Theresa smiled at the memory. Dear Humphrey, I miss you. Chance in the form of a snowstorm had brought them together. Loneliness had kept them there. And bedroom antics.
She had to be honest. Sex had held them together. Humphrey had evidently been uninterested in sex for many years, until he’d shown her how much enjoyment there could be in the act of copulation. Of foreplay and stimulation, arousal and sensations. He’d taught her how to enjoy everything, how to pleasure him and how to be pleasured in return.
One day he’d turned to her, patted her cheek and told her with a quiet contentment that she knew more than he. Then he’d dropped his bombshell. Whatever she chose to do he would back her and give her an allowance, and a cottage in the village in her name for her to do with as she liked. However, he was certain her talents were needed elsewhere, and he would be grateful if she considered helping his son, who would benefit from her expertise. “As will his women,” Lord Humphrey had added with a wink. “Before you say anything, the cottage and allowance are yours outright and with no strings attached. In case you decide not to continue and use your talents as a career. You need never work at anything if you choose not to.”
George, a shy and tongue-tied man around women, had added his entreaties to his father’s. As later had his friend. And his cousin.
All under the eagle eye of Humphrey, who, although he’d decided he was no longer hungry for sex, had been her willing protector. It was, he’d said, an honor and a privilege to see how well thought of ‘Theresita’ was. Many people wouldn’t understand why she chose to do what she did, Theresa knew. She’d enjoyed it, and understood that to be a lady’s maid or a farmer’s wife was not for her.
“Miss Kyle?”
Theresa brought herself back to the present as the solicitor addressed her, and turned to the man with a smile. “My apologies, I was wool-gathering.”
The elderly man nodded. “Understandable, in the circumstances. However, I’ll need your signature and any instructions you have for me.”
“Oh…oh yes.”
“You will take advantage of the house, won’t you?” George asked. “M’father wished it, and I agree with him.” He stuck his hand out and put his palm over his sister’s mouth. “Ignore Paulina, she thinks it means less for her. It doesn’t.”
Theresa gaped at him. Did he mean it came from his portion?
“I… You…”
“Theresa, you’ve done more for this family than anyone could imagine. Papa discussed this with me and I agreed with him. I and my wife have to thank you,” George said in a soft voice. The sincerity in his words was noticeable.
Elizabeth, his wife, nodded with vigor “Much more.” She stood and squeezed Theresa’s cold fingers. “Good lord, you’re freezing. Here”—she thrust her muff over Theresa’s hands and patted it—“wear that.”
“Thank you.” Theresa had no idea why she was cold. Shock perhaps? She hadn’t expected anything like this. Or thought to be left anything, other than perhaps a few trinkets. Humphrey had given her so much anyway, and he’d owed her nothing. And now, that lovely building where she knew he had been so happy was hers.
Two homes—what more could anyone ask for?
“Are you sure?” she said in little more than a murmur, so only the solicitor and George could hear. “Really?”
“Really. Therefore go and sign your life away.” George winked. “I suspect you could do very well in London.
So did she.
* * * *
London
Fifteen years later
“I think we should start a club,” Theresa ruminated. “One for people like us who do not want to be ruled by convention.”
Her friend Maria sat back in her chair and contemplated Theresa. “There are plenty of us. What’s our name?”
“How about the Daring Ladies Club?”
Maria sniggered. “Oh, I like it. And the members?”
“Well, you and me for a start. We can begin small.”
“Excellent. When do we have our first meeting?” Maria reached for a nearby bottle of wine and poured two glasses full.
“I rather think we’re having it now,” Theresa said with a laugh. She took her glass and held it high. “To the Daring Ladies Club. Be this the only meeting or not, we can at last acknowledge who and what we are.”
“Interesting, unconventional and ready to take on the world?”
“Something like that.”
Theresa sat back in the large comfortable chair and smiled at her friend over her glass of wine. Theresa’s long black hair was half in a knot on the top of her head and the rest had left its pins and spiraled over her shoulders in a waterfall the color of midnight. She pushed it back impatiently. At times it was the bane of her life.
“So, that apart, who is your next client?”
“Who’s next?” she said in reply to Maria, her friend, confidante and seamstress to the ton. “Nobody. I’ve decided to retire.” She sipped her wine and savored the silky-smooth apricot and gooseberry-scented liquid with enjoyment. “This is good.”
Maria put her own glass down with such a thump that the fine French contents slopped dangerously near the rim. Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at Theresa as if she were hallucinating.
Theresa grinned and held the glass in the air to look at the light amber-colored liquid. “Where did you find it?”
“Never mind the wine,” Maria retorted. “Say that again, slowly.”
Theresa opened her eyes as wide as possible and waved her glass from side to side as a toast. It wasn’t often possible to shock or surprise Maria, and therefore every time it happened was immensely satisfying. “Theresita is no more. From now on I’m plain Theresa Kyle, spinster of the parish.”
“Why?” Maria sounded bewildered, as well she might, Theresa thought. She hadn’t mentioned her intentions to Maria until she’d firmed up her decisions and set certain plans in motion. “You’ll never be plain anything,” Maria continued. “Black hair and blue eyes combined with a stunning figure will ensure that.” She tugged a strand of her own soft brown tresses. “Not forgettable like mine.”
“Exactly.” Theresa chose to misunderstand her. “You are not forgettable, and you know it. Your hair is glossy and your figure…”
“Is voluptuous. Top-heavy. Why do you think I became a seamstress?” Maria asked, then chuckled. “I know what suits me.”
“You know what suits others as well,” Theresa replied. “That is why you are successful.”
“Just as well, because now I can afford to dress in the style I enjoy,” Maria said. “Something that pleases me. However, stop changing the subject. Why are you retiring?”
“Why?” Theresa said. “Because I’ve had enough.” She shrugged and raised her eyebrows as she tried to put into words just how she felt. “Of men and my life as it has been. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed every minute of it, I’d be a liar if I said otherwise. But think about it, Maria. I’ve spent the last fifteen years earning my living on my back.” She snorted then took a mouthful of wine. “Well, not necessarily on my back, but you know what I mean.”
Theresa winked and Maria choked. “Water,” Maria spluttered. “No, wine will do.” She took a large swig and wiped her streaming eyes. “How can you say something so audacious with such a straight face?” she asked when she could speak in a coherent manner once more.
“Practice,” Theresa responded without any embellishment to her reply. “Back, front or sideways on, it all has the same end. To instruct certain gentlemen of the ton that there are two people in each coupling and both have desires and needs that must be addressed.”
“So? You’re successful, well liked and a definite asset to lots of relationships, even if that is not admitted to. You can’t tell me there are no more men who need help, because after listening to the women in my salon whinge I won’t believe it.” Maria rolled her eyes. “Some of the things I hear would make the most confident of men blanch. I hear about sizes of appendages, ho
w long a man can last, the best position to ensure you do not get with child… You name it and I probably can give you five different opinions. I’m sure you are needed.”
“More than likely, but no more help from me.” Theresa sat forward and began to count on her fingers. “First, I’m one and thirty, and would have what, three, four more years before all the bits that are now firm and attractive to gentlemen begin to wobble more than is seemly. Second, I’m not as agile as I was.”
She hiccupped as Maria began to laugh uncontrollably. “Not… Oh my, the picture that conjures up,” Maria tilted her head to one side. “Just how agile do you need to be?”
“As a…and oh, do stop it…” Theresa shook her head and sniggered. “You’d be surprised. Well, no, on reflection, maybe you wouldn’t, but believe me it isn’t as easy to twist and turn as it was five years ago.” She stood and began to pace Maria’s snug sitting room. One long stride and her swirling skirts set a side table rocking. She stooped to steady it. If the dainty china figures on it smashed, Maria would not be best pleased. “It’s not just that. I think I need to remove from town for a while, and get out of a certain honorable’s orbit.” She turned in a flurry of elegant skirts and faced Maria. “One who doesn’t understand the words ‘it is over’.”
“Ah, now I begin to see. The Honorable Percival Prendergast?” Maria asked. “Does he think to make you his mistress?”
“Sadly, no. He says he intends to make me his wife.”
This time Maria’s wine did slop over the rim of the glass. She blotted it with her finger absent-mindedly. “Ah.”
“Ah indeed,” Theresa replied. “He seems to think I jested when I told him never.”
Maria grimaced. “Then you do have a problem.”
Theresa returned to her previous position and curled her feet up under her. When the two friends got together for a cozy evening, neither stood on ceremony. The order of the night was that shoes were kicked off, stays were loosened or not even worn, food chosen that could be eaten off a plate with their fingers and fine wine drunk as if it were water.
“It troubles me. There is something not quite right there, but I cannot put my finger on it.” She sighed. “He is so damned insistent and does not listen to a word I say. Mind you, I’m not sure he ever did.”
“How long has he been bothering you, Tess?” Maria got up, refilled their glasses and sat down in the same position as her friend. “Is it at the harassment stage?”
“No, not yet. But he does really worry me, and there are not many people I can say that about. He’s”—she paused to formulate her words—“fixated. Our liaison, teaching, call it what you will, ran its course around two months ago, but he seems to think we just move on together. That marriage is the next step. No, no and no. It was over.”
“When you dragged me to the cottage for a few days? Respite from our busy lives, you said.”
“Just before then. He wouldn’t agree. Said we could stay together and be a couple.” Theresa rolled her eyes. “It didn’t matter how much I told him no, he kept appearing like a jack-in-the-box wherever I went. Then he came up with the idiotic idea that a marriage between us was what he wanted, and I, would you believe, according to him, should benefit. For goodness’ sake, apart from anything else, I can give him ten years. And to be honest, I might have taught him, but I have little hope he’ll remember anything, and if he does he won’t choose to use it. His prick is like a pencil, with a very tiny and soft lead, and not of the highest quality.”
Maria sniggered. “The pictures that conjures up.”
“Yes, well, ’tis true, I am afraid.” Theresa shrugged then grimaced as she remembered the problems she’d encountered in that area. “He neither grows nor shows. Sawdust packs for the pantaloons are his friend. Plus, I am worried he is one of those men who think a woman should be grateful for any attention and he insists he knows what they want. He slurped or bit and it did not matter how many times I told him that although a woman’s body could be something to feast on, it was neither soup nor steak, he still carried on. I got that out of him by sheer continual nagging and on one occasion a thump to the head.”
Maria laughed out loud and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Only to his head?”
Theresa scowled then giggled. “I did contemplate a thump to his prick—if I could find it—but that would no doubt have given him encouragement. He was and is too arrogant for his own good. I pity his poor wife, if he ever does get someone to accept his proposal. Unless she is prepared to do as I did and stand up to him. Even if it takes a big stick and a locked door to bring him to his senses.” She sobered suddenly. “I’m not sure he really put his heart into it. I often got the impression he wished himself elsewhere, and then his attitude changed and I was the person for him. Or so he tried to insist. I almost took another client just to act as a deterrent but decided it would not be fair to the unknown other, or indeed to me. The next man in my hole will be there for love or something similar—so to speak—not money.” Crude, but then if she couldn’t speak openly and honestly to Maria, to whom could she do so?
“Ah. So do you have anyone in mind?” Maria asked with interest as she wiped her eyes on a lace-edged handkerchief. “Is that why you’ve retired?”
Theresa shook her head and her black curls danced around her like a dark halo. “No one and not really.” She paused and mulled over what she wanted to say. Was there anyone? Not one who would even consider her as a partner, or, sadly, anyone she would want to. “No. Everything I’ve said so far adds up to the fact that I’ve had enough of this life. I have sufficient money not to work at any occupation. Two homes, and a nice collection of jewelry. I play the stocks and seem to have a knack for it. I rely on no one and no one relies on me. Staff excepted. I had thought my life would be sweet and simple. I intend to write my memoirs.” She giggled like a young girl at the thought of some of those memories. “Suitably discreet and no names mentioned, of course.”
“Now those I would definitely give a pretty penny to read,” Maria said with a hint of amusement in her voice. “With the Earl of D. M. B. or Lord of the Tiny Penis, and Mole on his Arse sort of names? Have you started yet?”
Theresa laughed. “Definitely the latter sort of names. After all, how many Earls of D. M. B. are there? I’m not that cruel. A Penis, Prick or Uneven Bollocks is so much better. If nothing else, it will prove I do know the men I write about.” She sighed. It sounded deep and loud in the quiet room. “Sadly I haven’t started yet, and if things go on the way they are I might never do. Unless it is the account of a murder or unmanning. Bloody Lord Percy is proving to be very difficult. His last words to me, as he waylaid me outside my house on my way here, were that if I wouldn’t come by my own free will and see reason, he’d use other means.” She was silent for a moment as she watched the reflection of the flames in the grate as they danced over her half-full glass. “I am wondering what they are and how I should proceed. Apart from the murder or unmanning solutions.” She rolled her eyes. “I fear I would never be able to lie when asked if it was me, and I’m not sure a plea of self-defense would work.”
“Are you scared?” Maria asked. “I worry about you. Reassure me. Do you carry your gun?”
“What?” Theresa asked in surprise. “I have a muff pistol in”—she laughed—“in my muff, or course.” She nodded toward the swansdown frippery, which Maria had designed a few months earlier. “That muff, not the one on my body. As for scared? Well,” she temporized, “not really, but I feel I can’t move on until he moves away.”
“Shall I arrange for someone I know to press him? There’s a ship due to set sail for the Indies within days,” Maria said. “I’m sure my friend would take him on without a second thought. The press gangs are very useful for securing extra crew.”
Theresa stared at the nearest person to a sister she had. By the look on her face Maria was serious. “I think that’s going a bit too far, but I’ll keep it in mind.” Theresa surveyed the plate of pastries on the table
between them and picked up a sausage roll, only to ignore it. “I do think I need to do something, though, but perhaps not quite so drastic.” She began to tear tiny bits of pastry off the roll and drop them onto the plate it came from. “Maybe a word in his godfather’s ear? The trouble is I like Lord Luscott, and I don’t want to upset him if there is no need. He’s not in the best of health.” She didn’t say how she knew his lordship and accepted that Maria knew better than to ask.
As Theresa had once said, “I learn things on my back, with my legs in the air and my cunt full of cock. You learn things on your feet, with your hands full of material and your mouth full of pins,” and Maria had nodded. They both were well aware of the need to be discreet.
“Hmm, then we have a problem,” Maria said, deep in thought.
“We?”
“Oh yes, we. You don’t think I’d let you cope with this alone, do you?” Maria leaned forward and took the mangled sausage roll out of Theresa’s hands and put it back on the plate. “What a mess. Let me ponder for a while. I might have an idea how to solve the persistent Percy problem. It may mean pretending you haven’t retired, or perhaps that you’ve gone off in a slightly different direction, but… Look, can you be available tomorrow night if I bring someone to see you?”
“Of course, but who and why?” It wasn’t like Maria to be so secretive over something that could involve Theresa. Unless it was a client, of course.
Maria bit her lip. “I think I’d best not say in case the person in question doesn’t agree. Not that I think it likely. The person I have in mind also needs help.”
“Of what kind?” Theresa asked with suspicion “I told you, no more cocks, unless of the trussed-up-for-the-table kind.”
Maria chuckled. “I now have that image firmly entrenched in my mind. But no cocks directly involved.” She waggled her finger. “Tut-tut, trust you to think I mean sexual help. I did not. I spoke of the removal of an irritating, interfering mama kind.”
Interfering mama? Theresa’s stomach suddenly filled with dancing spiders. “Good lord, it’s not a woman, is it? I’m not going down that route, pretend or not. It would ruin any credibility I have.” She tilted her head to one side. “Not that I reckon I have much anyway, but…ombttp.” Maria shut her up by putting her hand over Theresa’s mouth. Theresa grabbed it and flapped her fingers. Breathing was a necessity and she wasn’t achieving it very well.
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