A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man (42 page)

“Before you read what’s in there, I need to tell you a story.” Claudia cleared her throat and raised her chin.

“When I was a small child, I was prone to spending hour upon hour by myself, playing with my dolls and making up imaginary friends and stories. I wouldn’t say I was a lonely child, but I was left to fend for myself often.” She stopped and pointed at Mick. “Dr. Malloy, you never got yourself a cup of tea.”

Mick immediately reached for the teapot and poured.

“So, one of my favorite hiding places was the attic in my grandmother’s house on Bowdoin Street—which was once Ophelia and Malcolm’s home, as you know. One day right after the war, I found this journal in a trunk. If I’m not mistaken, it was the very same trunk I gave you, Piper, with the false bottom you discovered.”

Claudia paused. “Anyone like a cookie?”

Piper and Mick shook their heads rapidly. The leather journal, now balanced on Piper’s knees, felt like it was burning a hole in the top of her thighs.

“So I began reading this, and I must say, it was a story that changed my life. You see, I was quite susceptible to fairy stories and happily-ever-afters when I was a little girl, so I became fascinated with the lifelong love affair he described.”

When Piper carefully lifted the front cover with a fingertip, a single line of scrawl was revealed:
“Malcolm Harrington.”
Piper’s mouth had gone painfully dry. “Is it really his diary?” she managed to ask.

Claudia smiled kindly. “Go ahead and open it, dear.”

“I don’t have any gloves!”

Claudia chuckled. “Sweetheart, I’ve been carrying that book around with me for seventy years and I’ve never worn gloves. It’s old, yes, and I’ll let you take better care of it from now on, but please don’t worry too much right now.”

Piper nodded. Mick scooted closer and helped support the spine as Piper slowly opened the front cover.

“You’ll notice that all the pages are blank except for the first few,” Claudia said. Piper confirmed that and turned to the first page.

The writing was shaky, but broad and masculine all the same. It was not Ophelia’s familiar script. There was no title page or introduction, and Piper noted that the first entry was dated just days after Ophelia’s recorded death.

Suddenly, Piper froze. It hit her hard. These were Malcolm’s words in her hands, what she had so longed to see. These were the thoughts and secrets of his heart, the heart of a man who could walk the earth as pompous Lord Ashford, Sir, and Mr. Harrington, all in the span of one lifetime.

And now, she would finally get to meet him.

Mick used his free hand to pat Piper’s knee. “Shall I read aloud?” he asked. She nodded. Mick began, his Irish brogue soft and husky.

I am old and weary, but grateful for every day I’ve had. Ophelia has left me behind. She was always the first to leap. How empty the world seems. Her love never faltered and her lusty laughter never faded. I can hear her even now.

It is not every man who is fortunate to be loved as I was loved. Even in our wildest days, I treasured every moment with her.

It still stuns me that I nearly ruined my future with my arrogance. One night, I spotted an exhilarating creature across a ballroom and I had to possess her. When buying her hand in marriage didn’t work, I sought to conquer her in secret.

It was I who was conquered. In just seven nights, that fledgling goddess not only discovered that I had a heart, but she stole it forever, then cradled it in the palm of her hand.

“Tissue?” Claudia asked, holding out a box to Piper. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying.

“Thanks,” she said, grabbing a handful.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. I’ve been reading this since I was eight and it breaks me up every time.” Claudia sighed. “It spoiled me, you know. When I eventually went looking for a husband, I envisioned Malcolm Harrington. Ha! It certainly narrowed the field of suitors. Thank God I found my Terry.”

Claudia stopped then, looking at Piper and Mick as if they’d been the ones to put a halt to the narration. “Well, continue,” she said, relaxing into her chair again.

Mick cleared his throat.

Ophelia embraced her new life and moved on. For nearly twelve years I waited for her to be ready to settle her heart on me, not realizing that I was the one who did not yet know how to love without ownership, to adore without possession, to support without expectation.

My gut still goes cold when I remember the night I saw Lord B
____
enter Ophelia’s house. I was so racked with jealousy that I had already begun to walk away. But I turned around. I went to her because she needed me. Looking back, I believe that was the moment I stopped living like a reckless, self-centered fool, and began to live like a man.

Life is so fragile and happiness so fleeting. How fortunate I am to have had so much of both, on two continents. With my Ophelia.

We came to America and raised a family with love. We survived our brave William’s death. We lived to see the emancipation through. Times have changed and they are changing still. The struggle for freedom, I suspect, will go on for many years. I do believe it is the central struggle of our time.

I have never forgotten Ophelia’s call to arms. I watched as she stood before a crowd for the first time and delivered what would become her signature speech on the rights of all humans. Her passionate words burned. Her intellect defied their rules and smashed through their judgment. She was a woman, alone and in public, who dared to speak her mind. As her husband, I cared nothing for others’ opinion of my decision to stand behind her as she took center stage. It was no sacrifice. It was my honor. That night, I saw her anew. I fell in love with her once more. That was the night she taught the world that it was impossible to own a human being.

Of course, I had learned my version of that lesson long ago. To have owned her would have destroyed her.

Piper blew her nose with enthusiasm, drowning out Mick’s next words. “Sorry,” she said, taking a sip of her tea. He repeated the sentence.

It is not difficult to understand why Ophelia worked so hard for the freedom of all human beings. Freedom has always been at the heart of everything she desired. She would smile at that and say, “Damn the cost.”

Although Ophelia never regretted her life in London, she feared her past would detract attention from the cause, so her story has been hidden. I hope it emerges someday when the world is ready for a woman with a mind of her own.

Mick’s voice trailed off. He examined the next few pages. Piper heard him sniffle. “That’s it?” he asked, his voice plaintive and his eyes wide. “There isn’t any more? It just ends like that?”

Claudia dabbed at her nose and nodded.

“He died that very night,” Piper answered softly. “He must have finished writing in his new diary, gone to bed, and joined his Ophelia forever.”

“Precisely,” Claudia said.

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, Mick still staring at the book in his hands.

“May I?” Claudia reached out and Mick handed over the journal. She placed it on the table at her side. “Well, then, I know you two have better things to do than spend an entire afternoon with some crazy old lady, but there is just one more thing you might do for me.”

Piper roused herself from her thoughts, her sadness, and her awe at what she’d just heard. “Of course,” she said.

Claudia reached for the small velvet box. “Now, as you know, I am the last direct descendant of Ophelia and Malcolm Harrington. My husband and I were never blessed with children.”

Mick and Piper shot each other a quizzical glance.

“I understand the ring you slipped on Piper’s hand the other night was a loan for that rather spontaneous occasion.” Claudia grinned. “My question is, have you selected a permanent one?”

Mick and Piper looked at each other again, this time with incomprehension.

“Uh…” Piper said.

Mick laughed. “We haven’t had time, Claudia. We’ve barely had time to even discuss it.”

“Oh goody,” Claudia said. “If you are so inclined, then, I would like you to have this.” She handed the box to Mick.

It balanced there on the center of his palm, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak. Piper held her breath.

“One of the many fascinating things I learned from Ophelia’s diaries, Piper, is that this is the very ring Malcolm carried around in his pocket for a dozen years. My guess is that he had it engraved at a later date, perhaps even after they came to Boston, since the words reflect the nature of their hard-won love for each other.”

Mick and Piper said nothing. They just stared at the box.

“Well, open it, for God’s sake.”

Mick looked up to Piper and she shrugged—she truly didn’t know what to do at that point. He grabbed the lid and carefully pried it open, the velvet exterior and the satin lining shredded with time.

Piper sucked in air. Mick shifted on the love seat. Inside the box was a stunning oval-shaped ruby surrounded by more than a dozen small but blindingly clear diamonds, set on a substantial rose-gold band. It had to be worth a fortune.

“Claudia, this is so incredibly thoughtful of you, but this is a family heirloom and—”

“What? It should sit on a velvet cushion in a glass case and never ride again on the hand of a woman in love? Before you say no, remember that I have no one to pass it on to. Piper, you have shed light on Malcolm and Ophelia’s story and it does not escape me that it took a great deal of courage to do so. I know of no other woman who should wear this ring, and, truly, I think Ophelia would want you to have it.”

Piper’s mouth fell wide, then snapped shut. “It’s too much,” she said. “I am flattered that you would want me to have it, but—”

“I’ll buy it,” Mick said simply. “Name your price and I’ll pay it.”

“Mick—”

“No, love. Claudia’s right. You should have this ring. It’s supposed to be yours.”

“But—”

“Then that settles it,” Claudia said, standing as if there were nothing left to discuss. “And my price is a dollar. Do you happen to have that kind of cash on you?”

Mick laughed. “By God, I believe you’ve caught me on a flush day,” he said.

Claudia put her head back and roared. “Fine, then.” She took a few steps toward the parlor door. “You two spend as much time here as you’d like. I have a few phone calls to return.”

They both stood. “Thank you, Claudia—” Piper didn’t even have a chance to finish her sentence. Claudia was already down the hall. They stared at the empty doorway for several seconds.

Eventually, Mick let go with a long, low whistle, then said, “Holy feckin’ Jaysus H.…”

“On a pogo stick,” Piper added.

They turned to each other, stunned. “What are we going to do?” Piper asked.

“I’ve got a great idea,” Mick said, reaching into the velvet box. He placed the sparkling gold and jewels at the very tip of her ring finger.

“Wait!” Piper said.

“Ah, the truth comes out!” Mick said. “Which have you changed your mind about—the ring or wanting to be married to me?”

Piper laughed. “I just want to see the engraving inside.”

“Right.”

Mick leaned down near Piper’s face, turning the inside of the gold band toward the light.

“Latin,” Mick said.

“Una in sublime ferimur,”
Piper read.

Their eyes met. Piper saw everything she loved in Mick in that single shared glance—his intelligence, his humor, the depth of his understanding. She knew her smile was as big as his.

As he slid the ring down onto her finger, they spoke the English translation at the same time.

“Together, we soar.”

Epilogue

Malloy’s Pub buzzed with activity. The crew from Compass Cable Network were crammed into a semicircle in the bar’s tiny dining room, along with their light stands, cameras, and endless bundles of electric cables. Though Mick could scarcely believe it, they were about to film the fifth-anniversary kickoff segment for
Digging for the Truth with Piper and Mick Malloy
.

Perched on their usual stools, their backs to the bar, Mick and Piper submitted to last-minute touch-ups. Piper shot a smile Mick’s way, indicating that she was trying to be patient while the makeup artist powdered her cheeks and the hair guru foostered about with her long ponytail, draping it over one of her shoulders. Mick watched as the wardrobe stylist had a go at her next, doing his magic with safety pins and masking tape in an attempt to limit the way her shirt gaped at the neck.

Piper sighed. “Don’t get stressed over this, guys,” she told the stylists. “I’m only going to look sleek from the shoulders up.”

“You’re the most sleek, gorgeous, extremely pregnant woman I’ve ever seen,” Mick assured her, reaching over and laying his hand on her protruding belly. “You are a fine creature, indeed, Mrs. Malloy.”

Piper laughed. “Relax the cacks, Magnus. This is a family show.”

Cullen suddenly hoisted himself up and plopped belly-first on the bar, shoving his head between them. He kissed Piper on the cheek. “They’re lined up halfway around the block,” he said, giddiness in his voice. “This is going to be the biggest send-off yet!”

Mick’s brother slid back onto his mark behind the bar—center stage, as he called it—and began chatting it up with everyone in sight. Like every year, Cullen had ramped up his Irish accent for filming. He claimed it added ambiance and had helped make Malloy’s Pub a Boston tourism destination. (Graciously, he admitted that four seasons on cable TV hadn’t hurt, either.)

The director called for everyone’s attention, and within minutes, the cameras were rolling.

“Thanks for joining us for another season of
Digging for the Truth,
” Mick read off the teleprompter. “As always, Piper and I are celebrating our return to our home turf with a stop at Malloy’s Pub on Broad Street in Boston.”

That was Cullen’s cue to stroll into the picture, slap a bar towel over his shoulder, and greet the audience as he pulled a pint or two.