Authors: Cupboard Kisses
“Oh, then you don’t wish to marry me?” Cristabel was too relieved to feel humiliated for her misinterpretation.
“Well, I’d like to, of course. I mean you’re a devilish good-looking woman now and all, and comfortable besides, not always making scenes and nattering on at a fellow. You’re a real lady, Belle, and a chap could do a lot worse, if he was looking to get leg-shackled.”
“Thank you, Major. That’s very kind, even if I did back you into the corner.”
“Not at all. The thing is, I cannot really afford a wife, a poor wife, that is. I don’t suppose you have a handsome dowry tucked away somewhere? Old Harwood didn’t make a deposit for you before he stuck his spoon in the wall or anything?”
Cristabel had to laugh. Here was cream-pot love, indeed! “I only wish he did, Mac, but I’m as poor as a church-mouse myself, or as near as makes no difference. I have to start advertising for music pupils soon.”
“But what if there was another way? See, it’s like Kitty and Gwen and all the girls with no dowries, no families to take them in, and no connections. They’ve got no chance of making a respectable match so they have to earn their own keep, same as you or I. Now, there are men, well-heeled men with more money than Golden Ball, who are willing, no, happy, to spend their blunt for some pretty companionship.”
“Mac, what are you saying? Those men, the officers, Kitty’s Lord Minerly, they
pay
the girls?”
“No, no, that would be vulgar. A woman needs a man to handle these things for her.”
“Mac, the girls? Tell me, please, that I don’t understand what you’re saying, that they’re not, not light-skirts.”
“They don’t walk the streets, if that’s what you’re thinking. Nick and I make sure no one gets out of line and—”
“Nick and you?
My house?”
“I know you’re upset right now, Belle, but think about it. With a careful adviser and the right introductions, a good-looking woman can do very well for herself.”
Miss Swann stood. Curtsied like a duchess. And tipped the punch bowl into Major MacDermott’s lap.
* * *
“Dash it, Kenley, you’ve been looking like thunder all night. If you’re not going to enjoy yourself, why did we come to Vauxhall? We could have gone to Lady Ingleston’s rout and not enjoyed ourselves.”
“I told you, Perry, I’m just not ready to face all the toadeaters of the
ton.
If it’s not the young pups wanting to hear war stories, it’s the hopeful mamas pushing their simpering misses at me.”
“Well, you are a hero, and the biggest prize to come on the marriage market for years. You can’t blame ’em.”
“But I don’t have to like them, either. I’m just not ready for the polite world, Almack’s and all its rules, the insipid debutantes and the inadequate refreshments. Besides, I really wanted to see the fireworks, and the thousand lanterns that are supposed to be here.”
“And one particular bit of fluff?”
Winstoke smiled ruefully. “Who isn’t insipid and who seems to make her own rules. She dances like an angel, too.”
“Yes, so you’ve had your dance. It didn’t make you any better company, so can we go? Look, your angel is leaving anyway.”
“Blast, the little fool is going off by herself again.”
“So? She’s most likely just looking for the convenience.”
“Down the Dark Walk? I am going to keelhaul that nodcock MacDermott.”
“Come on, Kenley, you can’t worry about a jade like that. She knows what she’s doing.”
“And I’d swear she doesn’t.”
* * *
Oh dear, where was the exit? She had thought it was this way when she rushed off, but she couldn’t see the pavilion or the fortune-teller’s tent, and there were less lights than she remembered. She could hear the music though, so if she just took this side-path back, she should do fine. Except for the two men blocking her way.
“Hey, mate, what have we here?”
“It looks like our lucky night, don’t it?”
Cristabel took one horrified look at the blackened teeth, the torn gloves and rag-stuffed shoes, the leering, unshaven faces—and turned to race back the way she had come. As fast as she could run, the thugs were gaining. She was gasping for every breath—and they were laughing! One was close enough to grab at her dress. She could hear the gauze overskirt rip, and still she ran—straight into Lord Winstoke’s arms!
“My, my,” he said, holding her close for just a moment before setting her behind him, “you do have a full dance card tonight, don’t you?”
“Hey, mister, we seen her first.”
“And I bet I’ve seen the Indian Ocean before you. That doesn’t make it mine, either.”
“Please, my lord, oh please can we not just go?” Cristabel said, tugging on his sleeve, trembling.
He touched her bare arm reassuringly, but told her, “I’m afraid it won’t be that simple, will it, gentlemen?”
“Not unless you wants to make it up to us with some of the ready.”
“I’ll pay! Whatever you want. Here.” Cristabel fumbled with the strings of her reticule.
“Poor Bluebell, don’t you remember your nursery stories? The ones where the trolls hid under the bridge and travelers had to pay to cross? The travelers always got made into porridge anyway, you know. No, there’s only one way to deal with the ogres of the world.” He removed his jacket and handed it to her. “Just one favor, lads, try not to hit my head if you can.”
The first brute rushed straight for the viscount, swinging for his skull. Winstoke ducked beneath the blow and brought his own fist up, straight to the fellow’s jaw. When that one hit the ground, the other ruffian came on with a cudgel, raised high. Before he could bring it down, Winstoke’s fist was buried in his stomach, knocking all the air out of him. Cristabel was still looking for a stick, a rock, anything to throw, to protect her champion, when he laughed and took his jacket out of her clenched hands.
“I suggest we leave now, unless you want to wait for your friends to wake up.”
“Of all the cork-brained, caper-witted things to do! You may as well have told them you were wounded!”
“Right, maybe next time.”
“You…you great looby. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you did. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t…but they could have hurt you!”
That concern in her voice was worth the skinned knuckles, but Winstoke only smiled. “Tactics, my girl,” he told her. “If you tell a bully about a weakness, he’ll go right for it, making it that much easier to protect. You know just where he’s aiming. If you’re going to cut up stiff at me, though, your coming down here alone wasn’t exactly needle-witted, especially after you saw what could happen right on the dance floor. Whatever possessed you to run off by yourself like that?”
Little things: her house was a bordello, her friends were light-skirts and panderers, and the only offer she was ever likely to get was
carte blanche.
It was too overwhelming and mortifying to discuss. “Just say that I am as ignorant as a turnip and I’ve made mice feet out of everything.”
“As bad as all that, hm?”
“Worse!”
“I know it’s trite, but things often do look better after a good night’s sleep. Anyone would be overset after such a frightening experience.”
Miss Swann didn’t know how she was ever to sleep in that house again, but she couldn’t tell the viscount that. “Do you think I could trouble you to find me a hackney? I doubt Major MacDermott waited for me.”
“I have my carriage,” he offered, consigning Perry to a hired coach.
“You’ve already been so kind, my lord, I—”
“Do you think you might call me something other than ‘my lord’? Winstoke would be fine, even Lee. That’s what my mother calls me.”
“Thank you, Lee, but—”
“Yes, you’ve already thanked me, and no, it’s not out of my way. And if it will set your mind at rest, your virtue is safe with me.” He added a mental “Tonight,” but quickly appended, “While I am being so avuncular, a bit of advice: just like these ruffians back there, men cannot resist a challenge. Your air of innocence in a siren’s body is just that. Your cloak of gentility is a dare.”
“But I
am
respectable.” At least she thought so, before tonight.
If he privately thought she had last been innocent in the cradle maybe, he only agreed with her: “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I don’t know what I believe anymore, to be honest, but it doesn’t matter. I do know that I am well and truly caught in your spell.”
* * *
“Here, put this around you. You’re trembling.”
Cristabel had left her wrap back at the box, for all the warmth another piece of netting would have been. She huddled into the carriage blanket he draped over her shoulders, even knowing her shivers weren’t from the night chill alone.
“Don’t think about those men,” the viscount told her, putting his arm around her to keep the blanket secure.
What men? Lord Minerly, Sir Winklesham, Mr. Frye? How could she not think about them, coming in and out of her house? And what Mac wanted her to do—she shuddered again.
“Here,” Winstoke soothed, pulling her closer into the security of his arms. “You are safe now.”
Heaven knew what she would have to face in Kensington, or how she would prove to this nobleman that things weren’t what they seemed, but for this moment she did feel safe and reassured. She relaxed against him with a sigh.
By Jupiter, Winstoke asked himself, feeling her softness against his chest, inhaling her lavender scent, did I really swear to honor her virtue?
* * *
The ride was too long for Winstoke, too short for Miss Swann. It was too long for him to hold this most desirable woman in his arms without seeing if the skin above that absurd butterfly was as soft as it looked, or without feeling those velvet lips respond to his again.
And the ride was too short to face the unpleasantness outside of his strong embrace, to leave the security and the tingle in her stomach at his nearness. Cristabel barely had time to wonder if he would kiss her, if she turned her face up to his, and if she would stop him.
Then they were in Kensington, and the driver was asking for the address. Cristabel directed him for several blocks, and then told him to halt at the corner of Sullivan Street. She could see the house up ahead—anyone could, it was so well lighted, with several carriages out front. There was no way she wanted Lord Winstoke to witness the scene she was sure would follow, and maybe he didn’t even know about the house yet. It was such a long shot Uncle Charlie would turn over in his grave, but it was her only hope.
“Here will be fine,” she told him, tumbling out of the carriage as soon as the footman had the door open, before the viscount could get down to assist her. “I wouldn’t want to wake anyone, you see. And you’ve done so much and thank you, and please excuse me.” And she hurried off into the darkness.
Bemused, the viscount ordered his coachman to follow, slowly and at a distance. Cristabel was too fired up to notice, by the time she pushed past two soldiers watering the flower bed. No wonder nothing grew here!
Locked! Her own front door was locked against her! Cristabel rapped, but they were playing the pianoforte and singing too loudly inside to hear. So she pounded on the door with both fists and yelled, “Nick Blass, you open the door this instant, you miserable whoremonger!”
They heard that, all right. In the parlor and across the street, where Lord Winstoke sat in his carriage, chuckling.
“Shall we drive on now, milord?” his coachman asked, offended. This was no place for the quality.
“No, let’s wait. I might get to see fireworks tonight after all.” He laughed. Damn, the chit had spirit. For an instant he was reminded of Harwood’s dragon niece, breathing hellfire and moral outrage. Lord, he hoped she was behind one of the lace curtains he saw being twitched aside, up and down the street. He’d pay another share of Harwood’s debts just to see her face, if she heard his little spitfire and found she was living next door to a brothel! He’d have to remember to ask Jonas Sparling in the morning for the old harridan’s address. Meanwhile, the front door of Belle’s house was opening, and he strained to hear the conversation.
* * *
“Out. I want them out, do you hear me? All of them! You have ten minutes to get rid of them, and another five to gather your things. Then I’ll call the watch and the constable and every magistrate in the city.”
“So Sleepin’ Beauty finally ’as ’er eyes open. Well, it’s too late, missy, too late ’n too bad. You’re one of us now. Mac was right for once: there’s not a bloody thing you can do about it.”
“I’ll never be one of you! I’d burn this house down before I’d see it used like this.”
“Fancy words from a fancy piece don’t make you no better’n you should be neither. It was your uncle as put this place in business. We had an agreement. ’E got to visit the girls for free, ’stead of collectin’ rent.”
“I’ll make you a new agreement, you despicable little worm: you get out of here now and I won’t bring charges against you for what you’ve stolen from me in rents and coal money and heaven knows what else. Otherwise I’ll see you deported, you and your foul-stenched cigars and all.”
Nick raised his shaggy brows to look behind her out the still open door, through which a crowd of people was rushing, some of the men straightening clothes, some of the girls dragging hurriedly packed trunks, lace edges hanging out. Nick’s crafty eyes noted the crest on the big carriage out there across the street, and knew he was out-manned, for now.
“You brung the ’eavy artillery to back you up, so I’ll go, wench, but you shut the barn door too late. You think your deuced ’ero’s gonna come up to scratch, you got ’ay in your cockloft. No swell’s takin’ ’is mistress to wife, ’n ’e sure as ’ell ain’t takin’ anyone else’s mistress. I’ll tell the world’n its grandma how you been hangin’ on Mac’s sleeve. And I’ll tell you somethin’ else, missy. You ain’t seen the last of Nick Blass, you ain’t. I don’t care about your deeds and your lawyers, you ain’t gonna live in my house. Not long, you ain’t.”
Shaking, Cristabel looked around. The parlor was empty, and the hall contained only a pale-faced Fanny and Boy, peering around the back of the stairway. Not much in the way of reinforcements.
“Boy, do you want to be porter and odd-job man?” she called out. He nodded. “Then you follow this gallows-bait and make sure he doesn’t take anything that doesn’t belong to him. And you, Fanny, if you want to stay here at all, you go wash that paint off your face and you guard the door. I don’t want any more of these mongrels in here again, is that clear?”
“Oh yes, Miss Cristabel.”
“Good. I’ll have a few more words to speak to you later, you can be sure of that,” Cristabel told the girl, making her face go whiter still, enough so her freckles stood out, even under the rouge.
The troops deployed if not rallied, Cristabel made for the stairway. She doubted anyone could have slept through the party, much less her latest skirmish, but she was determined to make a clean sweep, no quarter given.
* * *
“You lied to me. I thought you were my friend and you lied to me. You stood right by and let me ruin myself. How could you do that?”
Marie was packing. It was taking her longer than the other girls because of all her sewing supplies; she was trying to stuff too many odd bits of fabric into too few hat boxes and satchels. Feathers kept escaping, and buttons were all over the floor. So was Marie, in a heap, sobbing.
“I didn’t want to, I swear I didn’t want to.”
“Then why? You were so good to me about my hair and everything, and when I was sickly. I thought you cared. Was it just the money?”
“Oh no, never that! I would have done all I could anyway, you were so sweet and kindhearted.” Marie started to weep again.
“Oh stop that, do. Here.” Cristabel offered her own handkerchief, miraculously still dry. “Now tell me.”
Marie sniffled. “It was funny, at first. I mean, you were so proper, it was like a joke having you here, and we all thought you’d leave right away when you got better, with no harm done, but you didn’t. And then it was too late. Nick…”
“What about Nick? You can tell me, he’s gone, for good if he knows what’s healthy for him.”
“Nick made us swear not to tell you, all of us. Some of the girls didn’t care; they didn’t know about a lady’s reputation and all. They never had any. I said it was wrong, I really did.”
“I believe you, but then why did you go along with them?”
“I had no choice,” Marie wailed, burying her face in the handkerchief again. “Nick scared me. He said he’d hire me out for a barracks party, if I told. I couldn’t have stood it, Miss Cristabel, I just couldn’t.”
Now Cristabel was really near tears herself. “But Marie, he couldn’t have forced you to.”
“You don’t understand. I have no money, no place else in the world I can go. If it weren’t for this house, I’d have to be standing on the corner outside Drury Lane with the other doxies.”
“Marie, no. You’re not a, a…”
“Yes, I am! I never wanted to be, but I am. At least here I only have to go with men I want.”
“I thought your mother was in service to a noble house. Couldn’t you have gotten a position, instead?”
“Why do you think I left my family?” Marie asked bitterly. “Because I was growing up! His noble lordship took to noticing me, if you know what I mean. My mother would have been dismissed if she’d complained. She was lucky enough to have a job that let her keep a child at all. So she found me a place as abigail with a family in London. A family with sons. I couldn’t stay, but I couldn’t go home. So I decided I was already ruined, let the dastards pay for it, instead of taking it for free. I had a chance for something better, though.”
“Your beau?”
Marie just nodded miserably. “Lord Radway.”
“A nobleman? I mean, did he really say he would marry you?”
“Oh no, I never—that is, he’s already married.”
“Forgive me, I should have known,” Cristabel said, but Marie missed the sarcasm.
“We talked about a little place of my own. I thought I could put some money aside, if I didn’t have to pay rent, and do dressmaking for extra.”
“To save for your pension?”
“Exactly. But he’s not back yet from the country, and I don’t know where to go, and I’m so sorry I had to lie to you.”
“Stop being such a watering pot! I understand how Nick frightened you, he scared me half to death, downstairs. Really I do. And…and I cannot like your plans, but you may stay here until your Lord Radway comes for you.”
“Oh thank you, and you don’t need to worry, I’ll be as proper as a parson till Chauncey comes.”
“Chauncey?”
Marie just shrugged. “You know, this was an awful thing to do to you, and all, and I would have sent you off if I could, but then I kept hoping something good might come of it. Your Lord Winstoke is so handsome and rich—”
“So what is there not to love, right? If you think that’s the perfect answer, that I’d accept a slip on the shoulder in order to secure my future, you better keep packing. That’s not love. That’s no future either, Marie, and I
do
have a choice.”
* * *
Fanny was in the parlor downstairs, holding Major MacDermott at bay with the fireplace poker.
“You told me to keep the mongrels out, miss, but you didn’t say if it was just strays.”
“You did fine. Did Nick leave?”
“Yes, ma’am, cursing something terrible, he was. Boy locked all the doors and windows, though, and set his watchdog loose downstairs.”
“Boy has a watchdog?”
“Oh yes, a great ferocious beast it is, too. Do you want to see?”
“Uh, not right now. I’d like to talk to the major first.”
Mac was not looking like his usual well turned-out self. His hair stood in disheveled peaks, the front of his jacket, waistcoat, and pantaloons had a big red splotch, and his laced neckcloth that had been tied in a Waterfall looked more like a whirlpool. He was nervously twisting a piece of net fabric between his hands, her scarf.
“I looked for you everywhere. You shouldn’t have gone off like that.”
Fanny’s eyes were wide with curiosity, so Cristabel sent her to fetch some tea.
“No,” Cristabel decided, “I think I need something stronger. I am quite sure there is something drinkable right here, in my own parlor.” This last was spoken with such venom you’d think Napoleon had just landed his invasion force there. “Could you please just bring me a clean glass, Fanny? Make that two,” she said, looking at Mac again, then told the maid to wait. “I’d like to hear your story first.”
“My story, ma’am?”
“Yes, you know, how you happened to be here, why you went along with all the lies instead of telling me the truth about this place, when I was the one paying your salary.”
Fanny looked at Mac, who looked away. Then she kept her eyes on her feet. “I didn’t like to lie, Miss Cristabel. On my honor. I don’t suppose that’s saying much, anymore. On my mother’s honor, I didn’t like misleading you. Nick said I had to or he’d sell me to one of the flash houses.”
“What? You can’t sell little girls, not even in this wicked city!” She turned to Mac for confirmation, but he was only looking grayer in the face and wouldn’t meet her eyes either.
“You see how easy it was to keep it from you, Miss Cristabel? You’re greener than I was even. I thought I could find honest work here, a strong farm girl and all, ’cause there were too many of us at home and not enough to go around. My Uncle Samuel, he’s the one with the wooden leg, was bringing some cane work up to town to sell, so I rode along with him. Nick was at the market and asked did I want a job. I didn’t know any better, and when I did, I was only glad he wasn’t one of the ones what drug girls and keep them locked up. I never wanted to be there, ma’am, even if it meant fibbing.”
“I understand, child. Go fetch the glasses.”
* * *
If she were judge and jury, by the look Cristabel gave Mac, he was hanged.
“But, Belle,” he protested in his own defense, “Nick wanted to kill you and I wouldn’t let him.”
“I suppose I have that much to be thankful for, then, Major MacDermott. And it is Miss Swann to you.”
“Ah, come on, Belle, you’re carrying on like I stole the crown jewels. It’s not that bad, my dear.”
“No? Mac, I have no money except a temporary loan. I have no family and no connections. I had two things left, this house and my good name, and that’s what you stole. I think that’s bad enough.”
“But I can make it up to you, Belle. We’ll get married! That would fix it all right and tight. It’s what I always wanted, you know, so you’d be making me the happiest of men.”
“Cut line, Mac, it’s too late to turn me up sweet. I’d sooner take the kitchen cat to bed or marry Attila the Hun. But tell me something, before you start packing. What hold did Nick Blass have over you? I mean, you were an officer, with a good education, a respectable family, a sure future. Why would you do such a thing?” She waved her hand around to mean the house, the girls, not just herself.
“The money, of course, always the money. It’s like this: I hate the Army. The British despise the Scots still, so my regiment is always sent into the thick of things. I don’t want to go back there to be cannon fodder. But if I sell out, Uncle cuts off my income.”
“So this is by way of being a new career? Instead of the Army, instead of finding an honest position somewhere, you tried to make your fortune off the women?”
“No, no. I tried to explain to you before. It’s the men who pay. The girls were going to be, ah, in business anyway. I just found them a better class of customers, you might say.”
“You make me sick. Get your things and get out.”
“Now hold, Belle. You cannot just toss me out. I had a lease with Lord Harwood, and I’m paid for this quarter.”
“Show me the contract.”
“Devil a bit, it was a gentlemen’s agreement. We shook hands.”
“Since neither one of you was much of a gentleman, I’d say the lease is void. This is my house, and it will be respectable. You’re not. You’ll have to go.”
“But Belle—Miss Swann,” he corrected, seeing the harsh frown, “it’s only for a week or so more before I’ll have to rejoin my unit. I can’t claim sick leave much longer.”
“No.”
“But you need me here,” he said, thinking quickly. “I can keep all the regulars away and pass the word that the girls are all gone.”
“You can do that from the barracks.”
“What about Nick, then? Do you think he was bamming, with all those threats? Let me tell you, he doesn’t have a whole lot of respect for the value of human lives, if you get my drift. And he was madder than I’ve ever seen him. Or did you expect to protect yourself with those two children”—he gestured out the hall—“Fanny with a poker and Boy with a skillet?”
“I’ll notify the watch, then, or go to Bow Street.”
“What’s the watch going to do, circle the block an extra time? And how long will your money last if you have to hire runners to guard the house twenty-four hours a day? ’Cause Nick’ll be back, you can bet on it.”
Cristabel couldn’t agree, not with her threats of legal action against him, yet the filthy skirter might be demented enough to try to intimidate her again. The thought of that foul little man coming anywhere near her was enough to turn her stomach to knots. Mac saw his advantage.