Outlaw Rose (6 page)

Pearl sighed, went to the window, and watched Elizabeth, now swaddled in a long thick coat, walk down the stone steps and on to the drive. She took Gerald’s hand, and he kissed hers before helping her up into the carriage.

Do I want that? The touch of a man’s lips on my skin?

Yes, she did. With another sigh, she turned from the window to stare at the bookcases either side of the door. She had read every book, some twice. Her life since her parents had died had become so tedious, each day the same, melting into the next without anything of import happening.

Unless I count these afternoon teas.

“Frances, I am bored with my life. Since Mother and Father…” She turned to face her friend. “What about you?”

Frances smiled brightly over her shoulder. “Well, you know me. Always smiling. Always happy. Good old Frances.” She sighed and a touch of sadness flitted across her face. “Actually, I
am
bored, but I do
not
want to get married. Not yet. I want…something else first. Something so frowned upon, so deliciously naughty that if anyone were to find out I would be banished from their circles.” She stood and twirled across the rug. “Oh, I want to
live
, Pearl. To have a secret, something to look forward to.” Clutching her hands to her chest, she stared at Pearl, eyes over-bright and cheeks flushed. “Do you understand?”

Pearl sat in her chair, propped her elbow on the wooden chair arm and cradled her chin. Frances’s inference struck her, and Pearl rose abruptly, rushing towards her friend. “Did you mean what you said earlier? Is
that
what you are saying?”

Frances nodded, her blonde curls bouncing. “Yes! Oh, the drama of being in the thick of it, the terror of being in a place of ill repute, murders being committed right outside the very door. Would it not be such
fun?
”

They stared at one another, Frances clearly waiting for an answer, Pearl unsure which one to give. Should she admit the idea of visiting the men’s club intrigued her? Should she tell her friend that she lay awake at night, tormented by visions of men making love to her, touching her in places only she had touched? She trusted Frances without question, so to admit such things would not be so bad, but to actually go to the club in a place of squalor and debauchery?

“How would we do that?” Pearl asked, heat flooding her cheeks. “How would we get inside?”

“Oh, I have already looked into that. I applied for us to be waitresses.” Frances jigged up and down, clapping and smiling. “We start tonight!”

“What? Oh my goodness!” Pearl gripped Frances’s upper arms. Her stomach tightened, and her heart raced. “Tell me you did not. Tell me you are playing one of your silly jokes.”

Frances laughed. “For our secret life, your name is Lily and mine is Violet. Is that not a scream?”

“Oh, Lord. You are serious.” Staggering backward, Pearl plopped into her chair and gaped at Frances, her breaths coming hard and fast. She clutched the chair arms, fingers curling over the edges. “What on earth possessed you? How did you know I would agree?”

Frances floated towards her, kneeling on the polished floorboards to take Pearl’s hands in hers. “Because, dear friend, underneath it all we are both
very
naughty girls! Besides,” she stood again and danced in a circle, arms out by her sides, “it is not as though we will be doing anything remotely like the
other
women there. Is it?”

“Other women?”

“Yes. Those free with their favours. Unless—”

“Frances, stop! You are not seriously considering doing
that
, are you?”

“Why not? Would you not like to sample a man and know what it is all about before you marry?” Frances walked along the rug, fingertip skating across the mantelshelf. “I realise being chaste is something to be expected, but it is all so…so
boring!
And horse riding is a valid excuse for things not being quite right down below on your wedding night.”

Pearl swallowed down the urge to laugh, even though fear at where they were possibly headed threatened to overtake her. Frances felt the same way she did. They had been brought up knowing it was not correct to do this, was not correct to do that, but something inside Pearl screamed for her to take control of her own destiny, to do what she
wanted to do, consequences be damned.

“Lily it is, then,” she said, standing and walking to the window. She sat on the sill, staring at the grounds. The shrubbery that separated their driveway from the lawn was barren of leaves or flowers, all pointy branches that spoke of autumn leaving and winter coming. The vast expanse of grass that stretched to the tall bushes that bordered their property was brushed with a kiss of frost. Even the main length of gravel drive to her right, which snaked in a slightly wavy line until it reached the road, glistened with white sprinkles. The cold season had fully arrived, and long days stuck inside lay ahead until spring came once more. “How many nights will we work?” She faced Frances, who strode to the other window and perched on the sill, pressing her nose to the glass. Her breath steamed the pane, and Pearl laughed at how her friend just did not give a damn.

I want to be like her. Like the me I am inside.

“As many as you like, Lily love,” she said in a broad, affected London accent. “If you only want the one, then one is all you’ll have. But if you fancy a bit of tuppin’ seven nights a week, we’ll make a woman of the night out of you yet!”

Pearl gasped then blushed. Frances’s take on the lower classes was so real she almost believed she had not been raised by upper class people. Could Pearl speak like that? Act differently? And what if she encountered someone she should not? “What if we get recognised, Frances?”

Standing, Frances planted her hands on her hips. “It’s Violet to you, my darlin’, and we’ll be careful, don’t you worry about that. We’ll have so much paint on our faces men’ll be hard pressed to know us.”

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About the Author

Celeste Rupert lives in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains and—other than the lack of indoor plumbing—would love to live in the Old West. As time travel hasn’t yet been invented, she lives in the era through her characters.

Email:
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Celeste loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
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