Behind the Courtesan

by Bronwyn Stuart

  “I said please the first time I asked,” she pointed out, his loud display only slightly frightening.

  Just then the taproom door slammed open, a healthy gust of damp cold air blowing across the scene inside. “What’s going on here?”

  Sophia peeked beneath Blake’s arm. “Matthew?”

  Blake muttered something beneath his breath that sounded a lot like another insult but Sophia ignored him, forcing him to step back as she rose to greet her brother and the woman half-hidden in his shadow. “What are you doing back?”

  Matthew folded her into his arms for a second time, squeezing her hard. “I wanted you to meet my wife and didn’t want to wait for tomorrow. This is Violet.”

  Sophia took in the girl with a golden halo of curls framing a perfectly flawless face. She wondered what Matthew had said to his wife to prompt her visit, especially as they had not previously met. “It’s lovely to meet you, Violet.”

  “And you,” she returned, but made no move to embrace her or kiss the air by her cheek.

  Sophia understood Violet’s reaction and didn’t press a situation that would make the heavily pregnant woman more uncomfortable. It was the same notion of scandal and propriety that had kept Sophia from attending their wedding. Or at least that’s the excuse she had given at the time she declined their invitation.

  Regardless of the rising tension now, she didn’t want them to leave. “I was about to have an early supper, would you care to join me?”

  “In the back parlor,” Blake interjected through gritted teeth.

  Sophia didn’t want to surrender, but she couldn’t suppress the excitement that infused her over spending a few hours alone with her family. “Very well, the parlor.”

  She turned her back before Blake’s inevitable look of triumph could reach her. He’d won this round, but if there was to be another, she would fight with everything she had to show him she wasn’t a woman to be ordered around or treated with fragility.

  * * *

  As Blake watched the trio wander off down the corridor, he was left with feelings he hadn’t expected either. What rocked him to his core was seeing Sophie sitting in the bar where just two nights before a man had nearly killed another. This wasn’t a sitting room where ladies took tea. It showed him she certainly did need someone to watch over her. The women who ate here after dark came with their husbands, to be protected if need be. Even Violet, one of his closest friends after Matthew, wasn’t allowed to eat on her own there. There was no way Peter or Murray’s actions were protective. Why hadn’t Sophie seen their leers?

  There wasn’t enough time in his day to warn every customer to stay away from the beautiful creature in the corner.

  He nearly groaned out loud as he rubbed a hand over his forehead. He shouldn’t think of her as beautiful. He shouldn’t think about protecting her either. She’d already made it quite clear she didn’t need or want his input. But what more could he do? Throw her to the wolves? No. Even he wouldn’t do that and especially not now she was a guest at his inn. He had to keep her out of sight and out of the tap for the duration of her visit.

  Anyone seeing the look on Violet’s face upon meeting her sister-in-law couldn’t mistake the discomfort there. As much as he wished otherwise, Sophie would have to stay with him until the babe was born.

  He pondered the dilemma as he went to the kitchen and heated the leftover stew she would have received cold. He poured ale into four mugs, watered down two of them, and then placed them on a serving tray for Dominic to deliver. By the time the food was ready and four bowls were full, he still had no idea how to keep her out of the way.

  It was understandable that Violet didn’t want a courtesan in her home even if said courtesan was family. She had her standing in the village to think about and there was the fact that her pregnancy had been a difficult one. He didn’t think the women of the village would heap the sins of another onto Violet’s head, but women could be crueler than men.

  When Matthew had first warned him he’d asked Sophie to visit, Blake had been pleased for him, but then his brain started to work away in the frustrating way it did, churning up the betrayal and the hurt. His best friend had begged him to try to find a way to forgive. Matthew had known having his sister back in their lives would be difficult, even so he was determined to make everyone consider giving her a second chance.

  Much easier said than actually done.

  He finished the tray with a plate of bread and then headed with it toward the parlor still minus a way to keep Sophie out of trouble. It left a sour taste in his mouth that he would care that much anyway.

  It wasn’t that he was a monster, quite the opposite, but Sophie had devastated him when she’d left. Had they been a few years older, they would have had the banns read and been happily married, so sure he was of their future. Instead she’d disappeared in the dead of night.

  Months later an envelope had come to him with another letter inside addressed to Matthew. He didn’t even warrant a “Hello, how have you been?” Never had she sent a letter to him to say, “Sorry for ripping your heart out.” How could she do it? How could she forget him and what they could have had and turn to a life of prostitution?

  He’d better be careful lest the question accidentally slip out over dinner.

  With his foot, Blake pushed the parlor door open and then slowed as a wave of tension greeted him. Despite the laughter brother and sister shared, the scene seemed uncomfortable.

  Though Violet managed a small smile, Blake had known her long enough to see she would rather be anywhere else. The woman usually chattered on about this and that constantly. Her silence was another obvious sign of her discomfort. Was Matthew ignoring his wife or could he just not see it?

  “Blake, Sophie has been regaling us with the events of the afternoon.”

  He scowled in her direction. “She has, has she?”

  “We did get off to a bit of a bad start,” she said, the mischievous gleam in her eye extra bright in an otherwise shadowed room.

  He put the tray on the table with a clang and crossed his arms over his chest. “A bit?”

  Matthew cleared his throat. “Blake, please sit and eat with us.”

  Sophie’s smile drooped just as Blake’s lifted. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  They ate in silence for a few moments and Blake was glad to have a moment to gather his thoughts. They were all over the place. On the one hand he was happy that Matthew had reunited with his sister but on the other hand, Matthew had his wife to think of. A wife who was clearly stuck in the middle of this very awkward situation. These were the moments he wished he was a member of their family rather than a close friend. He wanted to speak his mind and tell everyone what he really thought, that they couldn’t play at being a contented family after the damage her departure had left. But he wasn’t family, and he’d already said too much to Sophie as it was.

  He couldn’t help watching her as she ate, her eyes closed and a small smile playing over her lips.

  “Nice?” he leaned over and asked as he remembered her earlier jibe about his food being bad.

  When Sophie opened her eyes her cheeks flushed having been caught in her moment of flavor rapture. “Very. You must have a talented cook.”

  “The vegetables are grown right here, in the field behind the kitchen.”

  He tried to keep the inflection from his tone, tried to keep it light and nonchalant, but aggression crept its way into his words, though he longed to take them back. She knew where vegetables came from. He wasn’t sure why he felt the sudden need to remind her. Why did he continue to behave like a brute in her presence?

  She ignored him anyway and turned to her sister-in-law. “Violet, I bought you a gift before I left London.”

  “You did?” Violet said, shock written all over her delicate face.

  “A cradle for the baby. It’s really very beautiful, I do hope you like it.”

  Surprise filled Violet’s eyes and then was gone, not quite replaced by hostili
ty, but close. “We already have one.”

  Sophia hadn’t thought of that. She’d only been thinking to get rid of another reminder of her London life before it drove her insane. That she purchased it for them was only a little white lie. She couldn’t very well reveal over the dinner table that it should have held her own child.

  “I am a carpenter, Sophia. I already made us one. Two actually,” Matthew told her with a forced chuckle.

  “Of course you did.” She couldn’t meet his eyes nor anyone else’s as her cheeks flushed. From the edge of her vision, something happened between Matthew and his wife.

  Violet cleared her throat. “It was a lovely gesture.”

  Not by the tone in her voice, but Sophia gave her a half smile anyway and then returned to her meal. She would have to ask Blake to dispose of the cradle so she wouldn’t have to endure the constant sight. This was the first day in a long time that she hadn’t given herself over to tears and grief over the miscarriage she had suffered some months before. She sighed. The day wasn’t done yet.

  “What are your plans while you are here, Sophia?” Matthew changed the subject with grace. She could have hugged him.

  “I don’t have any.” She wouldn’t admit her only plan had been to rest and try to find direction for her life. To try to find a way to accept her existence would never be the same now that she had come to realize what her choices had robbed her of. Matthew’s invitation had arrived opportunely. She didn’t regret decisions made when she was a scared fourteen-year-old but now she was an adult and had to take matters more firmly in hand. Yet another failed pregnancy had forced her to open her eyes and stop living in the moment, although some days she wished denial still cloaked her.

  “You could venture forth and meet people. There’s a dance organized for Sunday afternoon at the McFarlane farm.”

  “I don’t think so.” She shook her head to clear morose thoughts and painful memories. The second to last thing she wanted to do was be in a place where the women would scowl at her and the men would wonder at her availability. The absolute last was to be openly shunned.

  “I’m sorry. Our little dance probably isn’t sophisticated enough for you anyway.”

  “Blake.” Matthew’s warning tone rang out across the table, but Blake paid him no heed.

  “You would especially hate market day. Your delicate hems would never stand up to the crowd, to the manure on the road, the dirty children brushing past your expensive skirts. Perhaps it would be best if you stayed in your room?”

  Sophia’s mouth fell open. She wasn’t quite sure where this vitriol had come from but she wouldn’t endure it. Not quietly anyway. “You think there is no manure on the road in London? No dirty children? What are you really saying, Blake?”

  “I’m saying you aren’t cut out for country life, you would only get in the way.”

  “I would not. You know nothing about me to make those kinds of assumptions.”

  “You are a delicate woman now.” Blake picked up one of her hands and turned it in his. “Your pretty hands, your polished nails, one day of work and you’d be a mess.”

  “I would not,” she repeated, doing her best to ignore the warmth that crept from his skin to hers.

  “I don’t believe you,” he taunted.

  Sophia wanted to punch him. This man who insulted her, who made her out to be some sort of aristocratic invalid, she wanted to make him hurt. What the hell had Blake Vale done that was so special anyway? Poured ale for dogs for twenty years? Scrubbed vomit off the floor occasionally? He had no idea what she’d had to face, how strong she’d had to be. She snatched her hand from his grip. Let him live through even half of what she had.

  “I’ll prove it,” she said, pushing her chair out with a scrape of timber against timber.

  “For one week?” Blake said, leaning back in his.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He came to his feet, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s all well and good for you to milk a cow or to prepare a single meal but could you do it for a week?”

  “Certainly. But why would I want to?”

  “That’s right, Duchess. Why would you want to? You have servants to cook your meals and run your bath. Do you have a maid to dress you? Wipe your arse?”

  He’d called her that name in the yard as well, that name that made her insides shudder with dread, and try as she might, it was impossible to ignore the jibe. “I dress myself, thank you, and as to my other habits, they are none of your business.”

  “I thought so,” he replied with a smug look on his infuriatingly smug face.

  Instead of the physical harm she dreamed to inflict, she nodded and said just one word. “Agreed.”

  “What?” three voices echoed in perfect unison.

  “I’ll do it for one week—I might even do it for two.” Perhaps then he would see her as more than a courtesan.

  Blake snatched up her hand and shook it vigorously. “Two weeks then, Duchess. This is going to be fun.”

  As Sophia sat, fuming that he thought her useless, the realization sunk in that she had been goaded into spending her visit working. Alongside an insufferably judgmental oaf. He would probably have her mucking out stables or shoveling the very same mud she’d worn not four hours earlier and she had fallen headlong into his trap. At least keeping her hands busy might relieve her mind from its current state of anxiety.

  Without warning, Violet dropped her spoon on the table and clutched her stomach with a groan.

  Both Matthew and Blake shot to their feet, the silly challenge momentarily forgotten, but it was Matthew who got to his wife first. “Violet, are you all right? Do we need to call for the doctor? Is the baby coming?”

  When Violet looked at her husband, she seemed furious. “’tis just the baby moving. I do not need the doctor.”

  “You should be at home resting,” Matthew growled.

  “Yes, I should,” she said with a pointed glance in Sophia’s direction and then back to Matthew.

  “You begged me to take you somewhere!”

  “But not here,” she hissed.

  “Sophia is my sister and I wanted you to know her.”

  “I think perhaps I am a little more tired than I thought,” Violet said into the thick silence that followed the argument.

  “Take her home, Matthew.”

  Matthew ignored Blake and turned to Sophia. She nodded her agreement. As much as she wanted them to stay, there were no words she could say to Violet. Apologies were sure to get her nowhere.

  “If you’ll excuse us?” Matthew helped his wife to her feet, cast Blake a scorching look of censure—to which Blake shrugged—and then they shuffled from the room.

  As soon as the door closed behind the pair, Sophia whirled on Blake, murder once again on her mind. “What just happened?”

  “What did you expect? Violet is a delicate woman.” Blake kept his eyes on his plate, idly toying with his food.

  “I think Violet would have survived a meal in the same room as me given the chance.”

  “You have no idea what Violet could endure. Is one dinner enough to take her measure? A dinner forced upon her at the last minute?”

  “I would like to get to know her.”

  “Why now? You didn’t want to know her before.”

  “Let’s not pretend this is about Violet. You attacked me and then you challenged me in front of them. Are we to be as uncivilized as snarling bears?”

  “You think folk here are.”

  “Where does all of this come from?” They did nothing but talk in circles. Sophia narrowed her eyes. “Are you drunk?”

  “Would that I was,” he muttered.

  Sophia turned toward the door. Her appetite had disappeared and she found herself longing once again for the confines of her room. “I am tired of this. Perhaps tomorrow we can start afresh but if not, I will stay in my room as you suggested.”

  “Answer me one question before you go?”

  She paused without wanting to
at the anguish in his voice. Did he feel guilty about his behavior? “What is it?”

  “Do you want to be a duchess?”

  Her stomach gave a flip flop as she reached for the door handle. Is that why he called her duchess in such a derisive tone? He thought that’s who she aspired to be? This was yet another conversation she wasn’t ready to have. He clearly thought her a whore and a gold grabber looking to climb to one of the highest stations in the realm. Why should she make him think any differently?

  Blake was no longer the boy she used to know, to love. He was now a hateful, spiteful man who was obviously going to make it his business to persecute and humiliate her. In his eyes she was a lowly courtesan, but she had worth. She would show him that she was more than a bed warmer to a duke and then he would have to apologize for his harsh treatment of her. For his assumptions that she would sell her soul for a title and servants.

  She opened the door and took one step over the threshold, but paused for a moment to leave him with something to ponder. “I have never wanted anything less in my entire life.”

  * * *

  Blake continued to sit at the dining table, the plates where they were, and felt he’d been blindsided by a mule cart. Only he wasn’t the one who’d been led into a trap.

  He’d needed a brilliant idea and had one too late. One he should have thought out a little better. Surely there were other ways to keep her safe from his patrons that didn’t require keeping her at his side all day every day? He didn’t believe her that if they continued to fight she would stay in her room. That would have made it too easy for him.

  He grimaced. He was lying to himself if he thought it would be effortless to fight with her for the next few weeks, he wasn’t normally so difficult to get along with. There was just something about her attitude since she had arrived that irked him in the worst way. She may say she didn’t want to be a duchess, but already she had perfected the art of making him feel like a peasant.

  Remorse began to dull the edges of his anger. He even considered going to her, to knock on her door and apologize, though his challenge did still serve a purpose. He would keep her at the inn so that Matthew wouldn’t have to choose between his wife and his sister. In the process, he’d keep her busy and out of his bar. He’d also try to keep a lid on his temper now that he’d gone ahead and taken the responsibility from everyone except for himself.