
After sharing their worries that the snow would keep me away, one of the talented youths gifted me a hand-stitched handkerchief with my initials embroidered on it. Although the R and H looked like a pair of Bs, I loved it just the same. And on my return journey home, I used it to dab the snowflakes off my lashes.
After a lively meeting with my staff, in which we discussed how we might celebrate Jasper's fiftieth birthday, I had Clara arrange a special tea and biscuit service in the sitting room where I awaited my guests. The snow had started up again, covering the front stoop, so I tried not to set my hopes too high. I hadn't worried long before a knock announced their arrival. And, soon, we were sat before a comfortable fire chatting about the ball.
"The earl and countess were terribly understanding about Jules's bashed face." Alice talked as she dunked her biscuit, allowing it to soak until it nearly fell apart on its way to her mouth. "Apparently, the earl enjoys taking in the occasional boxing match. Although the countess claimed it was more than occasional."
I lowered my chin to chuckle into my chest, while the captain appeared nonplussed by Alice's recounting of the events, letting his sister speak without interruption.
"The food tasted divine, and they even served a rum punch. Jules didn't let me indulge. He thought I would embarrass myself...or him." She smiled at her brother as she finished her biscuit and reached for another. I waited for her to share her encounters with the young lord, and when his name failed to come up, I started to worry something untoward had happened.
