The Virtuous Courtesan. Mary Brendan
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woman to sleep with him. At the time he had meant what he said: never in his life had he bedded an unwilling woman. But his attitude to her had undergone a subtle change, although he couldn’t pinpoint when or why it had come about.
She was attractive, as befitted her line of work, but she also possessed a beguiling innocence.
He’d believed he knew the artful ways of courtesans. It was no idle boast that for over a decade and a half he’d kept company with women of every class and character. Never had he come across a woman as enigmatic as Sarah Marchant. He reluctantly accepted that it would be easy to become obsessed with his brother’s mistress and the knowledge disturbed him. That way lay insanity.
They both knew where this situation must ultimately lead. If she had given him just a small sign that she might welcome his protection, he would have offered it. But she had sought to deflect his advances by offering to be his housekeeper.
He had considered—and rejected—employing her before she voiced the suggestion. Once he had curbed his initial anger on discovering that his brother was dictating to him from the grave, he’d accepted his responsibility to protect her. It was no hardship. He’d known from the moment he set eyes on her that he found her desirable.
The reason for her ruination he’d yet to discover, but it was likely to be the usual mundane tale: her well-to-do family had cast her out after a faithless lover in her youth had abandoned her to her fate. Gavin could not recall any such gossip over a Miss Marchant, but then, if she had always lived in the countryside, the scandal would not have reached London.
Whatever had occurred, it had not cowed her. He was not dealing with a timid mouse. From their conversations he knew she was intelligent and forthright. She could be wilful and passionate, too. Perhaps he was dealing with an artful schemer. Her subtle rejection might be a teasing ploy to aggravate his desire and increase her settlement. Gavin smiled ruefully. It wouldn’t be the first time a particularly comely courtesan had managed to do that. But with his inheritance secure he could afford to be generous to his paramours without plunging himself into debt. The chit simply needed to say yes and he would undertake to look after her in style.
His intention was to take her to London with him and settle her close to his Mayfair mansion. What was there for her to object to in that? She might have been fond of Edward, but he was gone and his parting gift was that she be passed on like a family concubine to pleasure his heir. It was an act likely to crush tender memories in even the most loyal mistress.
Gavin had been aware he was under observation as he stood in contemplation of the cart disappearing into the distance. Now he turned his attention to his admirer. The saucy wench had been trying to catch his eye since he arrived at the Red Lion. He decided she was attractive enough to dampen the fire Miss Marchant had put in his loins. As he passed he gave Molly a wink that sent her, rosy-cheeked, scuttling into the kitchen to boast of her success to the other girls.
‘Oh, I can’t go on like this,’ was Aunt Bea’s flustered welcome as she opened the door to her niece and flapped her gloved hands at her.
‘How has Tim been today?’ Sarah asked quietly, for she was well aware of the cause of her aunt’s agitation. She removed her bonnet and smoothed her blonde hair.
‘In a temper,’ her aunt responded pithily. ‘And I’m in a mind to go out and let him stew in his own juice. Your brother should mind his manners, no matter his pitiful condition.’
‘He cannot help his moods,’ Sarah said softly. She indicated the laudanum in her hand. ‘A draught of this is sure to calm him and ease his mood.’
‘And thank Heavens for it.’ With that announcement Aunt Beatrice took the drug and led the way into the front room of her neat cottage. She turned about and gave Sarah a penetrating look. ‘Come, tell me everything. What happened this morning? Did you get the Lodge to live in and a pension as you hoped?’
Sarah shook her head.
‘You must quit the Lodge? Edward left you a pension at least?’ Beatrice said, a mixture of shock and outrage in her tone.
‘No,’ Sarah said and pulled a little face.
‘Well…I never did! And him such a gentlemen. Or so he seemed.’ Beatrice took an indignant march here and there in her small sitting room. ‘Well, how are we all to live? The cupboards are nearly empty. Why did the tightfist want you to attend his will reading if he’d no intention of leaving you a bequest of some sort?’
‘He did make me a bequest…of some sort,’ Sarah admitted and close behind that declaration followed a small hysterical giggle.
Aunt Beatrice gave her an old-fashioned look. She crossed her thin arms over her narrow chest. ‘Well, I’m pleased you can joke about it all, miss. When we’re all in the workhouse you may not find it so amusing.’ She huffed a sorry sigh and said more gently, ‘Come, tell me what it was he left you.’
‘His brother,’ Sarah said.
Chapter Four
‘Mr Pratt! It is a surprise to see you, sir.’
Joseph Pratt had advanced ahead of her housekeeper into the neatly furnished room Sarah used as a small parlour. Having given the fellow a glower for arriving at Elm Lodge uninvited, Maude Jackson withdrew and shut the door. For a moment she lingered with her good ear near the panels before removing herself to the kitchen.
Moments ago Sarah had been sorting through her jewellery box. Apart from a few family heirlooms left to her by her mama, she had no wish to keep the rest. All were pieces Edward had bought for her and she would sooner be rid of painful memories of him. She would also sooner have the cash they might raise. Now the casket was put aside and, with a perplexed expression, she got to her feet. It could only be a matter concerning Edward’s will that brought Joseph Pratt to her door. She looked enquiringly at him, but no immediate explanation was forthcoming.
Joseph fiddled with his hat brim, his cheeks taking on a bashful glow. A smile slanted sideways at her before he burst out, ‘I beg you will not deem my call an unpleasant surprise, Miss Marchant.’
Sarah’s bemusement increased. ‘I can only answer that when I know what prompted it, sir,’ she returned politely. ‘I imagine it concerns the business in your office yesterday.’
‘Precisely…’ The confirmation was issued with a sibilant throb.
‘I hope there is no more bad news…’ Sarah ventured, unable to properly decipher his queer attitude.
‘No…no,’ he reassured with a flap of a hand. ‘Please do not alarm yourself.’ A look of studied sympathy shaped his flaccid jowls. Inwardly he was gratified to learn that she considered the prospect of becoming Gavin Stone’s mistress as bad news. ‘I know the terms of the will must have come as a terrible shock and disappointment to you.’
His eyes were drawn to the open jewellery box. The sight of it boosted his confidence. Ladies sorted through their gems for only two reasons: to bestow them or to sell them. He came to the swift conclusion that Miss Marchant was taking stock of her assets so she might cash in. And that heightened his suspicion that she had not yet come to an arrangement with the deceased’s brother.
Joseph had seen Gavin Stone earlier that day. Although they did no more than exchange a nod in greeting, the scowl the fellow had on his face was enough for Joseph to surmise that Gavin was no closer to securing his inheritance. But Edward’s heir had six months in which to win over Miss Marchant before he lost his fortune. In the meantime the lady could either choose to swallow her pride and go to him or foster a little dalliance elsewhere to pay her bills. Joseph had deduced that she might prefer the latter simply to avoid the churlish rogue for as long as possible. In fact, he was increasingly hopeful Miss Marchant might be persuaded to accept discreet assistance from a personable lawyer…and naturally display ample gratitude for it.
Emboldened by what seemed to him perfect logic, Mr Pratt continued, ‘It’s my ardent wish that I might ease the…um…regrettable situation in which you find yourself, Miss