The School for Brides

by Cheryl Ann Smith

Eva went first to the heading and then to the signature to verify the document was an official bank document. She began to read the neatly penned text slowly, careful to make certain she understood it in its entirety. If she was facing ruin, she wanted to know exactly how she got there, and why.

  Mister Smith was correct. With every word she read, the floor was crumbling beneath her feet and launching her and her mother into a dark abyss.

  “Unfortunately, four years ago Mrs. Winfield used this town house as collateral for a loan of some size.” Mister Smith laid another note near her hand. Eva examined it as if the paper was laced with poison before she picked it up. “I believe she wanted to purchase a necklace of sapphires and diamonds.”

  “A necklace?” What necklace? Eva pressed a hand to her temple. There had been several odd purchases during a two-year period when Mother was at her worst. She’d battled a number of serious health issues, and her mind seemed to take a turn downward with each.

  “Nearly every week a new package was delivered to the door, only to be immediately returned to where it came from,” she said. “Unusual things like ostrich feathers and men’s shoes, and a very strange-looking dog with a large head. I thought I had returned them all.”

  He shook his head. “Apparently not everything, Miss. We still don’t know about any recent debts. There is also a plot of land outside of York. I took the liberty of investigating its worth, and I fear your mother was taken in by the previous owner. It is worthless, too wet to plant a sustainable crop.” Mister Smith hesitantly pushed another note to her. “Between these two and a few smaller notes, this town house is heavily in debt.”

  Eva wanted to rail against the heavens with an upraised fist, or rather, at her mother, one floor up. But Mother was incapable of understanding the consequences of her actions or how to resolve them. It was up to Eva to muddle through the mess and find a way to save their home.

  “Mister Wellsley should have notified me of this situation immediately upon its discovery,” Eva said. “I cannot believe he would have made her a loan when he was clear on her condition.

  “I need to speak to Mister Wellsley immediately.”

  Two spots of red appeared on Mr. Smith’s high, sharp cheekbones.

  “Mister Wellsley retired a year ago to Scotland. His position was taken over by Mister Tew.” Mister Smith shuffled papers and avoided her eyes. “Apparently the majority of your mother’s older debts were purchased by an anonymous third party who has decided to call in the notes. The man is putting the bank on notice to pay up, and there is growing pressure to force Tew to sell this house to cover the notes.”

  Eva fought both panic and a pressing headache. She envisioned Mother and herself buried from their toes to their chins in receipts, with boxes of her mother’s silly purchases scattered in the foyer for them to step around as they were escorted out the door and their home was closed and locked behind them.

  “What can we do?” Her voice sounded high and frantic in her ears. “Perhaps I can speak to the man who bought the notes and work out some sort of monthly payment schedule?”

  Mister Smith slowly shook his head, his eyes deeply troubled.

  Frustration filled her like beach sand, heavy and wet.

  She wanted to throw herself across the desk, wrap her hands around his skinny neck, and shake him until his teeth chattered. Sadly, he was only doing his job.

  “I fear not, Miss Eva.” He shuffled from one foot to the other, then, under her glare, took two steps backward. “He has asked to remain anonymous. He will contact you in his own time.”

  The desire to choke him faded. He was just the messenger, the puppet made of wood and stuffing. Someone else was manipulating the strings.

  She dipped her head and circled her fingertips on her temples. “So I am to wait for him to decide what he intends to do with us? My mother is ill. Surely you can do something.”

  He twisted his hat in his hands.

  “I will do what I can, Miss Winfield.”

  He put his crumpled hat on his head and left her in a flapping of coattails as he quickly fled the room.

  Only then, when the house fell silent, did she give way to tears, sobbing softly.

  How could this happen? She’d been so careful. Mother was watched closely when she was out, so as not to cause trouble for herself or others. Still, sometime, somewhere, she’d managed to sink them into a pit of debt.

  Eva lifted her hands to her face and brushed aside the tears with her sleeves. There must be something she could do.

  Surely the holder of the notes had some compassion in his heart. He could not be so cruel as to cast out two women alone and without a protector. Then again, that was how many courtesans turned to their profession.

  It was the shame of allowing such a disaster to fall on her family that sickened Eva. She had done her best to hide her mother away and to protect her in her illness. She’d find a way to settle this to a satisfactory conclusion.

  Knuckles sounded on the door. Harold opened the panel and stuck his head in. “Miss Eva, there is a messenger at the door with a note. He has been given instructions to speak only to you.” He frowned. “Did Smith give you bad news?”

  She shook her head firmly. “Mother has some very large debts, and the largest noteholder is pushing to get paid.” She forced a stiff smile. “Please don’t worry. It is nothing I cannot handle.”

  Eva scrubbed her cheeks one last time, sniffed, and took a few deep breaths. She pushed up from the desk and walked from the room. Standing at the front door was a man in livery she didn’t recognize, holding a letter. Once she confirmed her identity, he handed over the note and walked away.

  “Who is it from?”

  Eva turned the note to stare at the unfamiliar seal. Harold moved close and peered over her shoulder. “I have no idea.” She ripped open the envelope and unfolded the missive. The words were clipped and to the point. “It is from my creditor. He asks me to meet him alone at his town house in one hour, as we have many things to discuss. The address is here at the bottom.”

  A shiver passed through her. There wasn’t a signature or any hint of her creditor’s identity.

  It was suspicious. If he was a man of sterling character, there would not be a need to hide his identity. Clearly, something was amiss, and she feared she was about to face the executioner’s axe.

  “You should not go alone.” Harold crossed his arms, and muscles bulged beneath his coat. “It could be a trap.”

  “A trap? What could be worse than what I’m facing now? He holds my entire future in his hands.” Her mother’s future, too. “If he wants me to scrub his floors and darn his socks, it will be a little price to pay for keeping our home.”

  “Any decent man would not ask that of you.” Harold took the note, read it, and handed it back. “We will go together.”

  “I must go alone,” she said firmly. “I have to find out his reasons for this strange behavior, and I suspect he will not be pleased if I come with a guard.” She folded the note and shoved it back into the envelope. “You will take me. Stay at the corner, and I will walk in alone. If I am not back in a fair bit of time, you have my permission to storm the battlements.”

  Though clearly displeased, Harold would do as she asked. He might not be a servant in the true sense of the word, but he was employed by her and did her bidding. “I will ready myself.” She brushed her hand over her hair and went to the drawer holding her wig and spectacles. “Meet me outside with the carriage in half an hour.”

  The ride was not long, and Eva spent the time running every possible situation through her head. If this man was up to something untoward, Harold would be near. If his plan was to ruin her, she wanted to know why. As far as she could imagine, she had no real enemies, as her social circle was more of a tiny dot.

  Well, there was one possible enemy. The duke had blustered about Arabella and made veiled threats.

  It could not be him. Could it?

  Surely His Grace had moved on with h
is life over the last two weeks. Men of his stature used and cast aside women as a matter of course. Arabella was sweet and beautiful, but one mistress could easily be replaced with another in a city the size of London. There were many young women eager to do anything for shelter and a way out of a hopeless existence.

  Such a virile man as His Grace would want a woman in his bed posthaste. Still, her mind could not dismiss him as her tormentor. He’d stalked off enraged.

  Harold stopped the carriage as she instructed, and a last brief argument ensued. Eva won, though the victory was hollow. She walked the remaining distance to the town house with his last warning to be careful echoing in her ears.

  It was a three-story, simple structure built of sandstone without excessive adornment. The plants along the sidewalk were without spring color, and the door was simple oak without intricate carvings in the wood. It gave no hint of the owner’s identity as Eva strode up the walk.

  Compared to the finer homes on the block, there was nothing to make it stand out as belonging to a man of wealth.

  Eva patted her wig to assure herself it was in place and adjusted her spectacles. Her black cape covered a severe brown dress with a neckline that came up under her chin. She hoped to come across as formidable, lest he think she could be easily cowed, or had a mistaken belief she might be willing to trade her body to satisfy her debts.

  With her stomach tightly knotted and her knees twitching, she reached for the knocker.

  “I am Miss Black. I have an appointment with your employer,” she said to the stern woman who answered the door. Deep grooves lined her forehead and ran between her eyes. Her mouth was pinched into a thin line. Her clothing indicated she was the housekeeper.

  “Yes, come with me.” Clearly the servant had little to smile about. Her employer must be a harsh taskmaster.

  The ominous cloud darkened over Eva’s head.

  Eva followed the woman deep into the house and up the stairs, passing several rooms as they went. The floral decoration favored throughout appeared to have been chosen by a woman, perhaps the wife of the owner. The thought gave her some relief. If a wife was lurking nearby, the man would be less likely to misbehave.

  “In here.” The starchy housekeeper frowned, waited for her to pass into the small parlor, and quickly withdrew.

  “Wait,” Eva exclaimed, but it was too late. The doors were closed in her face with a loud click. She waited for a key being turned in the lock, rendering her a prisoner.

  The only sound was the tap of footsteps of the retreating housekeeper.

  Eva expelled a breath and examined her surroundings. Patterned in roses and vines, the tapestries, rugs, settees, and chairs were covered with fabric in an explosion of flowers in pinks and reds. The walls were papered with green and pink stripes, and several vases of pink and red roses, fading with age, covered every table surface.

  The cloying scent of roses in the small space made breathing a chore. She felt as if a flower cart had overturned upon her as she walked down the sidewalk and buried her beneath a garden of blooms.

  Clearly the mistress of the home had questionable taste, yet the wealth to buy out-of-season blooms. A few roses, yes, but this? How could one entertain friends in such an overwhelming room? One’s mind could not focus on conversation when eyes were watering and sneezes were threatening.

  So caught up was she in the contemplation of bad taste, Eva did not hear the door open behind her.

  “Arabella chose the decor.” The deep voice startled her, and she turned with a gasp. “It is a bit overwhelming. Fortunately, she had other talents.”

  “Your Grace.” Her heart raced. Her worst fear had come to fruition. The man who held her notes, who all but owned her, was the same man who hated her. And in his rage, he’d managed to find the ideal way to exact his revenge. The one thing women feared most in this world of male dominance.

  Poverty.

  The duke stood in the open doorway in his shirtsleeves. His savage and handsome face was etched in a tight frown beneath the casual fall of dark waves across his forehead. Buff breeches encased muscled thighs to sinewy perfection, and just the hint of dark curls peeked out from beneath the open collar of his snowy shirt.

  He was powerful and mesmerizing in his raw masculinity. It was all she could do to remember to breathe.

  If not for the hatred for him that turned her stomach into a painful lump, she could easily be caught under his sensuous spell, as doubtless many women had been.

  She wanted to run to the window, throw open the sash, and cry out for Harold to rescue her. But that would gain her little. She had to hear what he had to say and work out a plan to save Mother and herself. And if he decided to strangle her right here in this room of roses, Harold was too far away to stop him anyway.

  Thankfully she’d chosen a gown with a high, stiff collar to aid in strangulation prevention. Only a collar of thorns would make better armor.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice thin. She watched his frown turn into a malevolent scowl. Fear sizzled down her spine. He was the devil himself.

  “I want Arabella back.”

  Eva’s shoulders slumped. She wanted to drop into the nearest chair but feared showing weakness. All she could do was puff up her feathers and make a show of confidence.

  “I thought that matter was settled, Your Grace.”

  He stepped into the room and closed the door. “Oh, yes, it was. You are the reason she is not sharing my bed.” He moved over to one narrow window and pushed it open enough to allow in a cool breeze to ruffle his shirt and hair, but not enough to allow her the space to launch an escape.

  Unfortunately.

  “Pity.” She failed to sound sympathetic. “If you walk down Bond Street and crook your finger, Your Grace, I am certain you will have a full dozen eager would-be lovers to choose from.” She made a face. “Your bed will not be empty for long.”

  His face went stony.

  She had the grim feeling of being a mouse batted about by a playful cat before it finally decided to gobble down the helpless creature for its supper.

  But if His Grace thought her helpless in his claws, he would be in for a surprise. She might be financially beholden to him, but she was no weak ninny. Hardships in her life had turned her spine to steel. It would take more than this setback to break her spirit.

  So she walked to the nearest settee, where she settled herself, taking great care in spreading her cape and skirts around her as serenely as if she were invited for tea. When she finally lifted her eyes to his, she arched a brow and clasped her hands in her lap.

  “I understand, Your Grace, that you have purchased my notes.” She hoped for some indication of his thoughts, but his face was impassive. “Perhaps you would like to tell me what kind of torment you plan for me in your desire for revenge. Cleaning your chamber pots? Throwing myself over rain puddles so you do not ruin your boots? Mucking out your stables?” She stared into his eyes. “Pray do not keep me in suspense a moment longer.”

  Nicholas watched the silly creature make a show of bravado, but she couldn’t hide the tremor in her hands no matter how tightly she clasped them together. She was afraid of him, from her wide, worried eyes to the nervous leg twitch beneath her horrid brown gown.

  Without her servant guard to stand over her like a wall between them, she was at his mercy, fully and completely.

  And she knew it.

  If only he had some shackles to rattle or a crop to tap against his boot. He bit back a grin.

  He was enjoying this.

  “I have learned many things about you over the last two weeks, Miss Black. Saving courtesans from ruin? What a foolish notion. Many chose their life as a way of saving themselves from backbreaking poverty. Would you rather see them starving and defiled in dark alleys for crusts of bread and a sip of ale?”

  “Th-there are other options.”

  “As a seamstress or lady’s companion or maid?” He snorted. “How many positions are available to t
he multitude of women who come to town seeking employment, Miss Black? A couple dozen? Less? And what of those women like Arabella, who draw the attention of men? Do you think a wife will accept her presence in a household with her husband?”

  “I do not offer them employment,” she said.

  “No, you give them husbands.”

  “Mock me as you will, Your Grace, but I have had much success.” She put her hand to her heart. “You are wealthy and a man. It is easy to dismiss my endeavors on behalf of these desperate women.”

  She had a point, though he’d not tell her so. He had always gotten everything he desired. It was difficult to imagine worrying over every scrap of food or finding shelter at night from the dangers of the city. Still, he hadn’t the time or desire to quibble with her over the state of women when his mind was on revenge.

  The spinster settled back on the settee, not as confident as before. She was tightly wound and appeared ready to dart for the open window if he moved too quickly. Since he had not yet sprung the trap, he slowly crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels.

  “You are curious why I’ve asked you here and why I have purchased your debts. I suspect you believe I have nefarious plans for you, and you are correct. I did not take over your finances out of concern for your welfare.” He paused, watching worry filter into her eyes. “As you know, I am without a mistress at present, thanks to you and your interference. I believe that makes you obligated to replace Arabella.”

  Her mouth gaped, and he continued before she could protest. “I understand you have several courtesans at your town house in Cheapside that will do nicely.” She began to sputter as color infused her pale face. He bit back a grin. “I shall give you a list of the qualifications I desire in a lover. You shall choose one of the women for me and make the introduction.”

  “I will not.” Outraged, she jumped to her feet. She had to look up to meet his eyes. “How dare you propose such a vile thing? Those women have had enough of being used and degraded for the baser needs of men. I will not hand one of them over to you on a leash, no matter what it costs me.”