A Pregnant Courtesan for the Rake Page 11

  ‘Nothing.’ She wished he would not be so solicitous. It confused her. And warmed her towards him. ‘Sleep, perhaps.’ She walked unsteadily to the door.

  He came to her side. ‘I’ll escort you.’

  He gave her his arm. Holding on to him did steady her. It also reminded her of their day in Paris when she’d held his arm and they’d seen so many wonderful sights together.

  His strength made it so much easier to climb the two flights of stairs to the bedchamber where he’d taken her the night before.

  ‘Who undressed me?’ she asked.

  His mouth turned up in a half-smile. ‘I am tempted to set you into a pique and tell you Irwin and I did it, but Mrs Irwin, my housekeeper, and Mrs Smith, the cook, were the ones.’

  This little tease reminded her of his light banter in Paris. She did not want to feel amused by him again.

  They reached her room, and he opened the door.

  ‘I’ll leave you now, Cecilia, unless there is something I may do for you.’ He stepped away.

  She crossed the threshold, but turned to see him already at the stairs.

  ‘Oliver?’ she called.

  He turned.

  Her throat felt suddenly tight. ‘Thank you,’ she managed, though it came out sharper than she intended.

  He nodded, turned and descended the stairs.

  * * *

  Cecilia slept until the light dimmed in the room and the clock chimed five o’clock. Five o’clock! She’d slept the day away.

  She stretched and sat up, feeling more rested than any time she could remember. Even the nausea had disappeared. Was it the bed? she wondered. Or was it because Oliver had taken away most of her worries?

  For the moment.

  There was a soft rap at the door. Cecilia jumped out of bed and quickly donned the banyan. ‘Who is it?’ she asked.

  A young woman, little more than a girl, opened the door and peeked in. ‘You are awake, ma’am! May I come in?’

  ‘Yes?’ Cecilia said uncertainly.

  The girl entered, carrying Cecilia’s valise. She promptly curtsied. ‘I am Mary. Mary Driscoll, ma’am. I’m to be your maid, if you’ll have me. Mr Gregory told Mr Irwin you should have a maid and as he is my uncle—Mr Irwin, that is—he asked Mr Gregory if it could be me and Mr Gregory said yes. So I can learn and all.’

  Cecilia had not had a maid in years, but this one looked young and fresh and untouched by the world.

  ‘How old are you, Mary?’ Cecilia asked.

  ‘Sixteen, ma’am, but I’ve worked a little here, cleaning and that sort. And I learn fast.’ The girl was earnest. ‘I want to be a lady’s maid, y’see.’

  ‘Oh, Mary.’ Cecilia sat down on the chair by the dressing table. ‘I do not think that I am the sort of person who can help you be a lady’s maid.’

  The girl’s face turned crestfallen. ‘But I love to do hair and mend clothes and such. I am good at it, Aunt Irwin says.’

  ‘It isn’t that.’ How was she to explain? ‘I am simply not the sort from whom anyone would want a reference. In fact, serving me might be an impediment.’

  Mary seemed to cogitate on this. ‘Do you mean because you are an unmarried lady living with Mr Gregory? Or because you work in the club? Or because you are going to have a baby?’

  ‘You know a great deal about me,’ Cecilia said with some dismay.

  ‘Oh, we all do. My uncle and aunt and Cook, at least. Mr Gregory explained it all. None of that worries us, though. My mum was never married to my dad, y’see. And my sister once worked at the club.’

  Had Cecilia ever been that unguarded? She supposed she had. Unguarded and naïve and easily manipulated.

  Mary went on. ‘And Uncle Irwin says when the time comes, Mr Gregory will get me work in the Duke of Westmoor’s house and nobody will question a reference from a duke.’

  Cecilia was not so certain of this. Rose had been a maid herself. Surely society was less than accepting of her, even if she had married a duke. A commoner duchess was certainly better than a scandalous widow, though.

  She smiled. ‘Then I would be delighted for you to be my lady’s maid.’

  Mary gave an excited whoop and jumped up and down. When she settled, she asked, ‘May I start right now? I can arrange your hair and put you in a gown.’

  The few dresses Cecilia had brought with her would be terribly wrinkled from being in the valise, but she supposed they’d have to do.

  ‘May I suggest the green dress?’ She spoke as if she were a lady’s maid of vast experience.

  ‘It is here?’

  Mary went into the dressing room and brought it out. ‘Mr Gregory brought it from the club. I tiptoed in here while you were asleep. I also brought in fresh water for you to wash.’

  It had been a long time since a maid had cared for her clothes, helped her bathe and dress and fix her hair. Not since she’d lived at home with her parents and sisters. She’d never had a lady’s maid of her own, but she’d always had help with dressing and with her hair. Until she married Duncan.

  ‘Mr Gregory said I was to ask you if you wanted your dinner sent up here or if you would join him in the dining room,’ Mary told her while pinning up her hair.

  Cecilia did not know what to say. ‘I don’t know. What do you think he wanted me to do?’

  ‘Why, for you to join him for dinner, of course!’ Mary cried, then seemed to question whether she’d been too boisterous. ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘Then dress me for dinner with Mr Gregory, Mary.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am!’

  Chapter Ten

  A week later Oliver and Jacob rose early to give their best horses a good run on Rotten Row. After a friendly race at full gallop on the bridle paths of Hyde Park, the two men cooled their horses at a sedate pace. Rotten Row this early in the morning was a busy place with other riders and groomsmen exercising their masters’ horses.

  It had been an eventful week and a sad one. Queen Charlotte’s death had been announced and the country again plunged into mourning, as they had done the year before for her granddaughter and namesake, Princess Charlotte, the Prince Regent’s only daughter, the heir to the throne.

  The royal mourning meant that usual social events were suspended or greatly subdued. As a result, more members came to Vitium et Virtus for entertainment. Oliver and his friends did not require the women in their employ to wear black, but they did dress them in various shades of purple and gave them black armbands. Snyder, their porter, always wore black, but he and the other male servants also donned black armbands.

  As the Duke of Westmoor, Jacob was expected to participate in the royal funeral. The Queen had died in Kew Palace and there would be a funeral procession from there to Windsor where she would be interred in St George’s Chapel.

  ‘I am not made for all this ceremony,’ Jake complained. ‘I mean no disrespect for the late Queen—she was quite beloved by my grandmother who’d served her in their younger days—but the whole pageant sounds gruelling and tedious. You’ve no idea how many will participate!’

  ‘It will be elaborate, I am certain,’ Oliver agreed. He did not like to dwell too much on the Queen’s death. On any death of a mother.

  Had his mother had a funeral? Had someone placed her body on a pyre and set it aflame?

  Jacob shook his head. ‘Enough of the funeral.’

  It wasn’t as if Oliver brought up the subject. He hadn’t started any part of their conversation this morning. The last time he’d seen Jacob, he’d told him about inviting Cecilia to live in his town house. They’d exchanged sharp words over it. Jake warned Oliver that this was bound to cause trouble among the other women at Vitium et Virtus. Worse, he worried that Oliver might not treat Cecilia well, given his history of dalliances with women. Jake did not believe for a moment tha
t there would be no dalliance.

  For reasons Oliver could not explain, even to himself, he had not told Jacob or Frederick or anyone that Cecilia was the woman he’d met in Paris, nor had he mentioned she was carrying a child—his child.

  Or so she claimed.

  ‘So...’ Jake began in a cautious tone. ‘How are you faring with Cecilia?’

  Oliver did not wish to reopen this discussion.

  ‘Splendidly,’ Oliver replied. ‘Truly, we see little of each other.’

  This was the truth. Cecilia kept to herself in her room and sitting room a great deal of the time. Oliver did not intrude upon her privacy. They did share breakfast occasionally and dinner almost every night.

  But he certainly was not going to tell Jacob that sharing meals with her was actually pleasant.

  ‘And at Vitium et Virtus?’ Jake persisted. ‘Any problems?’

  ‘None of which I have been made aware.’ Oliver shook his head. ‘I am still not certain a hostess makes any sense at all, though.’

  Not any more sense than how much Oliver disliked seeing her in that role.

  ‘Does she help make money?’ Jake asked. ‘How’s the take for the hazard and faro tables? Is it up?’

  ‘Up, but not by much.’ His horse lagged behind Jake’s and Oliver urged the mare to catch up. ‘I will say that the members appear to have taken to her.’

  Some of the gentlemen even sought her out. She was attentive to several of them, bringing them drinks and cheering the play at the tables. Sometimes Oliver would spy her seated at a table with one of them, listening intently as the man seemed to prattle on. She had been true to her word, though. She never sought to be private with any of them.

  ‘Does the increased amount cover her wages?’ Jacob asked.

  ‘More than covers it,’ Oliver replied. At least the part of her wages Oliver took from Vitium et Virtus. That amount was on a par with the singers and dancers. The rest came from his pocket.

  ‘Well, then, as long as we are not losing money, no harm is done to have her there,’ Jake said. ‘She needed the employment. I would hate to think where she would work otherwise.’

  So would Oliver.

  This moment was a perfect opportunity for him to tell Jake of meeting Cecilia in Paris.

  But he kept his mouth shut.

  Jake also did not know Oliver had been discussing with his banker how to set up some sort of annuity for her. Or that he’d indulged her by sending for the modiste the club used for their singers’ and dancers’ costumes and was having Cecilia fitted for several new dresses, not only for the club, but mourning clothes for day as well. He’d paid extra for them to be completed in a rush. The first of the dresses would be ready tomorrow.

  ‘Will you come to Vitium et Virtus tonight?’ Oliver asked.

  Jacob looked dismayed. ‘Forgive me, Oliver. I cannot. Grandmama has taken to her bed.’

  ‘She is ill?’ Oliver was fond of the elderly lady. She’d always been kind to him.

  ‘Mourning more than ill, I am certain, but I think I should stay at home.’

  ‘Of course,’ Oliver said.

  Jacob turned to him. ‘Tonight features the dancers, is that not right?’

  The dancers frolicked through the ballroom showing lots of leg and bosom and sensuality in their performance. It was one of the most sought-after entertainments at the club. Oliver would have them subdue their enthusiasm tonight out of respect for the deceased Queen.

  They rode a few paces in silence before Jacob said, ‘I am ashamed to say I cannot muster much interest in our club entertainments. Not since marrying Rose.’

  Oliver could not muster interest in the entertainments and he had no wife.

  So much had changed since Nicholas disappeared. The club used to be the friends’ shared passion and they relished partaking in whatever boisterous debauchery they’d conceived. But now they were older and Nicholas was gone, and Frederick and Jacob were married. The club had become more of a business venture in Oliver’s eyes than his preferred playhouse. There was nothing particularly carefree and daring about a business venture.

  They exited the park at Hyde Park Corner, now more crowded with other riders, carriages, and wagons than when they’d set out.

  When they reached Park Lane, Jacob said, ‘This is where I must leave you.’ He leant over and shook Oliver’s hand. ‘I am sorry we have abandoned you to run Vitium et Virtus alone, Oliver.’

  Oliver smiled at him. ‘Do not apologise. What else would I do, if not for Vitium et Virtus? Come when you can. Otherwise stay with your family.’

  Jake grinned. ‘With pleasure!’

  * * *

  That night after a pleasant dinner, Oliver escorted Cecilia to Vitium et Virtus. They walked the back way, through his garden and out of the gate to the alley, then through another gate into the garden of the club. The night was damp and cold and they walked briskly, entering through the door that led to the private part of the building. In the entryway, Oliver helped Cecilia off with her cloak. She felt the touch of his hands on her shoulders even as he turned to hang her cloak on a peg by the door.

  She pulled off her gloves and left them on a table where Oliver had placed his hat.

  ‘I will leave you here,’ Cecilia told him.

  She would paint her face a little and put her mask in place before again becoming Coquette.

  To her surprise, he touched her hand. ‘Are you feeling well enough tonight?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘I am feeling quite well, actually.’

  Perhaps he meant the touch as a goodbye. Whatever his reason, it set her heart dancing.

  He had been so kind these last days, ever since she agreed to live in a room in his house. The room, sitting room and dressing room gave her more space than she’d ever lived in since leaving her parents’ houses. She told herself that it made sense for her to eat with him, if only to save the servants from climbing the stairs to bring her a meal. She breakfasted in the small dining room for the same reason, although he was often out by the time she rose.

  At meals they talked of the events written in the newspapers or chatted about at the club. Cecilia had followed closely the news of the Queen’s death and the plan for her funeral, as well as news of financial hardship around the country and of society people and events.

  Meals were so comfortable they became her favourite part of the day.

  And being Coquette again was her least favourite.

  She made her way to the Green Room where the dancers were busy dressing in lavender gowns. Her new lady’s maid, Mary, had already arranged her hair and dressed her in her costume, a gown of deep purple.

  ‘There she is,’ one of the dancers said scathingly. ‘Oliver’s choice.’

  ‘Hello, Lanie,’ she responded in a friendly tone. ‘How are you faring today?’

  Cecilia was sorry she upset Lanie, who so obviously wished Oliver favoured her. Lanie’s jealousy put a pall on the otherwise genial atmosphere among the workers. Jealousy was so unnecessary. Cecilia kept her distance from Oliver and he seemed content for her to do so.

  They might converse comfortably at dinner, but that was more like a truce than an affair. She could not convince Lanie of that fact, though.

  Lanie glowered. ‘I’d fare a lot better if I were sharing the boss’s bed like you do.’

  ‘Leave her alone, Lanie,’ came a voice from the back of the room.

  It was Flo.

  ‘Never mind, Flo,’ Cecilia assured her. She turned to Lanie. ‘I share his house, not his bed, Lanie.’ Not now, at least.

  ‘I am not a fool, Coquette.’ Lanie flounced past her and left the room.

  ‘Ooh,’ the other girls said, laughing.

  Cecilia walked over to Flo, who was seated in a chair, but had wrapped her
head and shoulders in a shawl. ‘I am surprised to see you here, Flo. Are you working tonight?’

  Flo shook her head. ‘I came to see you.’

  ‘Me?’ Cecilia pulled up a chair and sat near her.

  Flo glanced at the dancers as if to check if they were watching. She lifted the shawl away from her face. There was a bruise from her temple to her cheek.

  ‘Flo!’ Cecilia said in alarm.

  Flo covered her face again. ‘I—I bumped into a door.’

  ‘You did not bump into a door!’ Cecilia touched her own cheek, again feeling the pain of Duncan’s fist.

  Flo gave her an obstinate look. ‘All I want is for you to help me cover it up. I am to visit my mother tomorrow and I do not want her to see it.’

  She’d helped Flo cover up bruises on her neck one night, as well as the ones on her arms that first time they met.

  ‘Why? What would your mother think if she saw such a bruise on your face?’

  ‘It—it would make her worry over me and she has enough to worry over feeding my brothers and sisters.’

  Cecilia shook her head. ‘She’d think someone hit you.’

  Flo’s hand went to her face. ‘Oh, no. I bumped into a door.’

  How many doors had Cecilia bumped into during her marriage? Her teeth ached as she remembered the pain of Duncan’s fist.

  Cecilia took Flo’s hands in hers and made the girl look into her eyes. ‘Heed me, Flo. I know someone hit you. I know, because my husband used to hit me. He used to squeeze my arms until they bruised just like the bruises on your arms when we first met. And the ones on your neck? My husband made marks like that when he choked me.’ She released one of Flo’s hands and gently touched her face. ‘I’ll cover your bruise, but we should do it tomorrow morning. What I do tonight will not last.’

  Flo’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Do you think Mr Gregory and Mr Bell would let me stay here tonight? I do not wish to go back to my rooms.’

  Cecilia raised her brows. ‘Because he knows where you live? Or is he waiting for you there?’

  Flo clamped her mouth shut.