The Wife He Always Wanted (13 page)

“Former courtesan,” Sophie scolded. She’d returned bearing a tea tray and cakes. “We are no longer courtesans once we pass through these doors.”

Sarah stared at Sophie. She was a courtesan, too? The woman did not look like what Sarah thought a courtesan would. She was positively proper in her brown dress and hair primly knotted at her nape.

Under her curious look, Sophie shrugged. “Except for Cook and Miss Eva, all the remaining women living here were once courtesans, or mistresses, if you prefer that term. We have six women currently taking lessons, though all but Mary are out shopping with Miss Eva. Mary has a sniffle.”

As if hearing her name spoken, a small blond woman with a bright red nose, dressed in gray wool, stepped into the open doorway. A handkerchief was clutched in her fingertips.

“You called for me, Miss Sophie?”

Miss Sophie frowned. “Why are you not abed?”

“I am weary of staring at the ceiling,” Mary said softly, chastised. “I have been sequestered for a week. If I did not flee my room, I feared I would soon succumb to the desire to leap from my bedroom window headfirst onto the bush below.”

“Oh dear. Miss Eva would be most displeased,” Noelle said, her lips twitching. “She adores that bush.”

Her jest deepened Miss Sophie’s frown. The woman leveled a glare on Noelle and turned back to Mary. “You may join us for tea, then off to bed.”

“Thank you, Miss Sophie.” She scurried over and took a seat on the settee next to the older woman who poured fragrant tea for everyone.

After they settled down with their cups, Sophie turned back to Noelle. “We have not seen you in several weeks, Miss Noelle. I thought that perhaps you were ill.” She glanced at Sarah. “Clearly you have returned with a purpose in mind. Perhaps you should explain what it is?”

Three pairs of eyes turned to Noelle. Somehow, Sarah was not surprised that Noelle knew the school well. Her friend was not above doing shocking things. Spending time in the company of former courtesans confirmed that belief.

Noelle fingered the lace on her sleeve and glanced sidelong at Sarah. Sarah braced herself for embarrassment.

“I have an, er, friend who is having difficulties in her marriage and requires some advice,” Noelle began, and Sarah’s face blazed. “You see, she is shy and does not know how to enchant her husband. He sees her as a duty, not as a lover.”

Sarah was certain she was as red as a baboon’s backside. And she’d seen enough paintings of the odd-looking primates to know the similarity.

“Do they sleep in the same bed?” Mary asked. She nibbled on a sugared oat cake.

“They do not.”

With her free hand, Mary rubbed her nose with the handkerchief. “I suppose that is to be expected if she is noble. Is she noble?”

“Her husband is. She was not before they married, although my friend is of a certain class above, not a washerwoman or maid. Her father was a secretary to a lord.”

Sophie leaned forward. “Do they get on well enough otherwise?”

“They do,” Noelle said. “There is some affection there. The union was made by her deceased brother and was not a love match. My friend would like it to be so.”

Sarah stopped herself in mid-nod. She did not want the two former courtesans to suspect her in this tale. It was difficult enough to have her privacy spread out for all to examine.

“Hmmm. This may prove to be a challenge,” Mary said and dabbed her watery eyes. “Men usually feel passion the instant they see a desirable face or figure. It is difficult to build on what is not immediately present.”

“Then it’s hopeless?” Sarah exclaimed. When she realized her outburst, she put her hands over her mouth.

This time three pairs of eyes were on her. Her throat closed up. In a moment, she would collapse dead on the floor from shame. “Oh dear,” she whispered.

Mary smiled before turning back to Noelle. “It is not hopeless. A glimpse of an ankle, the curve of her neck, a hint of perfume will all do well to tweak his attention.” She reached for a second cake. “If those choices prove unsuccessful, she can always bend over to pick up her stocking from the floor, wearing her lowest-cut corset, or wriggle her bottom while clad in nothing but a sheer chemise.”

“Excellent points,” Noelle agreed.

Sarah was just pleased to see the women had decided to ignore the obvious proof that she was the unhappy wife and continue on as if she’d not called out.

The idea of strangers knowing her troubles mortified her. Still, there were things Mary said that gave her hope. Perhaps this little adventure
was
the solution to her troubles.

The former courtesan spent the next fifteen minutes explaining other ways to entice men. “Men are a simple lot,” Mary teased. “A low neckline and a pushed-up bosom can offer them hours of salacious entertainment.”

The young woman had a point. Mary continued, “The wife could greet him abed in nothing but a smile and her husband would be happy indeed. But if she wants to drive him mad, she must subtly tempt him. Once he is hooked, he’ll never understand why he ever saw her as a ‘duty’ to her brother.”

Mary’s words made sense. Whether Sarah could put her advice to application was the question. She was no seductress.

“Of course, there are things a woman can do in bed to leave a man panting,” Mary added. Sarah’s attention snapped back to the former courtesan. “Would you like for me to list them?”

“No!” Sophie and Noelle said in unison.

Mary giggled, sneezed, and giggled again. She looked at Sarah. “If you ever want my list, you will find me here for the next few weeks. I will be happy to teach you everything I know.”

Despite Noelle’s lesson, her eyes turned downward and she stared at the faded rug.

Noelle saved her. “I think it time for us to go. It is growing late.” They all stood. Noelle took Sarah’s hand, thanked Sophie and Mary, and led her from the room and out of the house. They stood on the stoop while the butler called for a carriage to be brought around.

“Did I not tell you this would be an adventure?” Noelle said as the waiting hackney driver climbed down.

Sarah’s nose went up. “You are a horrible friend. I think I shall never speak to you again.”

Laughter followed her pronouncement. The driver helped them into the carriage. “Posh. You might be off put now but in a week you will be thanking me after you try some of Mary’s suggestions. You will soon have Gabe slavering at your heels.”

Struggling to hold on to her annoyance, Sarah bit her lip at the image. “Gabriel is not the sort to slaver.”

“Oh, he will slaver,” Noelle said. She glanced at the driver and whispered to Sarah, “Try the ‘bending over in a low-cut corset’ trick. Once your bosom is displayed for his viewing, he will never again think of you as Albert’s drab little sister.”

Sarah returned to Harrington House, hugged Noelle farewell, and walked inside. “Mrs. Harrington, Lady Seymour would like to see you in the parlor.”

“Thank you, Busby.”

As she walked down the hallway, the sound of feminine laughter caught her attention. Her steps slowed and she stopped just outside the door, peeking around the jamb to see several ladies seated together on the pair of settees. Before she could flee, the countess glimpsed her there.

“Sarah, do join us.” Sarah forced herself forward and inwardly groaned. Minutes ago she was partaking in a discussion about seduction with former courtesans. Now she was expected to share tea with women of the Ton and chat about the weather?

She bit back a wicked grin. What would they think if she skipped past the weather or the theater and instead brought up the topic of pushed-up bosoms and bare bottoms?

Chapter Twelve

L
ady Seymour walked over to Sarah and took her hand. Sarah was introduced to Mrs. Hathaway and daughter Dora; Lady Stanwood and her daughter Alice; and Mrs. Dubury. Only Mrs. Dubury was rude enough to openly stare. The rest were unfailingly polite. Sarah sat next to Lady Seymour, hoping the countess’s close proximity would limit the barbs cast in her direction.

“Sarah has become my closest companion,” the countess said after a few minutes of casual chatter. “I have missed Brenna very much. Now I have two new daughters to fill my time. Simon and Gabriel made excellent matches.”

“How did you meet your husband, Mrs. Harrington?” Mrs. Dubury asked with her hawkish eyes boring into Sarah. “It must have been very soon after his return.”

“It was,” Sarah responded kindly. “The day he stepped back onto English soil, he came to my cottage to inform me of my brother’s death—a fact of which I was already aware—and we were both instantly smitten. It was as if my late brother had a hand in our match.”

Miss Hathaway sighed. “How delightful.” Her round face took on a wistful cast. “And he begged for your hand?”

Sarah nodded. “He did. We rushed off to the parson and wed.” It was partially true. He did whisk her off on his horse. The smitten part was a lie. The truth was not to be shared outside of the family. She’d not be made fodder for gossip.

“Proper young women would wait for an appropriate period before accepting a proposal,” Mrs. Dubury said.

The insult cut. Sarah felt Lady Seymour tense beside her. Before the countess could rise to her aid, Sarah swept up both young women into her gaze.

“Have you seen my husband?” She smiled benignly at the old crow. “If Gabriel Harrington dropped to one knee and asked you to marry him, would you hesitate?”

Miss Alice and Miss Dora vigorously shook their heads. “He is most handsome,” Alice said.

Dora flushed. “I envy your good fortune.”

The countess gave Sarah an approving nod. She’d defused Mrs. Dubury’s sting without showing a bit of temper.

For the rest of the hour-long visit, the ladies talked of many things, while Mrs. Dubury stewed. At the end of the hour, the women took their leave, with Alice and Dora promising to call sometime soon.

Though Sarah did not expect the two to become close friends, they were pleasant young women and she welcomed both for tea and conversation.

When the door closed, Lady Seymour took her arm, as pleased as a cat with a mouse. “I admit I was worried about Mrs. Dubury when she arrived with Lady Stanwood. The old witch is known for ripping unsuspecting young ladies apart with her talons.” She took a deep breath. “You took her down a peg without drawing blood. Well done.”

That evening, the countess spoke of Sarah to Lord Seymour and Gabriel with pride in her voice. The two men laughed over Sarah’s triumph.

Gabriel escorted her to her room after brandy, tea, and chess. “I wish I’d been there when you deflated that biddy, Mrs. Dubury. I saw her last week in Hyde Park dressing down her maid. The poor young woman was in tears.”

“She should be flogged for mistreating a servant,” Sarah groused. Gabriel chuckled.

“Next time she visits I will get a whip and you can hold her down,” he said. She laughed softly.

They stopped before her door. He took her hand. Sarah waited, her nerves taut, wondering if he’d attempt a kiss.

“You tiptoed through your first official introduction into society with grace and humor in the face of a formidable adversary.” He leaned and brushed his lips on her cheek. “I am proud, Wife.”

With a wink he walked back down the hallway and vanished down the staircase. Thankfully, he did not look back, for the smile on her face was anything but casual and the sigh a bit too filled with longing.

She sincerely needed to work on feigning indifference.

* * *

D
espite Mister Brown’s warning not to travel out alone, Sarah managed to slip away from Harrington House—claiming a headache—and retrieved the newspapers from Mister Smart. Although he did not appear to be a spy, she could not be certain he wasn’t.

Paranoia had fully set in. After Mister Brown’s visit and confirmation of someone at the newspaper gleaning information about her, she was convinced spies were everywhere in the
London Times
’ office.

“I cannot allow you to take them out, but I do have a room where you can read them,” he said and led her to the indicated space. The room was small with a table and two chairs. “I pulled papers from several weeks until the story was no longer mentioned. I hope you find what you need.”

The stack was large and already sitting on the table. Her heart squeezed painfully. She was about to learn the details of her father’s murder. She wasn’t at all certain she was ready.

“Thank you,” she said. “I do appreciate all you’ve done.”

She smiled and he nodded. “When you’ve finished, leave the papers there and I’ll return them.”

After the door closed, she took a seat and reached for the first paper. Shockingly, the story of the murder was on the front page, in the lower left corner. She jerked her hand back.

An unidentified man had been found on the walk outside of a bookstore, in the early morning of October seventh, stabbed to death and robbed of his purse.

He was four streets over from their house, almost to safety, and his children.

A sob escaped her and the words blurred. She’d long ago come to terms with her father’s death. To read about it as though it had just happened proved to be emotionally jarring. Tears flowed freely down her face and she sat for a few minutes crying quietly over the loss of the man she’d loved so deeply.

“Papa.” She remembered his face, his laughter, the scent of tobacco on his coat. She remembered how he took them out of London and taught her and Albert how to ride and enjoy the beauty of the countryside. She cried for her brother and how she had no one left to share those wonderful memories.

All that was left of her childhood, her family, was locked forever in her mind.

When grief threatened to overwhelm her, footsteps in the hallway brought her upright. Now was not the time for grieving. She had to collect herself and find answers.

Swiping her handkerchief over her face, she took a deep breath and forced herself to focus.

She collected her valise and pulled out paper, a pen, and an inkwell. She reclaimed the paper and began to read. It took a day for Bow Street to confirm his identity after his servants reported him missing. Once the newspapers had his name and that of his employer, the frenzy to solve the crime began.

An hour and a half passed as she meticulously read each article several times and took notes. The clues to the crime were thin, though there was plenty of speculation. She was thankful that Father had enough status in his job as secretary to warrant a fair amount of interest in his death.

As expected, his spying was not mentioned.

When she finally finished, she arched her tired back and scanned her notes. Clues took only half a page. Still, she knew where he died and when, how, and a few other minor details.

Emotionally drained, yet invigorated to continue her quest, she knew she had to look at this case intellectually. With Gabriel’s and Mister Brown’s help, and that of the other Bow Street Runners, a new clue would eventually be unearthed to solve this case. She had faith. The killer had ten years of freedom. He would not get another ten if she had her way.

When she left the
Times
she went to Bow Street. Mister Brown was away for the afternoon, so she decided to return to Harrington House. She thought of asking the driver to take her past the spot where Father died but was not yet emotionally strong enough to do so. Instead, she leaned back against the squabs and let memories flood her mind.

* * *

U
pon returning home, Sarah slipped unnoticed up the stairs and tucked her notes away. There was nothing she could do at the moment about the case. She might as well work on her marriage.

Unfortunately, there would be no bosom displayed most scandalously to entice her husband in the days before the Hollybrooks’ ball. Gabriel was busy with his father and catching up on his life and responsibilities. Sarah was trapped in a whirl of lessons, lessons, and more lessons.

They saw each other over shared meals, though those were infrequent, too, and in the company of his parents. Sarah struggled with wanting to try her courtesan lessons to please her husband and was not entirely disappointed with the delay. She was an innocent still.

Was she ready for the intimacies of a true marriage?

“Let me look at you. Turn around,” Lady Seymour ordered and Sarah spun for her inspection. “Perfect.”

Sarah smiled into the mirror. “It is perfect, isn’t it?”

The ball gown was lavender, cut low, and skimmed down her body to show a hint of the curves she’d gained since her marriage and forced dining. Though she would never be considered buxom, her breasts were nicely rounded out—from Noelle badgering her to eat—and her waist trim and hips slender but shapely. She no longer looked like a starved chicken.

“Gabe will be pleased,” Lady Seymour said and walked off to finish her own toilet.

Taking one of Mary’s suggestions, Sarah had earlier dotted some orchid perfume on her neck and décolletage before dressing. Also included were areas covered by her undergarments; places she was shamefully certain Gabriel would never sniff.

“You look beautiful, Mrs. Harrington,” Flora said. She took one last opportunity to examine the gown for imperfections and settled a shawl over Sarah’s shoulders. “There will be no one lovelier at the ball.”

Flora helped her with her white satin gloves then left. Sarah turned once again back to the mirror.

She thought the maid’s comment an exaggeration but was pleased anyway. She did look nice.

“I cannot believe this is my country mouse,” Gabriel said from the doorway where he leaned on the doorframe. He was dressed in charcoal gray with a gray-and-white-striped waistcoat. As always, he looked magnificent.

Sarah turned slowly and met his smile. She swished her skirt back and forth. “Your mother and Noelle helped me choose the gown. I have never worn anything so pretty.”

Gabriel pushed off and walked to her. “I wasn’t admiring the gown, darling Sarah.” He touched her face. “You’ve changed these last weeks, grown confident. I like this new Sarah. She meets my eyes when we speak.”

His teasing widened her smile. “You were intimidating when we first met. You frightened me. I thought you were half bear.”

“I know. You wanted to stab me with a hatpin.” Her jaw dropped. He chuckled. “Did you think I did not notice when you reached for your weapon? I lived for five years among men who would as easily shoot you as invite you to eat with them at their campfire.” He replaced his proper English tone with an odd-sounding drawl and winked. “One small, skinny gal was nothing more than a buzzing gnat by comparison.”

Her teeth clacked closed and she spun back to the mirror with a sniff. “Had I known what a bothersome sort you’d turn out to be, I may well have chosen to try the hatpin anyway and been done with you.”

He leaned to put his face next to hers. “Then you would never have gotten the gift I have for you.”

Her heart flipped. “You brought me a gift?”

“I did.” He drew a box from behind his back and reached around to put it in her hands. “A few days ago I realized that I’d not bought you a wedding gift. I apologize for the delay and hope you’ll forgive me when you see it.”

Sarah slid the white ribbon off the box and opened the lid. Inside was a diamond necklace with tiny amethyst stones scattered among the white. It flashed in the lamplight like dozens of white and lavender stars. A pair of matching earbobs completed the set.

Her breath caught. “Oh, Gabriel. They’re beautiful.”

Taking the box from her hands, he removed the necklace. “Mother told me about the dress and I chose this to match.” He lowered it around her throat and fumbled a bit with the clasp. Frowning, he grumbled, “They make clasps too small.”

Sarah smiled as he finally finished the task. She drew her hand over the row of stones then added the earbobs to the picture. “I never dreamed of owning something as stunning as this. I will cherish them always.”

Gabriel grinned and leaned to press a kiss on her shoulder. Sarah shivered. Her gloved hand moved involuntarily up along his neck, and he smiled against her skin, moving his lips to the spot where her shoulder and neck met.

“Did I ever tell you that I love orchids?” he whispered.

“You did not,” she said, though not entirely certain. Was that breathless voice hers? He weaved a seductive spell around her with his warm mouth.

Encouraged, he ran his mouth up to her ear and nipped her lobe. She sighed. “They are my favorite flower.”

Her lips parted. “Do tell.”

A clearing throat at the door broke the moment. Gabriel groaned and lifted his head. Lady Seymour stood in the opening, clad in a gown of deep red, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

“I see that you approve of the necklace, Mrs. Harrington,” Lady Seymour said. She took a step into the room. Sarah did a half twirl so the countess could better see the necklace and dress together.