The School for Brides

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Authors: Cheryl Ann Smith

BOOK: The School for Brides
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Table of Contents
 
 
 
Indebted
 
“I never expected to find such delightful curves beneath your hideous gowns, my dear. But I fear the unmasking is not complete.” He tugged off her spectacles and reached to set them on a nearby table. “You have lovely amber eyes. It’s a shame to cover them needlessly.”
Eva locked onto his gaze, some sanity returning. “It is a shame to torment me as you have, Your Grace.”
A second chuckle filled the room. His green eyes dipped to examine her mouth.
Leaning forward, he whispered against her lips, “Tell me you want me, Miss Black.”
In spite of his outrageous antics, the corners of her mouth twitched. “I am powerless to resist you, and you well know it,” she murmured.
 
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
 
THE SCHOOL FOR BRIDES
 
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
 
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / April 2011
 
Copyright © 2011 by Cheryl Ann Smith.
 
All rights reserved.
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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
 
eISBN : 978-1-101-47772-4
 
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SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
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Acknowledgments
 
There are many people to acknowledge with a debut book. First I’d like to thank my wonderful agent, Kevan Lyon, who took a chance on an unfinished manuscript because she loved the story idea. For her encouragement and faith, I have to say . . . we did it!
Second, many thanks to my awesome editor, Wendy McCurdy, for buying a book about a courtesan rescuer from a new author and for helping to make my crazy dream come true. There is no way to properly express my gratitude.
For Duane, who has supported me while I worked tirelessly to become a published author, I could not have done this without you. And to Paige, Regan, and Ethan; you guys are the best.
To my sister, Michelle, you always knew I could do it, even after reading my very first manuscript. You are awesome. And thanks to Genny, for her support and for being the best unofficial promo person an author could ask for.
I also can’t forget Patti, Starr, and Nicole for their insight and willingness to answer questions 24-7. Thanks guys!
But most of all, I need to thank my mom, Joyce, for all the years of proofreading my manuscripts until her eyes crossed, and for knowing that this would happen for me one day if I kept going. You never wavered from your encouragement and you pushed me when I needed motivation. As my biggest fan, this book is for you.
Chapter One
 
 
F
rom this moment forward, you will not wear any gown that shows even a trace of areola, a length of thigh, or any other part of your bodies normally covered by an undergarment.”
Miss Eva Black paused impatiently while muslin, crinoline, and satin rustled as several pairs of hands reached to jerk up unacceptably low necklines. A shadowy hint of the curved crests of at least one pair of rosy peaks disappeared from view behind stiff lace.
“Proper clothing is the first outward sign of a lady and the first rule that cannot, and will not, be broken.” She sighed, resisting the urge to tug at the high, scratchy neck of her gray wool gown. In the heat of the parlor, she felt trapped beneath the heavy layers of her spinster’s garments.
It took determination not to shuck off the dress and kick it into the overstoked fire with her slippered foot. With the rain whipping against the window, throwing open a sash wasn’t a viable option. She really had to give the maid simpler instructions on whether a fire was appropriate when the morning was warm, lest fainting become the order of the day.
The next several hours loomed ahead like a dismal and itchy fog, yet Eva forged on. Her suffering was unimportant. An example had to be set for her young courtesans at all times as they looked to her for guidance and the chance to free themselves from their desperate situations.
She continued, “With one’s breasts exposed, one can expect every reprobate for fifty miles around to come running for a peek. This is an unacceptable situation I intend to change over the course of the next few weeks. You must behave like ladies, if I am to have any chance of finding each of you a husband.”
More giggles and a flurry of whispers followed her pronouncement. The young ladies took a moment to settle before five pairs of curious eyes turned back to Eva. She pulled her fingernails away from her neckline and settled her hands in her lap. A lady did not fidget nor show discomfort in public. Eva was always the picture of ladylike serenity, even if she was no Lady by birth or marriage.
Lady Watersham’s book,
Rules for Young Women of Quality
, spelled out every societal rule in precise detail, and Eva had eagerly read and memorized every page. Now she passed those teachings on to others desperately in need of guidance and a chance at a life outside a courtesan’s lot.
So she wouldn’t fidget, even if pushed to the brink of insanity by the confounding prickles.
Out of sorts today for some unknown reason, Eva felt her mask of stiff propriety settle in the shape of an invisible noose jerked tight around her neck. Just once she wanted to giggle like a ninny with other girls, slouch against the back of the settee with her bare feet outstretched, or scratch her neck like a dog overrun with fleas.
Though only twenty-three, at times she felt eighty-three. She’d skipped the frivolity of youth for the weight of responsibility. At times it was almost too much for her narrow shoulders to carry.
“But how will a fellow know what he’s buying if he can’t see the merchandise?” Rose asked, pulling Eva from her thoughts of self-pity. The tiny redhead was a confection in pink satin and enough lace to cover several gowns from hem to neck.

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