Читать книгу The Virtuous Courtesan - Mary Brendan, Mary Brendan - Страница 7

Chapter Three

‘Why ever not? Is it too simple a plan?’

‘Simple plans are usually the best sort.’

‘Well?’ Sarah prompted, a glimmer of hope brightening her eyes and voice. ‘Are you now persuaded towards it?’

‘No.’

‘To what do you object, sir?’ Sarah demanded, barely suppressing her exasperation.

‘Several things,’ Gavin said. ‘But let us start with the most obvious. If I wanted a housekeeper at Elm Lodge it would be more economic to employ Mrs Jackson.’

‘But Maude cannot help you lay hands on your brother’s fortune,’ Sarah pointed out with a note of triumph. ‘I alone can do that. My employment might be more costly, but also greatly beneficial.’ Whilst willing him to agree to her logic, she came closer to look up expectantly into his darkly rugged features.

Within a moment she could feel heat prickling beneath her cheeks for eyes of cerulean blue were interestedly roving her face, lingering on her mouth. An odd feeling quickened her blood. It disturbed her so profoundly that she took an involuntary step back. If he thought to flatter her into accepting less than was her due, he was to be sorely disappointed. She would never be duped by a philanderer’s artfulness.

He thought he had her measure. Perhaps he did, but she had his, too. Just a short time ago at the will reading he had been incensed and scornful of her. How different he seemed now he’d had time to reason that a gallant might do better than a tyrant. However much he was tempted to curse her to hell he needed her cooperation just as she needed his.

‘I only want a small living allowance of fifty pounds per annum,’ Sarah briskly informed him and peeked from beneath twin fans of dusky lashes to see what reaction that demand provoked. She could discern no change in his demeanour. He remained resting against the barn, indolently watching her.

She suspected he must eventually agree to her suggestion. There was too much at stake to reject a reasonable plan just because she’d been the one to voice it. If he wanted to puff up his ego by quibbling and driving a hard bargain, she was not about to indulge him.

‘Why will you not agree?’ she taunted him. ‘Do you not want to return to Mr Pratt’s office and tell him you can comply with the terms of your inheritance?’

‘I would be delighted to do just that,’ Gavin drawled. ‘I imagine my bank would also rejoice at the news that they can give up hounding me for loan repayments.’

Sarah was suddenly assailed by a memory of her papa skulking behind drawn curtains when heavily in debt to the bank and in regular receipt of threatening missives. ‘Very well,’ she said calmly. ‘I can tell you are not swayed by that offer. I am prepared to accept a lesser sum of forty pounds per annum just so we might both go home.’

A chuckle grazed Gavin’s throat. ‘I take it you don’t play cards?’

‘I do, but not very well. What made you say that?’ she asked sharply, sensitive to being mocked.

‘You have not mastered the art of bluffing, my dear,’ he explained softly. ‘You’ve disclosed your hand far too soon.’

He was laughing at her. Bright spots of colour burned in her cheeks. ‘This is a matter of some gravity, not a silly game,’ she snapped. ‘I would sooner be direct and honest. I can only hope you might be too.’

Gavin bowed his head in humble acknowledgement of being chastised, but humour was still slanting his mouth. ‘In my world, Miss Marchant, gambling is a matter of some gravity and not a silly game. And being direct and honest when the stakes are high is foolish.’

‘And that, sir, is a helpful insight into your character, for which I thank you,’ Sarah retorted primly. ‘It is also another reason for me to want to speedily conclude our business. You may then return to your world and your sophisticated friends in London and leave me in peace.’

That acerbic comment drew to an end Gavin’s comfortably lounging stance. A lithe movement freed his person from planked wood. He strolled closer, his thorough appraisal bringing more blood to sting her cheeks. ‘For a woman who has spent all her adult life as a harlot, you can appear a mite too sanctimonious, my dear.’ Gavin watched as the scarlet stain spread, marring her flawless complexion. ‘It seems Edward took too many liberties with you,’ he continued in a sensual tone. ‘As I see it, the worst by far was forcing false piety down your throat.’

A small hand flew to Sarah’s neck as though that part of her anatomy was under assault. ‘How dare you!’ she finally gasped. ‘How dare you speak to me like that.’ She gritted through small pearly teeth, ‘Your brother always treated me with respect. He was a decent man. He was kind.’

‘Kind?’ Gavin echoed sardonically. ‘Was it kind of him to leave you to the tender mercy of a brother he’d slander as a reprobate?’

Sarah visibly winced at that. She had asked herself the same question many times since she’d bolted from the solicitor’s office. If Edward had cared even a little for her, it was indeed hard to understand why he would put her future security in the hands of a man he’d described as a rake and a wastrel.

‘Why do you think he did that?’ Gavin asked abruptly.

‘I’m sure he…I don’t know…Edward was gravely ill,’ she stuttered out, aware she was under intense scrutiny from narrowed blue eyes. ‘The smallpox left him often delirious.’

‘His doctor and his lawyer deemed him of sound mind to the very end. He was compos mentis when he dictated his instructions to Joseph Pratt. He knew what he was about.’

Sarah twirled agitatedly on the spot. ‘What does it matter now?’ Her small hands gestured hopelessness. ‘Edward has gone and taken with him the reason we must endure this madness.’ She pressed her brow with slender fingers as though she might smooth out the furrows there. ‘Oh, how I wish that he were still here,’ she whispered almost to herself.

‘I’m sure you do.’ Gavin’s laugh was as mordant as had been his tone. ‘A few months ago he was a healthy man in his prime. It must be galling having your meal ticket whipped away so unexpectedly.’

‘I wish he were here because I miss him,’ she enunciated icily, yet the grain of truth in his sarcasm made her voice quiver. Her main concern was how she would go on now Edward had left her with nothing of her own. She tilted her chin to glare at the stranger who held sway over her life. ‘And my feelings for your brother are private and none of your concern.’

‘Unfortunately my brother has seen fit to make your very existence my concern.’ It was a reminder issued in a voice of silky steel.

It had the effect of immediately goading Sarah into retaliation. ‘Well, you may fret no longer that I will be a burden of unwanted responsibility.’ A tiny part of her mind acknowledged that she was about to act rashly. Still she could not prevent the words erupting. ‘I would sooner face penury than accept your charity.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ Gavin said ironically. ‘Charity is not at all what I have in mind for you, Miss Marchant. I intend you earn your keep.’

Swiftly Sarah settled her bonnet back on her head and tied the strings with unsteady fingers. Blood thundered at her temples, making her feel she might faint as she readied herself to leave. She could tell it was late afternoon as the sun was low and soon Mr Bloom would be closed for business. She must purchase laudanum from the apothecary before heading back home. But it was the unspoken question hovering between them that was really prompting her to speed away.

Several times since their encounter in Mr Pratt’s office Sarah’s mind had glanced away from an unpalatable truth. A virile man—and especially, as in this case an infamous womaniser—was unlikely to turn down the opportunity to bed a young woman passed on to him for that purpose. When one took into account that the fellow was required to pay for her board and lodging, the idea that he might do so simply from the goodness of his heart seemed ludicrous.

But Gavin’s furious reaction on hearing of Edward’s wishes had encouraged Sarah to hope they might find a less sordid solution to this conundrum. From the start Gavin Stone had seemed to her to be his own man and not a character to take easily to his brother manipulating him from the grave. But she could no longer deny that the fire in his eyes was generated as much by lust as anger. He might not like her, he might mock and scorn her and call her a harlot, but none of it would stop him wanting to sleep with her. And she was his for the taking…or so he thought…

‘Good day to you, sir,’ she said with admirable aplomb and attempted to stride past him.

‘Are you about to run away again like a spoiled child because you cannot get your own way?’ Gavin had stepped to block her path, but it was his comment, not his person, that brought her to a halt.

Her blonde head swayed back on her slender neck and she attacked him with fierce tawny eyes. ‘I am not running away,’ she informed him clearly. ‘I am going because I refuse to participate in more pointless wrangling over Edward’s will.’ She sucked in a calming breath. ‘You have rejected my very reasonable compromise, and so be it. For now it seems wise to part company and see if a solution can be found tomorrow. Perhaps by then a little of the hostility between us might have evaporated.’ There was a brief pause before she added, ‘Good day to you, sir.’

‘I’m encouraged that you think there is yet hope for us, Miss Marchant.’

Sarah dodged past him and, when sure she was in no danger of being restrained, swished about to look back at him. ‘And I’m encouraged, sir, that you did not immediately act petulantly and say you would be miles away in London tomorrow.’ She hesitated at his silence and took a step closer to him again. She was now in a more logical frame of mind. The thought that he might return home had rendered her more anxious than annoyed. ‘Are you going straight back to London?’ she demanded to know.

‘No. I have my petulance under control,’ he wryly answered. He gazed indicatively at the golden orb settled on the horizon. ‘It would be foolish to travel overnight and risk being set upon by felons. Should I expire also, I imagine you, Miss Marchant, would be in very dire straits.’

Sarah gave him a faux-sweet smile. ‘Then I must wish you good health, sir, and safe journeys, till we have this sorted out to my liking.’ She watched his amusement deepen, his mouth and eyes soften as he casually put his hands in to his pockets. At times he could look quite youthful and appealing when hard mockery was gone from his eyes and they shared a little joke…

Sarah put such silly sentiment from her mind. Just a short while ago he had insulted her, shown his disdain for a woman he classed as little more than a harlot. With a very brief nod she turned her back on him and gracefully walked away.

* * *

Sarah caught Mr Bloom just as he was in the process of bolting the door to his apocothery. He slid back the bolts, welcomed her in, and served her the usual dose of laudanum.

If privately Daniel Bloom held an opinion on the quantity of the drug he sold to Miss Marchant, he kept his own counsel. She was a joy to behold and a good customer and it would not do to upset her. He watched her curvaceous figure with an appreciative eye as she turned from the counter, clutching her purchase. Time and again over the years he had deemed Edward Stone a lucky dog to have such a filly in his bed. But of course now Edward Stone was lucky no more…and it was whispered that neither was Miss Marchant…

Already there was a rumour in town that Miss Marchant had been so put out by what transpired at the will reading earlier that she’d run off in a fine old state. But then people were always looking for something to tattle over.

Daniel looked out of the shop window. Towards the eastern end of the High Street he could see the dogcart with old Matthew Jackson perched on the seat. He’d seen the fellow sitting like that, puffing on his pipe, for quite a long time. Daniel watched Sarah increase her pace as though she regretted being late for her lift home. Daniel shook his head in disbelief. For a woman who got through that amount of sedative she had a surprising amount of vim.

‘I’m sorry to be late, Matthew,’ Sarah burst out as she came within earshot of Maude’s husband. He often brought her into town and always waited in the same spot for her to finish her business.

‘Don’t matter none,’ the old fellow answered having removed the clay pipe. Once she had settled on the seat beside him, he gave her a grizzled look. ‘All come right, has it?’ It was Matthew’s oblique way of asking whether she’d got a pleasing bequest from her protector’s will.

Sarah summoned up a small smile and tried to look optimistic. ‘Not quite,’ she answered. ‘But I’ve not yet lost hope that it will…eventually.’

Matthew grunted an unintelligible response, thrust the pipe back between his teeth, and set the horse in motion. After a few yards the pipe was removed again. ‘Straight home?’ he asked.

‘No…’ Sarah looked at the brown bottle clutched on her lap. ‘No, to Aunt Bea’s, please, Matthew.’

He grunted again and bashed out the pipe’s contents on the side of the cart. Shaking his head dolefully, he gave his full attention to the road.

Gavin watched the cart pulling into the distance as he strolled back to the Red Lion. A look of frustration tautened his features. It was not solely due to the fact that the day was closing with his inheritance still hanging in the balance. Constantly pricking his mind was the wish that Edward’s mistress might be as unappealing to him as had been his spouse.

Even when Janet had been a vivacious brunette of twenty with many admirers, he had not found her desirable. His feelings for Miss Sarah Marchant were, unfortunately, quite different. In the lawyer’s office he had scorned Sarah for imagining that he might stoop to coerce a woman to sleep with him. At the time he had meant what he said: never in his life had he bedded an unwilling woman. But his attitude to her had undergone a subtle change, although he couldn’t pinpoint when or why it had come about.

She was attractive, as befitted her line of work, but she also possessed a beguiling innocence.

He’d believed he knew the artful ways of courtesans. It was no idle boast that for over a decade and a half he’d kept company with women of every class and character. Never had he come across a woman as enigmatic as Sarah Marchant. He reluctantly accepted that it would be easy to become obsessed with his brother’s mistress and the knowledge disturbed him. That way lay insanity.

They both knew where this situation must ultimately lead. If she had given him just a small sign that she might welcome his protection, he would have offered it. But she had sought to deflect his advances by offering to be his housekeeper.

He had considered—and rejected—employing her before she voiced the suggestion. Once he had curbed his initial anger on discovering that his brother was dictating to him from the grave, he’d accepted his responsibility to protect her. It was no hardship. He’d known from the moment he set eyes on her that he found her desirable.

The reason for her ruination he’d yet to discover, but it was likely to be the usual mundane tale: her well-to-do family had cast her out after a faithless lover in her youth had abandoned her to her fate. Gavin could not recall any such gossip over a Miss Marchant, but then, if she had always lived in the countryside, the scandal would not have reached London.

Whatever had occurred, it had not cowed her. He was not dealing with a timid mouse. From their conversations he knew she was intelligent and forthright. She could be wilful and passionate, too. Perhaps he was dealing with an artful schemer. Her subtle rejection might be a teasing ploy to aggravate his desire and increase her settlement. Gavin smiled ruefully. It wouldn’t be the first time a particularly comely courtesan had managed to do that. But with his inheritance secure he could afford to be generous to his paramours without plunging himself into debt. The chit simply needed to say yes and he would undertake to look after her in style.

His intention was to take her to London with him and settle her close to his Mayfair mansion. What was there for her to object to in that? She might have been fond of Edward, but he was gone and his parting gift was that she be passed on like a family concubine to pleasure his heir. It was an act likely to crush tender memories in even the most loyal mistress.

Gavin had been aware he was under observation as he stood in contemplation of the cart disappearing into the distance. Now he turned his attention to his admirer. The saucy wench had been trying to catch his eye since he arrived at the Red Lion. He decided she was attractive enough to dampen the fire Miss Marchant had put in his loins. As he passed he gave Molly a wink that sent her, rosy-cheeked, scuttling into the kitchen to boast of her success to the other girls.

‘Oh, I can’t go on like this,’ was Aunt Bea’s flustered welcome as she opened the door to her niece and flapped her gloved hands at her.

‘How has Tim been today?’ Sarah asked quietly, for she was well aware of the cause of her aunt’s agitation. She removed her bonnet and smoothed her blonde hair.

‘In a temper,’ her aunt responded pithily. ‘And I’m in a mind to go out and let him stew in his own juice. Your brother should mind his manners, no matter his pitiful condition.’

‘He cannot help his moods,’ Sarah said softly. She indicated the laudanum in her hand. ‘A draught of this is sure to calm him and ease his mood.’

‘And thank Heavens for it.’ With that announcement Aunt Beatrice took the drug and led the way into the front room of her neat cottage. She turned about and gave Sarah a penetrating look. ‘Come, tell me everything. What happened this morning? Did you get the Lodge to live in and a pension as you hoped?’

Sarah shook her head.

‘You must quit the Lodge? Edward left you a pension at least?’ Beatrice said, a mixture of shock and outrage in her tone.

‘No,’ Sarah said and pulled a little face.

‘Well…I never did! And him such a gentlemen. Or so he seemed.’ Beatrice took an indignant march here and there in her small sitting room. ‘Well, how are we all to live? The cupboards are nearly empty. Why did the tightfist want you to attend his will reading if he’d no intention of leaving you a bequest of some sort?’

‘He did make me a bequest…of some sort,’ Sarah admitted and close behind that declaration followed a small hysterical giggle.

Aunt Beatrice gave her an old-fashioned look. She crossed her thin arms over her narrow chest. ‘Well, I’m pleased you can joke about it all, miss. When we’re all in the workhouse you may not find it so amusing.’ She huffed a sorry sigh and said more gently, ‘Come, tell me what it was he left you.’

‘His brother,’ Sarah said.