The Scandalous Life of a True Lady (8 page)

There in the dark, in a strange room in a peculiar household, she had second thoughts, or thirty-second. She simply did not know if she could go through with her plan.

It was one thing for a woman to fall in love, to give herself to man who loved her in return, with the promise of marriage, or so Simone believed. The church demanded the wedding come before the bedding, but Society looked the other way when so many infants were born months prematurely. No harm was done but a bit of embarrassment at the birth.

It was another thing to be so overcome with passion for a handsome, charming rogue that a woman lost her wits, and thus her virtue. Females in plays and poems and operas did that all the time, didn’t they? Simone had never experienced such overpowering passion, but she supposed it was possible. Reprehensible, but possible.

Her decision, though, selling herself to a man she barely knew, was outright wrong. Sinful. Shameful. Scandalous. No matter that her need was great and her alternatives were few, offering herself as a man’s plaything was against her every precept and her parents’ teachings. She could have done it this afternoon, acting on impulse born of desperation, but now, with a full stomach? Now she had too much time to think.

Where was Major Harrison anyway? He should be here to help her decide. Was he as kind as he seemed? Then he should understand her trepidations. Would he treat her like a lady, or like the harlot she was becoming?

He was generous; he’d already proved that. If he paid Auguste’s school fees, Simone could retire after her one venture into the
demi-monde
. She was getting cold feet, that was all. She pulled the blankets tighter around her, then felt too warm and tossed them aside.

The secretary was a cold man. She sat up again, wondering why she was suddenly thinking of Mr. Harris at all. He’d likely hand over her wages with a sneer, then go back to his own bed, his occupied bed. Now she clenched the covers in her hands.

Bother, she was never going to fall asleep at this rate. She decided to write a letter to Auguste at school, instead of twisting her nerves and the sheets into rumpled knots. She lit another candle and found paper and ink in the desk near the window. She sat there, barefoot, and composed a note filled with so many lies that the major would dismiss her on the spot. She told her brother all about her new, well-paying position. She was on trial, she explained in case nothing came of it, but she wrote that she had great hopes of succeeding with the pleasant, well-established family in Mayfair, in their beautiful house filled with friendly servants. The children were young enough, she told Auggie, that she could have a contented place with them for years, and he must not worry about her. She would send him the address when she was certain they were keeping her on.
Wish me luck
, she concluded,
your loving sister
. Of course the tear drops made her words run together, but Auggie would suppose her letter got wet in the rain. And if he could not read all of it, well, then she had a few less lies to atone for.

She sealed the letter but knew she’d have to ask Mr. Harris to post it in the morning, dash it. She had no desire to face the secretary again, with his smirk hidden behind his moustache and his scorn hidden by dark glasses. If he were more friendly she might have asked him if the house contained a library, then she could have had a new book to read tonight, instead of dwelling on her fears. She supposed she could read her bible. No, not tonight, not in this house, not with her intentions.

A scratching sound came at her door and Simone was almost glad that Sally had come back with her chatter. But Sally did not come in when she called out “Enter.” Neither did Major Harrison, thank goodness. Simone was not ready for him, not by a long shot.

The sound came again, so she went to the door and opened it to find a cat in the hall, a big white cat, the fattest, fluffiest cat Simone had ever seen, which explained why everyone was covered in white hairs, except that Major Harrison said he did not live here, and he’d also said he never lied.

The cat’s presence did explain Miss White. The feline’s ears twitched when Simone said the name out loud, and Simone had to laugh at her own false presumptions. Mr. Harris had brought a cat home, not his doxy, and Mrs. Judd disapproved. Simone could not blame the housekeeper, the way her own hand was quickly covered in cat fur, just from stroking the overgrown animal. She fetched her own hairbrush and comb and sewing scissors and started to brush tangles and mats and leaves out of the long white coat, her own anxieties soothed with the steady motion and the cat’s constant purring. “You and Sally seem to be the only friendly ones here,” she told Miss White, “but I don’t know who or what to believe any more. Not even my own decisions.”

The cat jumped down and left, only now she was sleek and half the size, and damp from Simone’s tears.

Chapter Seven

The cat might have looked better in the morning, but Simone’s prospects were as bleak as the old grey gown she put on by herself before Sally came with a breakfast tray. Hot chocolate, a sweet roll with jam, even a nosegay of violets threatened her resolve, but no. She was not so easily tempted by luxury and a life of leisure. She’d sell the blue gown—Major Harrison said it was hers to keep, no matter what happened—and put an advertisement in the papers. She could hope Mrs. Olmstead had not rented her room yet, and hope a position arose before week’s end. That was what she would do, and that’s what she would tell the major. She felt that was the least she owed the man, a personal confession that she was no high flyer after all. Her feet were planted too firmly on the well-trodden ground of virtue and respectability.

Instead of confronting Mr. Harris to ask for an appointment with Major Harrison, Simone decided to ask Sally to talk to the stuffy secretary for her. Sally, however, brought the message that Mr. Harris wanted to see her in the breakfast parlor, at her earliest convenience.

The former soldier looked well rested, Simone thought with a touch of rancor over her own sleepless night. He wore a corbeau-colored coat this morning, with a simple knot in his neckcloth that made him appear exactly what he was: a gentleman of dignity and means who happened to earn his own living instead of being an idle ornament of society. Too bad he was a churlish boor.

He did not speak when she entered the room, but he did rise, then stared through his spectacles at the drab governess gown she wore, the tight coil of braids at the back of her neck, the sturdy worn boots. Sally was near tears to send her charge downstairs looking like she’d come to sweep the parlor, but Simone had insisted.

Mr. Harris did not comment on her altered appearance, he merely gestured to the coffee pot on the table and told her to ring for Jeremy if she preferred tea or chocolate. Covered dishes were on the sideboard, with eggs, kippers, kidneys and bacon. He’d already eaten, he said as he resumed his seat, getting an early start to a day with much to accomplish.

What, did the officious oaf think she was lazy, besides a light-skirt? He did look busy, though, with books and newspapers and notepads stacked in front of him next to a plate of buttered toast.

Simone said that she’d had a tray in her room, and would not keep him from his important work. She only wished to request an appointment with his employer.

That was impossible, according to Mr. Harris. The major had a full schedule. So did Miss Ryland, he informed her. A modiste would arrive within the hour, a coiffeur soon after, then a boot-maker to measure her foot for riding boots and shoes.

He
had
been busy. And the meddlesome creature was not finished.

“You can make a list of any other items you deem necessary and I’ll have them delivered. I will visit the jewelers myself. Do you have any preferences?”

“Jewels? I have no need for jewels.”

His lip curled under the moustache. “Every woman of fashion needs jewelry. Obviously you do not in your current mode. But Major Harrison’s companion does require gems, to give weight to his standing.”

“That is precisely what I wish to speak to the major about. I cannot go with him to the house party. We have not concluded the arrangement, you see. He told me to think on it, and I have. I must regretfully decline his employment.” She headed toward the door and her room, to pack her few belongings back into the trunk.

“You could not have found another protector since last night.”

Simone should have expected the insult, but it still hurt. She turned at the door to say, “I have decided to pursue a different line of work. I shall provide for myself, not in such rich style, of course, but with my head held high.”

If her chin rose any higher, she’d fall over backward. Mr. Harris pushed a notepad aside and stroked his chin, thinking. What he thought was that he did not want her to leave. He wanted to see her dressed in satin and lace, with jewels dripping from her arms and ears and neck. No, he wanted to see her wearing nothing but a single red ruby between her breasts, breasts which she might not have had, so loose was the sack she wore. He’d wrestled with his conscience all night and decided he could not ruin a respectable woman, not even to save his life or escape to a better one. But now that she had decided the same thing, that her honor was too precious to barter, he changed his mind. Now he had to change hers. Or else he could lock her in the room and tie her to a chair, like one of the spies he’d interrogated. That might work better.

“No,” he said. “You cannot leave yet. I believe you agreed to think about the position for a few days. The major cannot see you until then anyway.”

A few days? The longer Simone spent in this bachelor household, the more compromised she would be and the harder she’d find it to explain to a prospective employer where she had resided. She walked back to the table, and pounded her fist on it. “That is unacceptable.”

“I think you might spare the time, considering I sent Major Harrison’s bank draft to your brother’s school this morning.” He knew using her love for her brother was an unworthy weapon, but he had no rope or manacles handy.

Simone sat down, heavily. “You sent the check? But, but how did you know where to send it?”

By reading the brother’s letters, of course. “Sally brought down a letter you’d written, to be sent with the mail. I addressed my note to the headmaster there.”

“I’ll have to write to him, to send it back. Dear heaven, what will the man think?”

Harris adjusted his spectacles. “I understood that the major promised the funds, no matter the outcome of your stay here.”

“But I do not intend to stay.”

“A promise is a promise. If not yours, then Major Harrison’s. Further, the deed is done. The mail has been posted. Now, about dressmakers. Do you have a modiste that you prefer?”

“You must know I have no knowledge of such things. Lady Seldon patronized Madame Genevieve, but I—”

“No, her taste is abominable. In apparel and husbands. I took it upon myself to make inquiries as to who dresses the
ton’s
dashers.”

“But I am not a dasher and I am not staying. I shan’t be going to the house party, therefore I do not need new gowns. I cannot make it any plainer.”

“That is for you and the major to discuss, Miss Ryland. Meantime, the woman I selected is on her way with pattern books and sample fabrics. She has been paid in advance, to set aside her other customers’ orders.”

“Have you not been listening? I am not staying!”

He raised the coffee cup to his lips and smiled as if he knew something she did not, or if he’d tasted something sweet. “Who knows, you might change your mind. You already did once. And ’twould be best to have the new wardrobe begun, rather than rushed, do you not agree?”

“No, I do not agree with your overbearing organization. I’ll wait to speak to the major, out of courtesy and gratitude on my brother’s behalf, but I will not accept more than his hospitality until then.” She would share his house, but not his bed.

“I think he might have expressed the urgency of the house party.”

“He did explain, if one considers such fustian to be an explanation, that he requires an unknown female with a modicum of intelligence to accompany him. Surely he can find someone else, someone more willing.”

“But I promised— That is, I swore to see his wishes carried out. The major will insist that he promised you a new wardrobe either way, in addition to your brother’s schooling.” He mentioned the brother again, which was more underhanded, but expedience always trumped politeness in the spy business. He’d use guilt, obligation, even sympathy, any port in a storm.

She stared at her hands, since she could read nothing in the secretary’s shielded eyes. “I cannot refuse the major’s largesse for my brother’s sake, but I swear to repay him eventually. I will not go further into his debt.”

“The money for the school is not a loan. It is a gift to a worthy student, an outright gift. We—he—makes charitable contributions to less noble causes.”

She nodded in concession. “Very well, my brother has a scholarship. But I will not accept a shilling more.”

“Dratted female,” she thought he muttered, but he’d bent down to pick up the cat so she could have mistaken the secretary’s words for dratted feline. Then he exclaimed that a stray cat must have wandered in to take Miss White’s place at the breakfast table.

“I brushed the cat to rid it of all the knots and mats.”

“And this elegant creature is what is left? You have wrought a miracle.”

His delight made Simone smile, despite knowing the secretary was manipulating her for his master’s purposes and pleasures. “She ought to be brushed regularly.”

“Do you think no one has tried? Miss White has drawn blood on many occasions. I have given up all attempts to groom the beast.”

“I had no problem.”

“You see? The major is in your debt, not the other way around. He is inordinately fond of Miss White.” Who was purring loudly, in the secretary’s lap.

The major was not the only cat-lover, it seemed. Mr. Harris was pouring cream into a saucer, and crumbling bits of toast into it while the cat purred loudly enough to be heard across the table. The sight and sounds made the secretary more human, Simone decided, more approachable. So she asked, “Major Harrison is a very caring gentleman, isn’t he?”