Authors: The Courtesan
“To go to Carrington Grove—or with your James?”
She smiled. “We shall see, won’t we? You will ride with us tomorrow?”
“Yes, I will come do the pretty to your new friend.”
“Excellent! Then I shall tease you no more—for now.”
As his sister walked away, Jack’s smile faded. Next to her youth and enthusiasm, he felt ancient—and jaded.
He hoped with all his battered soul that she never had to learn about duty and the small place the desires of one’s heart played in it.
The smoldering embers in the hearth, the late hour, the warmth of the liqueur heating a path from his lips down
his chest, all brought back to him their time together so vividly, he could almost feel Belle’s presence.
When even the smallest details of life recalled her so strongly, how would he ever get her out of his head?
T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
, Belle stood at her window surveying her mist-shrouded garden in Mount Street. After a long journey, she and Mae had arrived late yesterday, Mae exclaiming with delight at each familiar street.
Just a few nights ago they’d sat with Sergeant Jackman in the firelit parlor at Bellehaven while his assistant disclosed that Mr. Harris, after attempting to entice girls at another Market Day in a town closer to London, had returned to rooms in Chelsea—and then passed the night at Mrs. Jarvis’s establishment. ’Twas proof enough of the link between the recruiter and the bawd, Belle felt, that she could bring the evidence to Egremont.
She’d decided to ask Mae to accompany her back to London. Her old friend had been a cheerful presence during her exile to the country, but Belle knew how much the woman missed the theaters, inns and shops of the capital city. Telling Mae that she intended to return to Bellehaven as soon as the business with Jane was completed, she offered to let her friend stay on at the town house.
Implying she did not wish to suffer the attentions of the gentlemen who would doubtless hound her if her presence became known, Belle had asked Mae not to tell anyone
she’d returned to the city. She’d already warned Mae she would not accompany her on any outings. Only one pleasure would Belle indulge—her usual morning gallop.
At this hour, the fashionables of the ton would have just found their beds, particularly the gentlemen who made up her usual court. And given the grayness of the day, she thought, looking at the clouds of swirling mist, even should any of them chance to be abroad, in her gray habit with her bright hair concealed under a hat, she would have to practically collide with one in order to be recognized.
A short time later, she rode through the park gates. She found the cool morning air refreshing despite the lingering fog, though prudence dictated she refrain, with visibility so poor, from indulging in a gallop. Nonetheless, she was enjoying pushing her mare to a brisk trot, when the muffled sound of approaching hoofbeats reached her ears.
Deciding ’twould be wiser to turn aside and wait for them to pass, rather than risk having the unknown riders overtake her, Belle guided her horse onto a side trail.
When out of the mist, two figures riding sidesaddle emerged, the tension she’d not realized had been gripping her eased. She relaxed further when they drew close enough for her to tell, from the cut of their habits and the groom trailing behind, that the riders must be young ladies.
To be in the park so early, they must be chits in their first Season, not yet aware that ’twas the mode to sleep until noon, Belle thought with a smile. Or perhaps they, too, were country-bred and fond of a morning ride.
Then something about one of the riders caught her attention. She stiffened in the saddle, her heartbeat acceler
ating as the girls approached, until at last, through the thinning fog, she could discern their faces.
Heat, then cold flashed through her and for a moment she thought she might faint. Her hands clenched on the reins, her knee on the pommel as she fought to stay in the saddle.
Her instincts had been correct. The slender, chestnut-haired girl riding nearest her had to be Kitty.
The sister she’d not seen in almost seven years.
The sister who believed Belle dead.
Her pulse pounding at her temples, she silently backed her mount away. Though ’twas nearly impossible Kitty might recognize her, Belle didn’t wish to take any chances.
Straining to see as the two figures neared the crossroad, Belle drank in the sight of her sister’s face.
Kitty had been not quite twelve, a sweet and lively girl bidding fair to become a lovely woman the last time Belle had seen her. Though the habit revealed little of her sister’s figure, Belle had a clear enough view of her face to realize that promise had been fulfilled.
Fortunately, Kitty’s oval face and even features were pretty rather than stunning, her eyes a paler blue than Belle’s, her hair their mother’s chestnut rather than their father’s gold. Armed with the dowry Belle had carefully accumulated, her loveliness would attract respectable offers, yet she was not so conspicuously beautiful as to draw to herself the attention—or inspire the lust—of the more bored and venal of the ton.
If Kitty could find a fine man to marry, protect and cherish her, Belle thought, an ache in her throat, all her bitter years of sacrifice would be worth the cost.
All too soon this unexpected, unrepeatable glimpse into her sister’s life came to an end. The girls passed her hiding spot and continued on without a backward glance.
She’d almost quelled the fluttering of her heart when she heard another horse approaching, followed a second later by a female voice calling, “Hurry up, Jack! You’ve fallen too far behind.”
Though, concealed in the misty shadows, she had an imperfect view of the main trail, still Belle had no difficulty recognizing the profile or the upright, military bearing of the rider just coming into sight.
A profile moonlight had outlined against her pillows as he slept. A broad-shouldered figure who had sheltered her within his arms as he drove her though the rain.
But why was Captain Jack Carrington riding in the park with Belle’s sister?
She sat for a moment, stunned, before panic sent her stomach plunging. Not until he’d passed the side trail, his attention fixed on the riders ahead of him, the steady clip-clop of his horse’s hooves unfaltering, did her stomach begin to settle.
Concentrating on drawing in even, steady breaths, Belle waited for the group to ride on. Finally judging it safe, she urged her mount back to the main trail.
As she left the side path, the feeble sun, struggling to penetrate the clouds and fog, made a glowing curtain of the swirling mist, like smoke illumed by lamplight.
How fitting an end to this clandestine glimpse of her sister, Belle thought as she kicked her mare to a trot. Shadow and sunlight, mist and fog, deception and heartache.
H
EARING UNEXPECTED
hoofbeats behind them, Jack whirled in the saddle. After watching the potential threat resolve itself into a lady on a sidesaddle, he was chuckling over the enduring strength of his soldier’s protective instincts nearly a year after his last battle, when a shaft of sunlight briefly illumed the rider. A woman whose tall figure and graceful carriage looked strikingly familiar.
His hands locked on the reins and the breath caught in his throat. But after that one glimpse, mist once more closed over the retreating figure, which was soon lost in the distance.
For an instant he almost succumbed to the impulse to gallop after her. But ’twas nearly impossible the gray-garbed horsewoman could have been Lady Belle. He simply must stop seeing her in every tall woman he passed, every arrangement of golden curls that caught his eye across a crowded street or theater lobby.
Sighing, he shook his head. Lady Belle still haunted him so much that when he first met Dorrie’s friend Catherine this morning, some indefinable something about her had reminded him of Belle. And now he was once again hallucinating about seeing the lady herself. He really must do something to put an end to this obsession, he thought as he spurred his mount to catch up with his sister.
Dorrie greeted his return with a smile. “Catherine and I have just decided this ride has been so delightful, we shall play truant the rest of the day. Could we take a picnic and go visit Hampton Court this afternoon?”
Though his sister’s words were light, the quick frown she sent him conveyed her annoyance that, with an unchiv
alrous lack of attention, he’d lagged behind. “If you wish,” he replied placatingly. “But do you really want to miss being home when your
friends
call?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “If you are referring to James, he has to accompany his father on some matter of business today. I don’t relish staying at home, knowing he won’t be calling. Especially since that annoying Lady Ashcroft would probably take advantage of his absence to tease me about not having yet brought my ‘highly eligible suitor’ up to scratch.”
“I don’t mean to be uncivil,” Catherine said, “but ’tis just that her own daughter is so shy and plain, you quite cast her in the shade.”
“See, Jack? You must rescue me from Lady Ashcroft’s malice. Do say you’ll take us to Hampton Court, please! Besides, I’d like my best friend to have a better chance to become acquainted with my best brother.”
A warning pinged in Jack’s head. He’d agreed to ride with Dorrie this morning since, as restless as he’d been since returning to London, he could use the distraction. And he appreciated the frustration his sister, a skilled equestrienne, felt at the decorous pace dictated by the crush of fashionables during promenade hour. He’d been quite willing to include her new bosom-bow in their plans.
Unless Dorrie had taken a bit too seriously his casual comment that she find him an attractive lady to court.
Not amenable even to her well-intentioned matchmaking, Jack returned a quick frown, to which Dorrie replied by darting her tongue out at him. The gesture was so typ
ical of the scamp he remembered growing up that his ill humor evaporated.
Very well, he’d entertain his sister and her new friend with a picnic to Hampton Court.
But after he deposited them back in London, just to be certain, he’d pay a call at Belle’s town house.
T
HE JOURNEY BY WATER
up the Thames, the girls’ delight at exploring the castle and maze and the excellent repast their cook had prepared, along with finding Miss Catherine Germayne to be as intelligent and amusing as Dorrie had claimed, should have made the afternoon one of unalloyed enjoyment.
Except that Jack was beginning to wonder at his sanity, for as he watched the girls talk and laugh and explore, he couldn’t seem to stop finding in Miss Germayne’s profile, the timbre of her voice, the way she carried herself, echoes of Lady Belle. Telling himself if he got to know the young lady better, he would be able to see her for herself and banish the nonsensical illusion that she resembled a famous courtesan, he decided on the journey back to engage her in conversation.
The camaraderie of the afternoon having allayed his fears that either Dorrie or her friend were bent on encouraging a match between them, he felt comfortable venturing remarks of a more personal nature than the rather general comments to which he’d confined himself thus far.
So, after they’d settled in the boat, Jack said, “You ride very well, Miss Germayne. You must have had an excellent horseman as your instructor.”
“Thank you, Captain, and I did—my uncle Thaddeus. Although he’s not really my uncle, but rather a very distant cousin I came to live with after my parents died.”
At that remark, Jack’s interest rocketed from casual to acute. Though he told himself it was absurd even to imagine there might be a link between Catherine Germayne, making her debut under the patronage of the respected society matron Lady Abrams, and the courtesan Lady Belle, he had difficulty keeping the urgency out of his voice as he continued, “My condolences on such a grievous loss. Did your brothers and sisters go live with your cousin also?”
She shook her head, sadness in her eyes. “No. My only sibling, my older sister, died shortly after Mama.”
“How awful!” Dorrie exclaimed. “You must have felt so alone!”
“Terribly. And guilty, too. You see, we were traveling from our old home to Uncle Thaddeus’s when Mama fell ill. She and Constance insisted that I continue on with our abigail, so as not to be exposed to the infection, while Constance stayed behind to nurse Mama. But after we left, she took sick, too. Snow delayed our journey for several days, and by the time we reached Uncle Thaddeus and he could return to the inn, they…they were both dead.”
While he and Dorrie made sympathetic murmurs, Miss Germayne shook her head. “I’ve always wondered, if I had stayed to help, whether they might have survived.”
“You only did what your mama and sister asked of you—perhaps saving your own life in the bargain,” Dorrie protested. “’Tis very unlikely your presence could have altered the course of their illness.”
“I’m sorry, I should not have responded to your kind inquiry with such a tale of woe,” Catherine said to Jack.
“Don’t be a goose!” Dorrie replied fondly, squeezing the girl’s hand. “Friends rely on their friends, do they not, Jack? We are honored to be in your confidence.”
“Thank you,” Miss Germayne replied, giving Jack a shy smile. “Though Uncle Thaddeus and Aunt Mary were as kind as anyone could wish, I missed my own family dreadfully. It…it is good to be able to speak of them again.”
Since politeness would have compelled Jack to refrain from further questioning, he was delighted to be offered this excuse to continue. “How old were you then?”
“Ten, when Papa died, the winter of 1808. Although we did not get word of it until the following spring. He’d gone to India, you see, to earn his fortune, for as a younger son of a younger son, he had no land to inherit.”
It was his unrealized dream to earn the fortune that would allow him to purchase an estate like this.
The echo of Belle’s words raised the hair at the back of his neck.
Trying to keep his voice even despite a rising excitement, he said, “And your sister?”