How To Please a Pirate (29 page)

“Her Grace felt no pain, I assure you. She
had brought her exceedingly handsome ‘cousin’ from York to the
theatre with her.” Isabella laid a finger aside of her nose and
gave a sly wink.

Jacquelyn frowned in puzzlement.

“The duchess has no familial relations from
that region of which I’m aware. The young man was her light-o-love,
you see. Oh, you should have been there, dearest, but then we’d
have had to share my opera glasses and I fear I wouldn’t have
relinquished them for worlds. The duke turned the most charming
shade of purple,” Isabella said with a laugh. “And now he’s known
before the world for what he is.”

“An adulterous husband with a choleric
temper?”

“Worse. A hypocrite,” Isabella said. “Society
will wink at a gentleman’s indiscretions, even secretly cheer them,
but it will not abide a fraud. If he insists on flaunting his
mistress he ought not to be surprised when his wife rubs his nose
in the fact that she’s cuckolded him. I’m afraid His Grace’s
theatrics overshadowed the poor players on the stage by several
leagues.”

Isabella sipped her tea. “I wonder if that
was precisely the reaction the duchess was hoping for. She must
have known he’d be there. Oh, brava!” Isabella clapped her hands
together soundlessly. “Do you suppose she might have arranged the
confrontation on purpose?”

“Why on earth would she do that?”

“To put the cheeky bastard on notice, I
imagine,” Isabella said, lifting her cup in a mock toast. “I give
you the Duchess of Kent. Well played, madam.”

“You speak as if marriage were some sort of
chess match.”

“Aptly put, dearest. I suspect matters of the
heart always are a game on some levels. Heaven knows, a mistress
must use strategy when dealing with her lover. But it’s a rare wife
who shows such initiative. I suspect the Duke’s mistress will be in
want of a patron very shortly,” Isabella predicted. “Who knows? He
might actually love his wife and not have realized it until that
moment.”

Jacquelyn shook her head. She’d never
understand her mother’s way of thinking if she lived to be a
hundred. She and Gabriel had caused each other enough pain without
resorting to any such skullduggery. To manufacture an excuse to
hurt each other seemed the antithesis of love.

Isabella sighed. “Actually, my pity goes to
the mistress.”

“There’s a surprise,” Jacquelyn muttered to
the cooling porridge she couldn’t bring herself to try.

“Well, I hope the girl was sensible enough to
arrange for a pension in her contract at least,” Isabella said.

“A pension?”

“Of course, lovie. A woman of pleasure must
look to her own future, for no one else will see to it for her,”
Isabella explained. She waved a hand around the sumptuously
appointed dining room, glittering with silver and fine glassware.
“As you can see, I did. When one is young and beautiful, it’s easy
to be distracted by romance and passion. However, as the years
pass, I’m more comforted by jewels and banknotes than an admirer’s
love sonnets in praise of my charms. Besides, they are invariably
poorly written and at this stage in my career,” her shoulders
bunched in a self-deprecating shrug, “patently false.”

Despite her age, which she worked tirelessly
to keep at bay, Isabella was still much in demand. She accompanied
gentlemen to soirees and sporting occasions, acting not only as an
ornament to her partner’s arm, but also as a sparkling wit to draw
others to her companion. Isabella counted many famous artists and
philosophers both in London and on the Continent as her intimate
friends. An invitation to one of Isabella Wren’s dinner parties was
cause for rejoicing among the city’s demimonde.

“I do wish you’d come with me this evening.
The opera is a new one and is said to utterly charming,” Isabella
coaxed. “An Italian
castrati
is singing. Abominable
practice, of course, but what a sublime sound. Have you ever heard
one?”

Jacquelyn shook her head, but she knew a
castrati
was a neutered male. She mentally shuddered at the
mutilation involved in producing those musical wonders.

“Imagine the purity and sweetness of a boy
soprano and the strength of a man’s chest and breath capacity. Not
much of interest lower down,
bien sur,
but the music makes
up for other deficiencies, I’m told. Do say you’ll come. We have a
lovely box reserved.”

“I’m sorry, mother. I’m not exactly feeling
up to socializing.”

“Whyever not? Your belly is still flatter
than my own. No one would guess that you’re bearing, child. Why not
enjoy yourself for once?”

“Ah!” Jacquelyn cast her a wry smile. “I
believe enjoying myself is what got me into this predicament.”

“No, never say that. If you loved the man, do
not regret the joy you gave each other.” Isabella fluttered down
the length of the table, teacup in hand. She settled beside
Jacquelyn and leaned toward her confidingly. “Did you love
him?”

More than worlds,
Jacquelyn thought,
but didn’t dare say. To admit it aloud would be to bare her heart
and its only safety lay in staying as hidden as the treasure
resting beneath Dragon Caern. She turned the question back on her
mother. “Did you love all your men?”

“All your men,” Isabella mimicked. “Listen to
you. Anyone would think I was two penny prostitute who turned
tricks in the alley. I have been the soul of discernment. I’ll have
you know, my dear, that while I’ve had a coterie of admirers, the
number of men I’ve actually taken to my bed over the years may be
counted on one hand.”

Jacquelyn digested this astounding fact.

“But the answer to your question is yes,”
Isabella said, her voice wistful. “In my own way, I loved them
all.”

Isabella finished her tea in silence, the
only sound the soft clink of the bone china cup settling into its
gilt-edged saucer.

“My dear, you know you are welcome to live
with me for as long as you wish,” she finally said. “However, with
the odd hours I keep, my mode of life is hardly conducive to child
rearing.”

“Is that why you abandoned me to Lundgrim’s
Academy for Young Ladies of Good Family?” Jacquelyn asked. “I
always imagined you were simply too busy for me.”

“Oh, lovie, is that what you thought?”
Isabella placed a hand on Jacquelyn’s forearm. “If only you knew
how often I wanted you here. But however much I enjoy my life,
there are certain . . . disadvantages. I wanted you to be a lady,
to make a brilliant match someday. That’s why I insisted you be
educated.”

“You’re too a smart woman to believe in fairy
tales,” Jacquelyn said. “You must have known without proper
familial connections there would be no grand marriage for me. All I
might hope for was a position as a governess. And it seems I’ve
muffed that in grand fashion.”

Jacquelyn had been gone from Dragons Caern a
little more than a fortnight, but she still was unsure what she was
going to do. She’d had no plan beyond reaching her mother’s home
when she rode off. Now a sense of lethargy stole over her, robbing
her of the will to act. She knew she had some decisions to make,
but she resisted the attempt. After all, her choices were
responsible for her present. How could she trust herself to do any
better for her future? Especially now that she had another little
life to consider as well.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to speak to you
about your future and this seems the perfect opportunity,” Isabella
said as if she’d read Jacquelyn’s mind. “You’re pretty enough to do
well as a top-tier courtesan. Your French is excellent and when you
put your mind to it, you can be charming. I’m assuming you are
fairly well acquainted with various methods of pleasuring a
man.”

“Your letters were most explicit on those
points, Mother,” she said.

“A mother must share what she knows,”
Isabella said. “However, experience is always the best
teacher.”

“And the hardest,” Jacquelyn said.

“Admittedly,” Isabella agreed. “After the
child is born, you will have limited options before you. With my
connections, I should be able to launch you into demirep society as
my protégé.”

Horror must have shown on Jacquelyn’s
face.

“Not to your taste? Well, gay society, late
hours and hedonistic pleasure aren’t for everyone, but I want you
to consider your choices,” her mother said without rancor. “Still
your aristocratic education will not go to waste. If you’re
prepared to wed quickly—quickly enough that society will allow
itself to believe your babe premature, there may yet be a way for
you to make a grand match. How would you fancy being a
countess?”

“From courtesan to countess?” Jacquelyn
swallowed hard. “That’s quite a leap.”

“Not as far as you might think,” Isabella
said.

Jacquelyn choked out a laugh. “Mother, are
you sure that’s just tea you’ve been sipping? I’m bearing another
man’s child. I’d be surprised if a ditch digger would wed me in
this state.”

“And yet, my dear friend Lord Geoffrey
Haversham, heir to the Earl of Wexford, is prepared to do just
that,” Isabella said.

“How could you discuss my situation with a
stranger?” Jacquelyn demanded indignantly.

“Geoffrey is no stranger. I count him one of
my closest companions. He is the soul of discretion and I trust him
implicitly,” Isabella explained. “He and I have been keeping
company for over a year now. The man is charming, witty and wealthy
enough in his own right for it not to matter that you are without
either pedigree or substantial dowry.”

“Mother, I—”

“In fact, I didn’t have to ask. He
offered
to wed you,” Isabella went on. “Geoffrey assured me
he will welcome and cherish your child as if it were his own. You
will both want for nothing. None will ever have cause to doubt that
Geoff is the sire by any action or word of his.”

“Mother, you’re making no sense,” Jacquelyn
said, the bare thought of wedding some stranger making her stomach
curdle. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“What I’m about to tell you is in the
strictest of confidence, you understand.” The tip of Isabella’s
tongue slipped between her lips for a moment as she gnawed it
thoughtfully. “Because Geoffrey . . . well, there’s no way to state
the facts less baldly and still be clear. You see, Geoffrey likes
men.”

Jacquelyn blinked. Her sensual education, it
seemed, was not as complete as she thought.

“You’d never guess it to look at him—an avid
sportsman, tall, attractive, sings like a bird and dances like an
angel. He’s the perfect gallant. Bless his heart, Geoffrey’s been
hard put to keep it secret, but he manages,” Isabella said. “Says
his father would die of apoplexy if he ever found out, so Geoff’s
been very circumspect. Never visited a molly house in his life and
swears he never will. In fact, he’s only had one lover—his Italian
valet, you see. He’s been with him for years. I believe they quite
dote upon one another in absolute secrecy, you understand. But as a
future earl, Geoffrey desperately needs a wife and—”

“And I need a husband to give my child a
name,” Jacquelyn finished for her, subconsciously resting one hand
on her abdomen.

“Actually, this could work to both your
advantages,” Isabella said. “Geoffrey is enlightened enough to
realize that you have needs which he’s unable to meet. He said he
wouldn’t even care if you took a lover—discreetly, of course—and
bore other children which he would happily acknowledge, because a
man can never have too many heirs.”

Jacquelyn covered her face with both
hands.

“He’d be good to you. Generous and grateful,
exceedingly useful qualities in a husband,” Isabella urged. “Think
of the child.”

A life of privilege. Wealth. The blessings of
an education. An earldom if her child should turn out to be a boy.
Cosseted protection and a prominent match, if a girl. As the
offspring of an earl, Jacquelyn and Gabriel’s child would be
welcome at court. And Jacquelyn would finally be what she’d longed
to be all her life.

A lady.

And a total bald-faced lie. Nothing in the
life her mother tempted her with would be real.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Don’t decide now,” Isabella said. “Come with
me to the opera tonight and meet him. Honestly, the man could charm
the birds from the sky.”

“Mother, I have to go.” Jacquelyn pushed back
from the table and stood.

“Where?”

“To answer an advertisement. There’s a
modiste on Close Street who’s looking for an assistant.”

“Doing what?”

“Needlework—mending, alterations, that sort
of thing. I’m no tailor, but perhaps with training—”

“You’ll be treated like a servant and paid
even less. All that sewing will ruin your eyes,” Isabella
predicted. “And what kind of life will that give your child?”

“I don’t know,” Jacquelyn admitted in
frustration. “But at least it will be something true.”

“And what about the fact that the father of
your child has left you and the babe to fend for yourselves?”
Isabella said, her tone becoming strident. “A man should be held
responsible for his get. At the very least, he should provide for
your living until the child comes of age. That’s also true.”

Jacquelyn stopped at the door and looked back
at her mother over her shoulder. “He doesn’t know. And he never
will.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure what he expected from
Jacquelyn’s mother. His experience with women who sold their favors
was limited to the whores Meri frequented in Port Royal. He
certainly didn’t anticipate a lady of such obvious refinement and
dignity as Isabella Wren.

“Lord Drake, what an unexpected pleasure,”
Isabella said, her slender fingers lifted gracefully in greeting.
“My daughter has told me so much about you.”