Читать книгу The Virtuous Courtesan - Mary Brendan - Страница 7

Chapter Two

‘Are you not going after her?’

Gavin levelled a narrowed gaze on the lawyer. The man had had the impertinence to sound quite disapproving. ‘To what purpose?’ he coolly enquired. ‘So we might argue in the street and provide not just you, but the whole town with diversion?’

Joseph had the grace to glow whilst gesturing his innocence. ‘Of course a scene would not be at all wise. But I imagined you hoped to come to some sort of arrangement with the young lady.’

‘I think Miss Marchant has made it clear she would not want to consider an arrangement with me.’

‘But you are not averse to an arrangement with her?’ the lawyer prompted with sharp inquisitiveness.

Gavin strolled away from the window, from which vantage point he had watched the chit rush off as though the hounds of hell were on her heels. Either she’d been genuinely innocent of any hand in the scheme, and had meant what she said about forgoing her meal ticket, or she was a damn fine actress. For a man who had never experienced any difficulty in the art of seduction, that notion brought with it a crushing conclusion. There was a courtesan who might seriously choose to starve rather than sleep with him. Whereas he, if he were to be honest and circumstances had been different, would have sought to proposition her. She was one of the most divine-looking women he had ever met. And Heaven only knew he had enjoyed the company of quite a few alluring females. Why such a jewel was not dazzling the ton in Mayfair was as mystifying as why she had been attracted to Edward in the first place. An irritable sigh escaped Gavin. But nothing was as damnably vexing as his brother’s decision to attach such bizarre terms to his inheritance.

If Edward had wanted his mistress to continue living in comfort on his death, why on earth had he not simply left her a tidy sum? She might be young, but she’d looked and sounded intelligent enough to manage her money. Or had Edward known his mistress to be an incorrigible spendthrift who might quickly run through her pension?

A rueful twitch lifted a corner of Gavin’s mouth as he considered the possibility. Expensive mistresses were an enduring worry of which he had first-hand knowledge. Half his present financial problems had resulted from his current paramour’s profligacy. The amount Elizabeth frittered on shoes alone would keep a family in modest comfort for several months of the year. Charitably he allowed that the blame for the other half of the pecuniary crisis in which he found himself fell squarely on his own shoulders. Gaming, horseflesh, two new vehicles delivered to his mansion in Lansdowne Crescent in as many months.…

But even the memory of his luxury purchases, and his wanton lover, could not keep his mind long in Mayfair.

The knowledge that his brother had kept an exquisitely beautiful woman was stirring a very unwelcome feeling in Gavin. He had not imagined Edward lived like a monk simply because he resided in the sticks and liked to moralise, but neither would he have imagined Edward capable of attracting such a gem. He swiftly banished the ridiculous idea that he might be jealous. Sibling rivalry between them had died with childhood and scraps over toys. As adults they had always been too different in character to covet what the other had. Or so he’d thought.

‘Have you decided to return to London and give up your brother’s bequest?’ The lawyer interrupted Gavin’s concentration with a doleful tone and a cautionary shake of the head. ‘There is much at stake, you know: several fine properties and almost three thousand pounds annual income from the Willowdene estate. Then there is a not inconsiderable sum of cash in the bank and bonds—’

‘I know I stand to lose a lot,’ Gavin tetchily curtailed him.

‘Indeed so, sir! A terrible waste it would be if it is taken by the Crown.’ He tapped the document, inviting Gavin to check the threat. ‘And you could put the funds to good use, I’m sure.’

Gavin shot a look at the smug fellow. So Joseph Pratt knew he spent beyond his means. But then, as Edward’s man of business, he would naturally know that Edward had loaned him money, at an extortionate rate, once or twice.

‘Does Miss Marchant have adequate private means or was she wholly dependent on my brother?’

‘I’m not sure, sir,’ Joseph answered with a frown. ‘But I’ve always imagined her relationship with Mr Edward Stone was borne of necessity,’ he added a mite too truthfully.

Gavin’s cynical expression became more pronounced. ‘Has she family hereabouts who might help her?’ He didn’t want it on his conscience that the chit might end up in the workhouse.

‘I’ve not heard of any kith or kin. She has a couple of loyal old retainers who came from London with her. Due to the…arrangement between her and your brother, she naturally did not socialise with other ladies in town. For a while their relationship stirred much gossip, but that died away some time ago.’

‘How long ago?’ Gavin asked. He had judged her to be of tender age and had deduced that Edward must have quite recently taken up with her. Or perhaps she was blessed with more youthful looks than her years warranted.

Joseph sucked his teeth as he made a mental calculation. ‘Oh, I should say it all started about three or four years ago now.’ He gave Gavin a shrewd glance. The fellow’s anger seemed to have been overtaken by a growing interest in Miss Marchant. ‘Her young age gave rise to the worst of the chatter. But a lot of females are wed before they turn sixteen. And Sarah Marchant had already reached that very age by all accounts.’

Gavin’s expression barely changed. But a sweeping look arced up and over the ceiling, displaying his disgust at what he’d just heard. Gavin had not bedded a woman that young since he was a teenager himself. But what really rankled was Edward’s hypocrisy. His brother had readily given him the mantle of black sheep of the family despite having seduced a girl barely out of the schoolroom. The fact that Miss Marchant looked delectable enough to tempt a saint was hardly an excuse for such behaviour.

‘Where does she presently reside?’ Gavin asked abruptly.

‘At Elm Lodge. It is one of the properties you now own, or will own if…’ Joseph’s voice faded and he gestured pointedly at the document in front of him. ‘The Lodge is situated on the edge of the Willowdene estate by the woods.’ After a few silent moments, when it seemed Gavin had plunged deep into thought, Joseph probed, ‘It is almost a half-past three. Will you journey back to London today?’

Gavin cast a frown at the clock. He had quite forgotten that it had been his intention to rush back to Mayfair. It was now unthinkable to head home without seeing Sarah Marchant again. The need to stay was not just to do with securing his inheritance, though he needed the money. A quite vulgar curiosity about her was bedevilling him. He wanted to find out more about her; especially why she had slept with his dull brother to earn her keep.

‘As you say,’ he replied coolly, ‘it is sensible that a solution of sorts be found. I shall remain at the Red Lion tonight and will contact you again regarding this vexing matter.’

‘Why do you not stay at Willowdene Manor?’ Joseph asked quickly as Gavin made to exit the room. ‘I do not think any risk of infection lingers,’ he reassured him. ‘Edward was interred immediately and none of the staff succumbed.’

‘It is not that. I’d sooner stay at the Red Lion as my time here is to be brief.’ The excuse was valid, but only part of the reason for staying away from his brother’s home. Gavin anticipated many questions from the staff at The Manor. Quite rightly they would be concerned for their jobs and pay until a new master took over and things were back to normal. At the moment he had no answers to give them. With a brusque nod for the lawyer, he ducked beneath the low beam and quit the room.

From the window Joseph Pratt watched the tall figure of Gavin Stone striding away. He noticed that minx Molly from the Red Lion giving him quite a bold smile and calling out to him before huddling, giggling, against her friend. Both girls turned to ogle as he strode past.

Joseph felt a prickle of envy. Gavin Stone was too damned handsome for his own good. That irritation apart, he oddly felt a sense of unease at what had occurred in his office this afternoon. He had relished the drama, but he certainly did not relish the possible outcome. Apart from other considerations, it would do his professional reputation no good. It might be construed that the Stone inheritance had been snatched away by the Crown because his good advice had been lacking rather than his late client’s benevolence.

He had no real desire to see Gavin’s fortune in jeopardy or Sarah made homeless. But then Joseph was sure, once her pride had been salved, that the young woman would come to her senses. It was a shame her lover had died, but unfortunate things occurred in life. Kept women were usually of a practical nature and accepted they must transfer their affections from time to time.

Miss Marchant had always seemed to him pleasant and polite and, of course, like any man, he could not fail to be smitten by her loveliness. In fact, he thought with a flash of inspiration, should Gavin Stone have spoiled his chances by being rude to her, perhaps a humble solicitor might wangle his way into favour. More modest terms would need to be negotiated, of course. But he could run to a small cottage and a stocked larder. Joseph turned from the window, grinning. And if he did take a beautiful young mistress it was no more than that cheating harlot, Mrs Rosamund Pratt, deserved!

Sarah sank onto the bale of hay and let the tears flow. Hateful man! Hateful man! The phrase flew back and forth in her agitated mind before bursting through small pearly teeth. But to which gentleman that insult was directed she could not have said: the smarmy lawyer, the mean lover, the insolent stranger—all deserved the epithet, and more besides.

A handkerchief was snatched from her reticule and held to her wet eyes. Had she not known Edward Stone’s true character at all? How could he have acted so horridly? Eddie had not kept her in luxury, but neither had he been cruelly parsimonious. She had not gone without basic necessities. Now it seemed that to keep a roof over her head and bread on her plate she must apologise to his wastrel brother and then attempt to seduce him. The very idea made a sob of hysterical laughter choke her. She would rather… Her angry thoughts ebbed and stilled. What would she rather? Face destitution? Would she see Aunt Bea and Timothy starve?

Sarah felt a chill creep over her. It was unthinkable.

She wrung the little handkerchief in her fingers, until a ripping sound made her stop and push it back whence it came. Slender fingers smeared away the last of the tears on her cheeks and she gulped a calming breath. What was she to do? Even if she eventually managed to subdue her misgivings and pride enough to solicit Gavin Stone’s protection, he had made it clear he didn’t want her. In fact, he had made it clear that she disgusted him. He had even had the nerve to suggest that she might have plotted with Eddie to trap him. She had done no such thing but, in truth, she did regret having let the swine rile her. She had said things that were most unwise given her circumstances. Yet the greatest pity of it all was that her memory of Edward was now spoiled by a wrangle over his money.

She had been bitterly disappointed at not receiving the things she had wanted—Elm Lodge, an annuity of her own—but perhaps she had been hopelessly optimistic in thinking they might come to her. She had not been Edward’s wife, neither had she been his only lover.

Edward had been quickly buried to allay fears of infection. Sarah had stayed away from the formal service and paid her respects privately, when the townspeople had gone from the graveside, but the other woman who had shared Edward’s life had been there.

Christine Beauvoir had been accepted at the interment despite everybody knowing that she had been Edward’s mistress for a long time. Her widow status conferred on her a certain respectability.

Yet she had been absent from the solicitor’s office today. Her name had not been mentioned in Edward’s will. Sarah knew the widow had her own property and income. She could only guess that Eddie had thought Christine had no need of any financial help from him on his demise.

A dejected grimace twisted her soft mouth. She was not so lucky. She must gratefully take the provision Eddie intended her to have. That conclusion brought her to a bitter truth: a suitable agreement with Gavin Stone must be reached. But she would not sleep with him. She had seen disgust in his eyes when he looked upon her face. How much more repulsive would she be to him when he first saw her naked in his bed?

Abruptly she gained her feet and began to pace to and fro, her full, soft lips compressed and her white brow puckered in concentration.

It was as Sarah was marching back and forth behind the tumbledown barn on the edge of town that Gavin caught sight of her. It was a mere glimpse of pale curls that first arrested his attention. A few moments later he spotted a swirl of grey skirt as she changed direction.

He settled back against the wall of the Red Lion’s stables and plunged his hands into his pockets. She obviously had not fled far. He was glad she was still in the vicinity. He had not relished the idea of pursuing her to Elm Lodge like a draconian landlord about to claim droit de seigneur.

After a short surreptitious observation, he had seen enough to be sure the woman was indeed Sarah Marchant. He guessed from her restless pacing that her frame of mind was similar to his own. With a wry smile he realised that now was probably as good a time as any to see if they could find a sensible solution to the damnable predicament Edward had landed them in.

‘It seems we got off on the wrong foot. Shall we try again?’

Sarah swivelled about to see Gavin Stone brace a dark hand against the wall of the barn. Immediately her heart was jolted into pumping faster. Her mouth parted in readiness to spontaneously demand an apology for his boorish behaviour earlier. Her soft lips came together again without her having uttered a blameful word. He didn’t look quite so arrogant or scornful now and, in any case, her opinion of his manners was irrelevant. He held the key to securing her family’s continuing comfortable existence.

‘That seems a sensible suggestion,’ she coolly agreed and, simply to occupy her jittery nerves, collected her bonnet from the hay bale she’d sat upon. She had also moved away from the edge of the barn to conceal herself from inquisitive eyes. Her reputation might be thoroughly besmirched, but she had no wish to add to her infamy. If she were caught in broad daylight loitering behind a barn with a gentleman, it was likely to give the town’s gossips a fine time.

Gavin moved closer, watching as she fiddled with her hat, first winding the strings about her palm before immediately jerking them loose.

Obviously he had startled her by coming upon her so unexpectedly. He strolled into the barn and made a cursory inspection of the dilapidated state of it before wandering out again. She still seemed unsettled, so he walked the length of the building to give her a little longer to regain her composure.

‘Please don’t stand where you might be seen.’ Sarah pursued him to the edge of the barn. She made as though to catch his sleeve and tug him backwards. Momentarily a small hand hovered in space before recoiling. ‘It is best if we keep out of sight. I would not want any curious passerby to come and investigate what is going on.’

Gavin duly complied whilst emitting a rasping chuckle. ‘In Mr Pratt’s office you called me a reprobate. Are you now worried for my reputation?’

‘Perhaps I am more concerned for mine,’ Sarah remarked acidly. ‘But then you believe I have no good name to keep, don’t you?’ she added quietly. She could tell he was about to humour her with polite lies and she’d rather not hear them. ‘You are right, of course,’ she interrupted him. ‘I am not liked or welcomed here in town. But it does not do to flaunt my notoriety or unnecessarily rub people’s noses in it.’

Gavin noticed the proud tilt to her chin, but she couldn’t conceal the tremor in her voice. She might know she was despised, but she suffered for it. After three or more years as a courtesan one might have expected her to acquire an amount of robust defiance. Her vulnerability was rather sweet and stirred something akin to tenderness in him.

Within a moment he had quashed the noble emotion and reinstated a more cynical outlook. He had no idea whether Miss Marchant had gladly set on the path to ruination with a man old enough to be her father. Until he did, he would reserve judgement on how genuine was her trembling modesty and whether plucking at his heartstrings was simply part of a calculated act.

‘Is it correct that you were just sixteen when Edward…?’ Gavin hesitated, sought an inoffensive term. ‘When he took you under his protection?’

‘Yes, I was sixteen,’ Sarah said. ‘And I would rather not discuss it. It was a long time ago,’ she said carefully. She had no intention of furnishing details of her affair with Edward to his brother. But neither did she want to rekindle friction between them. She was very conscious of the need to prolong this truce.

‘Three years is not so long.’ Gavin was not so easily deterred.

‘It was four years ago. It seems a long time to me,’ Sarah countered with grit in her voice and immediately turned the subject to the one presently most troubling to her. ‘We must try to find a way to solve the problem of Edward’s will. I’m sure you must want that too. It would be a great pity if you lost your inheritance.’

‘Indeed, it would,’ Gavin drily concurred.

Sarah ignored the ironic inflection in his voice. He thought she was showing him faux-concern in order to wheedle what she wanted out of him and secure her own future. It was true. A quick encompassing look roved over him. Oh, he might be far more handsome and sophisticated than Edward, but she would sooner have Edward any day.

She sensed Gavin Stone could be courteous and charming when it suited him—as it did now—but a latent and dangerous power seemed to lurk behind his measured words and smiles. He naturally wanted his bequest and she was the obstacle preventing him having it. Was Gavin Stone capable of resorting to devilry to get his money?

An anxious breath filled her lungs. She had earlier settled on an idea that seemed a very fair compromise. It was a simple plan, but she’d persevered with it because she recalled Mr Pratt had mentioned Gavin Stone wanted to hasten back to London. To expedite matters he might readily agree to her suggestion and return tomorrow. And that would suit her admirably.

‘I live At Elm Lodge,’ she blurted out. ‘It is part of the estate that you have inherited.’

‘I know.’

Sarah looked at him, hoping he might contribute more conversation. He did not. ‘I hope you will not deem it an impertinence,’ she quickly continued, ‘but I have thought of a compromise that might benefit us both.’

A slight rise of his dark brows was not the encouragement she had hoped for, but did indicate that he was willing to listen to her idea.

‘As you know, your brother resided at Willowdene Manor where there are plentiful staff. I have lived alone at the Lodge for three years and have just two servants who live out. Mr and Mrs Jackson help with cooking and gardening and so on. They have taken on other work too and have their own cottage in the village.’

‘No.’

‘You don’t know what I’m going to say,’ Sarah gasped out at that rude interruption.

‘Yes, I do. You’re going to say that you will dispense with their services and act as a housekeeper and gardener at the Lodge to earn the right to stay there.’

So he had known what she was going to say. But then it had hardly been an ingenious plan. ‘Why will you not agree to it?’ Sarah’s demand was harsh with frustration. ‘It will solve everything. You can honestly say to the executors that you are providing for me financially and thus will be able to legally claim your inheritance.’

‘I have every intention of claiming my inheritance,’ Gavin stressed softly. ‘But not like that.’