So no more assumptions. It was fact. She had been a courtesan.
Mrs. Ramsey swirled some icing off a biscuit as though she were not discussing a taboo subject. She inspected the icing on her finger before licking it clean in the most delicate fashion—like a little kitten.
“Er, yes. Let’s do.” Marian took a breath, reprimanding herself for stammering. She was not one to stammer. Reticence was not in her nature.
“I did not have many prospects growing up,” Mrs. Ramsey explained. “It seemed clear that I was destined to earn a wage on my back.”
A soft gasp escaped Marian.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Have I shocked you? You’re the only soul in this village who has seen fit to befriend me. We can be honest with each other.”
“I appreciate your candor.” Marian shook her head and schooled her features to reveal no further surprise. “I should like to know more about the nature of your work . . . or rather, your former work. How did you come to establish yourself in the . . . um, trade?” Marian glanced around them. “You’ve obviously done well for yourself.”
“I see.” Mrs. Ramsey leaned back in her chair, her gaze sharp as knives as it settled on Marian. “Well, it’s not a vocation for everyone, my dear, but I found it very satisfactory for me.”
“You were able to retire in some comfort.” Marian again motioned to the well-appointed room around them.
“I made myself essential to a few very wealthy gentlemen.”
Made myself essential.
It sounded simple enough, and yet Marian could not imagine ever being essential to any man.
Instantly she thought of Clara and her mother, Lady Strickland. Without a doubt, both were essential to the men in their lives. Marian would characterize them in no other way. They were essential.
But they were wives.
Marian had no wish to be a wife.
Mrs. Ramsey continued, “Indeed, I am comfortable. That is all I ever wanted to be. That was my goal. Comfort. Independence. I wanted a home of my own with a handful of servants to attend to me. I do not require wealth. Merely security and sustainability.”
Marian nodded. She well understood that. She wanted the same things in life.
“As to the work . . . the tasks that were required of you . . .” Marian’s voice faded. She did not know the precise language to use, which presented some difficulty. She wanted an honest discussion. If she was to go down this path, she wanted no confusion at the onset.
“The shagging? Is that what you mean, dear?”
“Yes,” Marian said, grateful for the help. Her shoulders sagged with an expelled breath. “Is the . . . shagging . . . difficult? To endure?”
Mrs. Ramsey stared at her, her expression turning thoughtful. It was some time before she answered.
“Your father was always very kind to me, Marian. Never once did he turn up his nose at me, and I have no doubt he knew what I was. An honorable man and doctor, he was. He cured me of my megrims when I was most miserable. Well, he and Nora. They gave me the perfect tonic to relieve my aches. I am not certain your dear papa would appreciate me giving his beloved daughter advice on how to become a whore.”
It took everything inside her not to flinch. Mrs. Ramsey was watching her, gauging her reaction, judging to see if her constitution could hold up to the ugly word.
It could.
“However honorable my father, he had his flaws. He did not provide for his children. He has left such matters to me. I’m sure you understand that one must do what they can to survive.”
“Hm. Indeed, I do.” Mrs. Ramsey stirred some sugar into her tea. “Gentlemen oft forget that they are vulnerable. They do not plan for a future where they are not in it, no matter how that might adversely affect their loved ones.”
Marian nodded in agreement. She loved Papa, but she did battle some resentment toward him. Some nights, awake in bed, worrying over how she would manage matters, she would curse her father. Then she would quickly repent, beg him to forgive her as though he were standing before her again.
Mrs. Ramsey nodded as though reaching some decision. “I was very good at shagging, Marian. Often, I even enjoyed it. It’s always better when you enjoy it. Naturally.” A faraway look entered her eyes. “I’ve had a few paramours who were quite pleasing. They could make me forget that shagging was something I did out of necessity.”
“Indeed?” That didn’t sound so bad.
Mrs. Ramsey went on, “And then there were times it felt a chore. Make no mistake, you must act the part even when you’re not feeling it. A few times even . . .” She shrugged. “Well, it was only unpleasant when I was young. Before I knew any better. Before I realized how to take control.”
Control. What a tempting word. It was the very thing Marian so desperately wanted in her life.
Mrs. Ramsey motioned around her. “I have all this because I was very good. I knew how to make men want me and keep wanting me once they had me.”
“I’d like to know how to do that,” Marian asserted, nodding eagerly.
“Of course you would.” Mrs. Ramsey smiled widely. “That kind of skill is power.”
“Power,” Marian echoed, her heart beating harder in her chest for some reason. That word was even more tempting than control.
For so long, she had felt without power . . . but to have control and power? It was a heady thought.
“If you make a man want you above all others . . .” Mrs. Ramsey cupped her hand as though she held something in the center of her palm. “You shall possess him.”
Marian laughed nervously. “You sound like a witch.”
“Indeed, it is a bit like weaving a spell.” Mrs. Ramsey looked Marian up and down. “You have it in you to be a great courtesan. I knew it the moment I met you. Some women have it. Others do not. It’s not about the body or one’s face, not that you don’t have a very fine face, but some of the greatest courtesans are not beautiful women. Beauty has naught to do with it.” She tapped her head. “It takes your mind. Intellect. That is your greatest weapon. You’re clever. Observant. Resourceful. That is essential. Along with a healthy appetite for adventure. You cannot be a prude.”
Marian flinched. She was a virgin. How could she not be a prude?
“Come now. Don’t look so worried.”
“I’ve never . . .”
“Of course you haven’t.”
“So how can I not present as a prude?”
“A woman who enjoys sex, who wants it, who likes it, is an aphrodisiac to any man.”
An aphrodisiac? It was certainly difficult to imagine herself as that.
Mrs. Ramsey smiled. “Don’t look so daunted. It’s quite simple really. Find a man to play with.”
“Play?” How did one play with a man? They weren’t puppies.
“Indeed. Keep your maidenhead intact, of course.” She pointed a finger at Marian. “That will fetch you a high price the first time. But for now find an attractive man, preferably someone who knows what he’s about. Practice on him. Learn. Hone your kissing, bring yourself to climax with him.”
Her burning face must have revealed some of her shock. “Yes,” Mrs. Ramsey went on to reassure. “You can do that and remain a maid. There is much to learn and I could talk myself blue trying to explain it all to you. Simply put, you need a man with whom to experiment.”
Marian shook her head. It was too much to digest. “I-I don’t know anyone—”
Mrs. Ramsey snapped her fingers. “That duke of yours.”
“Warrington?” Marian’s stomach dropped to the vicinity of her feet.
“Yes.” Mrs. Ramsey nodded and popped a grape into her mouth.
“He’s not my duke. He’s not my anything.” Except an arrogant man who talked down to her.
“Well, you met him already. That’s more than most of the population in this town can claim. What’s the problem? He’s young and virile, is he not?”
“Y-yes.” She really wished she would cease with this stammer. Where was her com
posure?
“And by all accounts he is not averse to having a woman in his bed.”
“So that makes him a-a . . . candidate for me?” There was nothing about him that struck her as willing to . . . play. At least not with her. He had looked down his nose at her and called her girl. She could not take herself to him and beg him to play with her.
Mrs. Ramsey ignored the question. “He would be discreet, I’m sure. He would not wish to compromise you publicly. That would not go well for him, either.”
“No. I cannot consider it. Not with him.” Marian shook her head doggedly. “I could not.”
“Did you find him repulsive?”
“He was boorish and pretentious—”
“Of course he is. He’s a duke. But by all accounts he’s quite active in the bedroom, and that is excellent for our purposes.”
They called him the depraved duke. Naturally, he knew all about fornicating, but that was of no matter to Marian.
She shook her head. “I want no part of him.”
Mrs. Ramsey sighed. “If you wish to consider entering into the world’s oldest and most venerable profession, you need to stop being so picky. Liking the men you’re with is not a luxury you can afford.”
Marian bristled, trying not to take offense at being called picky. “You said I would have power—”
“Yes. Once you are good. You are not good. You are not anything. Yet.”
She flinched at the blunt words.
Mrs. Ramsey continued in a more placating tone, “You cannot have power if you are not good. And you are not good, Marian. You’re a novice. You need a tutor to show you the ropes. You were a governess. You, better than anyone, should understand the need for one to properly educate herself.”
Marian nodded miserably. She did understand that.
It made sense.
Practice made perfect, and clearly Mrs. Ramsey had been a perfect courtesan to retire so comfortably. Marian wanted that. Only she could not take herself to a man who had made her feel so foolish and small. She could not approach him and ask him to exercise his wiles on her.
The notion made her ill.
Perhaps there was someone else. Brambledon had a healthy population of men.
She envisioned that, envisioned taking herself to any one of the men she was long acquainted with in town. It made her cringe. She’d known many of them since she was a girl in plaits. All those proper gentlemen would be scandalized at the late Dr. Langley’s daughter approaching them requesting lessons in fornication.
She closed her eyes in a slow blink. And who was to say any man she approached would be good enough to teach her? Or maintain discretion? She couldn’t bring ruin down upon her family.
No. There was no one in Brambledon she could ask.
Mrs. Ramsey reached over the tea service and patted her hand. “There, there. It’s not for everyone, dear. Clearly such a vocation doesn’t suit you if you cannot contemplate dallying with one mere man, and a handsome one at that.”
“His handsomeness pales once he opens his mouth. He’s rude and arrogant and unfeeling—”
“Sounds like a duke—or any man of wealth and importance, which is precisely the clientele you would be targeting.” Mrs. Ramsey shook her head and gave Marian a rueful smile. “Clearly this is an impossibility for you. Best put the idea out of your mind.”
Marian fought the urge to argue—to insist that the independent and potentially lucrative lifestyle of a courtesan was the right future for her.
It could suit her. She wasn’t ready to give up on the idea.
The problem was with the duke. Blast the man. She wished she had never mentioned him to Mrs. Ramsey.
Mrs. Ramsey gave her hand a final pat. “You shall come up with something else. Clever girl like you, of course you will. Perhaps you could marry that blacksmith that’s always calling on you. He smells of cheese, but he’s quite well-heeled.”
That decided it.
Marian relented with a pained sigh. “Tell me what I need to say to the duke.”
Chapter 6
Marian had a great many things to contemplate on her walk home.
She’d agreed to approach the Duke of Warrington, but the idea made her stomach clench. Mrs. Ramsey did not understand. She had not met him herself. If she had, then she would see that he was a completely unsuitable candidate.
The man cared for nothing. By his own admission. I care for my lands. A fine whisky. A good meal. A first-rate shag.
The depraved duke, indeed. He was a wretch. How could she bring herself to a man like that?
She muttered beneath her breath and increased her stride.
If he was to tutor Marian in desire . . . should there not be desire? Mutual desire for each other? Per Mrs. Ramsey’s instructions, Marian needed to understand the pleasure behind shagging. She snorted. Pleasure was not what came to mind when she recalled the Duke of Warrington.
Mud kicked up at her ankles as she walked briskly across the countryside.
She cut through fields rather than take the main road. The last thing she wanted was to come face-to-face with neighbors. People relished hearing every grim detail of the Langleys’ unfortunate circumstances. As though it served as some manner of perverse entertainment for them. Presently, Marian was not in the mood for a battery of prying questions.
She would endure muddy hems and muddier boots to avoid that.
Her basket of goodies from Mrs. Ramsey swung from her hand as she walked briskly.
Her heart pulsed in her ears as she replayed her conversation with Mrs. Ramsey and wondered how she could take all her advice and put it into action. It would take more than bravado to proposition Warrington.
But these were desperate times. Months ago, she would never have imagined herself embracing a future as a fallen woman.
And yet here she was now doing that very thing.
“Who even are you anymore, Marian Langley?” she mumbled to herself, her steps biting angrily into the soft earth.
The air grew steadily darker around her. She eyed the gray skyline and noted a small smudge in the distance, like an ant on the horizon. Stopping, she watched as the ant advanced, eventually turning into a horse and rider.
She inched closer to the hedge on her left that served as a property line between Mrs. Pratt’s and the Duke of Warrington’s lands.
Squinting, she watched the large and daunting horse advance. A destrier.
No one in these parts owned such a specimen. Such a beast would cost a fortune. It was the kind of animal only the most privileged of men would possess.
With a sickening twist of her stomach, she knew who sat atop that horse. He might be too far away for her to properly discern his features, but she knew.
She knew and she did not want to see him.
She could not see him.
Her heart launched into her throat. With a choked cry, she looked wildly around, desperate to escape. To hide.
Before she could think through the wisdom of her actions, she dropped to the ground and scrambled beneath the hedge, pushing her way through bramble and gorse with foul exclamations no lady should know.
Not until she was tucked beneath tangled branches, poked and prodded on every side, did she fully appreciate the foolishness of her position.
She hugged herself closely, feeling much as she had when she huddled beneath the duke’s table.
Except now she was colder. Damp and miserable and doubly shamed.
The sound of hooves grew closer and she waited, eager for them to pass. Eager for the sound of them to fade away.
Her breathing escaped in hard little pants.
The hoofbeats grew louder and louder until they were directly upon her. Until the long, strong legs of a destrier pranced beside her where she hid inside the scratchy hedge.
She pressed her hands over her mouth as though that could muffle her breaths.
“Is someone in there?” a voice called out—a deep voice she remembered all too well.
&nbs
p; She flinched and tried to make herself smaller. Through a break in the bramble, she was afforded the barest view of his fine boots nestled in stirrups.
“I saw you dive into the hedge,” he said loudly.
She felt her eyes widen.
He saw her?
He continued, “I can also see your dress. The yellow is quite identifiable through the leaves.”
She glanced down accusingly at her bright bodice peeking out from her cloak. Marian had chosen it with care this morning, wanting to look nice when she called on Mrs. Ramsey. It was one of the few dresses left to her. She’d brought a vast wardrobe home with her, but that had been a year ago, and she’d divided the dresses among herself and her sisters. Now her best dress had betrayed her.
She closed her eyes and counted to ten, hoping he would just give up and move on his way.
Reopening her eyes, she saw that he was still there. Blast!
“Come out, lass.”
He wasn’t leaving.
Accepting the inevitable, she squeezed back out of the hedge. She tried to do so as gracefully as possible, but exiting was perhaps more difficult than when she had plunged inside the shrubbery.
A thorny branch caught in her hair, nearly pulling several strands out from the roots. Her mouth opened wide on a silent scream as her hand reached up to grab the strands. The move brought a thorn slicing across the back of her hand.
“Ouch!”
“Hold still before your skewer yourself.”
Freezing, she watched warily as he dismounted and approached.
He was even more imposing than she remembered. Heavens. He was big. She’d had no proper sense of that before as he had been sitting through their initial exchange.
His gloved hands reached out and began bending and snapping branches free of her.
His expression was intent as he worked. She took advantage of the fact that he never once glanced at her face and studied his features closely.
In the light of day, he was even sterner. And yet that somehow made him more handsome. A bit unfair, that. She had always thought happy people to be the most attractive, but nothing about this man smacked of happiness. He was a bag full of scowls and still heartbreakingly handsome.
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