She told Rosie everything the Duke had said. Rosie didn’t believe it. “Dirty old goat, treating you that way, and you his own son’s girl. Look, the Duke is an evil old bastard, everyone says so. Why, Minette—she’s the Duke’s regular, when he comes here—says he’s a demon. The nasty things he does to her—no, I shouldn’t talk to you about all that, you’re too young. Anyway, I wouldn’t believe a thing that old Duke says. Didn’t I hear it from the Marquess’s own lips, how much he loved you? He wouldn’t so much as touch me, Joanna, because the only girl he wants is you.”
Gradually, Rosie and the other girls cheered Joanna a little.
“We have to have a plan,” said the irrepressible Rosie. “I must find a way to get the Marquess a message from you.”
“But how?”
“Let me think. The parlormaid I used to know in Gresham House is gone now. If anyone here knows anyone in Gresham House, and would carry a note from you….”
It was determined that a girl at the Empire had a sister who was walking out with a fellow whose first cousin was a maid at Gresham House. Joanna struggled over a note.
“Say you love him!”
“I did, Rosie. Here’s what I put down. ‘Your father came to see me and said you don’t love me anymore. I don’t believe him. I will wait every morning at eleven o’clock for you, in Hanover Square. That’s near where you live, in the fancy part of town, I think. I will go there every day. Please come, Christy, even if it’s just to say goodbye. I love you, Christy.’ ”
“Maybe you should say you’re staying with me,” Rosie offered.
“Then the Duke would complain about you to Madam. I don’t want you to lose your place because of me, Rosie.”
So the note was sent as is. For nearly a month, Joanna went to Hanover Square every morning and waited there for an hour. Every morning, she turned around and came back to Rosie’s without having seen Christy.
The December days grew colder, as Joanna stood there every morning in her borrowed wraps. She was beginning to despair.
Chapter 19
If Any Man Here Knows Just Cause…
The lady’s maid from Gresham House went to Mrs. Maywood’s Residence, as she had been ordered to do. She learned that the young lady she was to accompany west by coach had eluded her and left Mrs. Maywood’s the night before.
So she pocketed the coach fare and gave herself a full day off. The Duke would be none the wiser.
Christopher, meanwhile, was a prisoner in his own house. People were told he had a bad case of pleurisy. The doctors, it was said, would not let him socialize until his health improved. The ton left calling cards upon him, and many friends sent flowers and confections to the invalid.
Meanwhile, manservants guarded him around the clock to prevent his escape.
After about a week of this, the Duke of Gresham sat down with his son in the boy’s study. “This can end whenever you wish it to, Christopher. Just say the word, and you can walk out of this room this very moment as a free man.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“That you will ask for Miss Coleman’s hand, after seeking her father’s blessing.”
“No.” Christopher turned away from the Duke.
“You’re a fool, Christopher. Has no one told you that your little gypsy girl has left town?”
“What do you mean?”
“I went to see her, Christopher, at Mrs. Maywood’s Residence. I explained your circumstances to her—that you would be entering into holy matrimony in a matter of weeks. She left the next morning, by coach, to rejoin her gypsy tribe out west. One of my servants escorted her almost as far as Salisbury. She’s gone, my boy. It’s over.”
“You had no right to lie to her—!”
“I had every right, as your father. And believe me, you’re well out of that entanglement. She didn’t shed a tear over you. In fact, the brazen hussy made seductive advances to me, there in good Mrs. Maywood’s sitting room! Perhaps she thought that with the son no longer available, she’d aim for the father. I’ll admit she’s a hot little piece. But in truth I do like my own bedmates to be of a somewhat higher class than that little trollop.”
Christopher jumped to his feet and moved to strike his father. But the Duke, perhaps having anticipated just such a reaction, moved deftly out of his reach.
“Now, now, curb your temper, my boy. She’s not worth our fighting over.”
Christopher sat down again. What can I say? I know Joanna better than I know myself. I know my father is lying, but how can I prove it to him?
“I’ll be back tomorrow, Christopher. Think upon what I’ve said today.”
Of course, Christopher eventually gave in. What else could he do? If Joanna had gone back home to the Travellers, then he had lost her. Feeling he had nothing left to live for, he acceded to his father’s wishes.
Christopher never did get the note Joanna wrote him. A footman outside Christopher’s door caught the little maid attempting to deliver Joanna’s message. She was brought before the Duke. He turned her out on the street without a reference.
* * *
Another large dinner party was in full swing at Gresham House. It was gaily decorated for the Christmas season, with pine garlands and sprigs of holly everywhere.
Just before Haddam rang the bell for dinner, Christopher followed Mr. Coleman into the library.
Mr. Coleman was not surprised at the interruption. He knew what was coming. He always got his way in the end.
“Sir, may I have the honor of asking you for your daughter’s hand in marriage?”
* * *
On Boxing Day, the first day after Christmas, the haut ton gathered promptly at eleven o’clock for the grandest wedding of the Season. Many of the public were also present at St. George’s, Hanover Square—a favorite church of Society’s upper crust.
After all, the bride was beautiful, her fabulously wealthy father’s only heir. The bridegroom was a handsome Marquess, one day to be a Duke like his father. It was a spectacle worth watching.
It was said that the Prince of Wales would attend, and more dukes and duchesses, earls and countesses, lords and ladies than one could ever imagine gathering in a public place.
The notorious Lady Jersey was to attend, also. It was gossiped that she had given the bridegroom a truly memorable gift to commemorate his nuptials—although no one was quite sure what the gift was.
Amid heaps of flowers and the strains of organ music, the bride left her carriage on the arm of her father. The shouting crowds outside pleased her, but even more pleasant was the thought of how many of her old school chums she had deliberately failed to invite.
The handsome couple stood at the altar. The archbishop intoned the fateful words of the Christian marriage service: “If any man here knows just cause why this man and this woman should not be bound in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”
No one noticed the rather bedraggled girl who had made her way into the back of the church. This was the last day Joanna would ever come and wait for Christy in Hanover Square. Truly, the story was over.
Numb, she pressed her way back out through the throng. It was snowing lightly. Still, she would walk all the way to the Empire. What little money she had left was dwindling daily—a hansom cab was out of the question.
Rosie met her at the back door of the Empire, fussing over her wet wraps and promising hot tea. As she took away Joanna’s shawls, she looked at Joanna’s shape. Despite the little she ate, Joanna’s body was blossoming into a womanly fullness.
“Joanna,” she said. “Joanna, sit down, my dearest. Joanna, I think you are with child.”
Chapter 20
For Love or Money
The June sun shone brightly through the lace curtains of Rosie’s room at the Empire. It had been a harsh, bitter winter, but suddenly all London was in bloom.
“Shall we take her for a walk in St. James’ Park, do you think?” Motherhood suited Rosie, even though the baby she wa
s cooing over was not her own.
“Who’s a pretty little pet, now? Hannah! Hannah, my love! There’s a sweet girl!” Rosie dangled her lovely pearl necklace over the baby’s face. The infant chortled with delight.
“Joanna, she smiled at me! Did you see that? I swear, she loves this necklace—it’s as if she knows her noble papa the Marquess gave me this for taking good care of you, Joanna, when you first came to London.”
Joanna smiled wanly. She was so weary and melancholy these days. It was hard to get excited, even over this beautiful little daughter she cradled.
And it cuts through me like a knife whenever Rosie speaks of Christopher. I know she means well, but can’t she just let the matter be? Christopher is lost to me. Best to forget him.
Joanna knew that her hopelessness left the other woman at a loss. She wished, just for Rosie’s sake, that she could summon up some enthusiasm. But she did not have it in her.
“Dear, why don’t you bring baby out in the park for a stroll with me? It’s such a lovely day outside. Come on, Joanna, it will do you good. And Hannah needs some fresh air—not stuck in these rooms all day and night.”
I know this is hard on Rosie. She works hard at her job most of the night—during the day she should be getting some rest herself, not trying to care for Hannah and me.
Joanna made an effort to show her appreciation. “Rosie, you’re such a good friend. I don’t know what Hannah and I would be doing without you.”
“Well, don’t be silly! Aren’t you like a sister to me now? And you said I could be Hannah’s godmother. Although once you and Lord Clydekill are together, the two of you won’t be wanting the likes of me to be godmother to our little Lady Hannah!”
Joanna tried to control herself, but the effort was too much. She buried her face in her hands and began sobbing. As much as she tried, she could not stop herself.
“Rosie, don’t you understand? He’s gone. It’s over. With my own two eyes, I saw him wed that woman, I heard him say the vows. ‘Till death do us part.’ Please, please let’s stop pretending that I—or Hannah—will ever have a future with that man. It just makes it hurt more, when you do that.”
Rosie set her mouth in a stubborn line. “I don’t care what you say, or what you saw. The Marquess loves you. Only you. Someday you’ll be together, I just know it.”
Joanna shook her head. “You’re a loyal friend, Rosie. But the truth is the truth. I have to face reality, if only for my baby’s sake. We’re going to be on our own.”
* * *
It had been a difficult pregnancy. Joanna could keep no food down. Except for her swelling midsection, the rest of her was thin as a wraith.
Rosie tried her best, sneaking little delicacies from the Empire’s kitchen to tempt Joanna’s appetite. When she could, she slipped away with a half-filled decanter of fortifying sherry or brandy, left carelessly unconsumed by a gentleman guest.
She tried to draw as little attention as possible to Joanna. But Rosie could not keep Joanna in her own chambers in the evening. That was where she worked, after all. So she convinced one of the housemaids to share her small garret room with Joanna.
All this came at a price, of course. Rosie found herself paying off the cook for her silence about the stolen food, and the housemaid for her complicity in sharing her quarters. Rosie did not mind. She earned enough money, and she loved Joanna like a sister.
Of course, it was inevitable that Mrs. Hartnell would learn of Joanna’s presence. Mrs. Hartnell had made her money by running her establishment like a finely-tuned timepiece, and very little in it escaped her notice.
Pulling a velvet bellrope, she summoned Rosie to her own lavishly appointed suite. Rosie knew that in order to keep the respect of quality folk, Mrs. Hartnell tried to seem every bit as prosperous as they were. Thus Mrs. Hartnell lived at the Empire in rather grand style.
“Rosie, I require an explanation,” Mrs. Hartnell said sternly.
“It has come to my attention that there is a young woman who appears to be making an extended stay here—upon my charity, it would seem. Do you know of whom I speak?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Rosie said obsequiously. Butter up the old biddy, keep her in the dark about what’s really going on.
“I’ve been meaning to come talk to you, ma’am, but I’ve been so nervous, I have, because I want to do what’s right and not displease you—working here being such a good opportunity for me and all….”
“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Hartnell, mollified in spite of herself by Rosie’s humility. “Who is she, then?”
“It’s my cousin from the countryside, Madam. She’s come to London to make her way in the world, and she’s been helping the underhouse parlormaid a bit, just to learn the job, like, before applying for it properly.” Another payoff—now the parlormaid would have to be bribed, too.
“She’s no trouble, Mrs. Hartnell. She’s doing her work for nothing, just to get the experience.” That should win her over, getting something for nothing. Our Mrs. H. is as tight-fisted as they come.
“Very well, then. I’ll see the girl and decide if she may stay. Go and fetch her now.”
Rosie went to find Joanna. Joanna was white-faced, having just been sick into a porcelain bowl. She pulled herself together, though, and agreed to follow Rosie’s lead in lying about her unpaid duties in the house.
So they entered Mrs. Hartnell’s suite, richly appointed with gilt mirrors, scarlet satin drapes and gold ormolu. Mrs. Hartnell kept them standing, pouring herself a cordial without offering anything to the girls. As bold as Rosie was, she awaited her friend’s fate fearfully.
If this doesn’t work out, how else can I help Joanna? She has nothing of her own to fall back on.
* * *
Mrs. Hartnell prided herself on being a canny businesswoman. She had come up the hard way in the toughest trade a woman can undertake. Against all odds, she now controlled that trade. As a result, she controlled the reputations, and thus the fortunes, of some of the most powerful men in England.
Mrs. Hartnell had an instinct for “talent,” which in her line of work meant that ineffable female essence for which a man would willingly make a fool of himself, squandering everything to possess it.
When Joanna walked in, Mrs. Hartnell saw talent.
She saw the fiery eyes with their unusual colors, the fall of shining dark hair, the sinuous movement of muscles and limbs that suggested an untamed wildcat.
This one, I could offer to princes or kings, and they would consider no price too high. On this one, I could make my fortune. A powerful man would make me a rich woman, just as a reward for procuring her favors.
Mrs. Hartnell saw all these things in Joanna, but her practiced eye immediately saw other things, as well.
“Congratulations, my dear. When is the baby due?”
The two young women’s mouths dropped open. Did the little fools think I would not notice? I’ve been in this business far too long to mistake this young woman’s condition.
“My dear—excuse me, what is your name?”
“Joanna, ma’am.”
“Joanna, I understand you have been volunteering your services as a maid in my household. But in your condition, my dear, we cannot have you working. It simply would not be right. Rosie, I will permit your, um, ‘cousin’ to continue her stay here. She shall have her every need taken care of, in her situation. When is the child due, young lady?”
“July, ma’am.”
“Very good. We will alert a midwife as the time grows nearer. And Joanna, from now on, I want you to feel this is your home. Now, leave, both of you, please. I have other business to attend to.”
Mrs. Hartnell smiled to herself as the young women left her chambers.
Excellent. By July, that girl will be so deeply in my debt that I will own her. And then, we will see who will bid me the highest price for such a jewel.
* * *
“Why do you think she’s doing this, Rosie? Madam doesn’t strike me as someone
who gives something for nothing.”
“Yes, dearie. Whatever she does for you now, once the baby is born, I’m afraid she’ll make you pay it back a hundredfold.”
“If it’s hard work she wants—Rosie, I’m not afraid of work. I could clean, I could serve at table—”
“Joanna, she could have a thousand poor girls here in London clean house for her, and any one of them would be glad to do it for nothing, just to have a roof over her head. That’s not what she’ll want from you, and you know it. You’re so beautiful, Joanna. Why would she waste you as a maid when she could get so much more money out of you for—well, you know what I mean.”
“No. I wouldn’t even consider it.”
“But Joanna, seriously, it wouldn’t be such a bad life, if you had a steady place here. Do you have any idea what London’s like for a girl out on the streets, with a baby and no husband? It’d be the workhouse for you, and for the baby, too. Those places are like prisons, filthy and full of disease. And they wouldn’t let you keep the child, they’d take it away from you. Why, I knew a girl once—” Rosie stopped herself before she might scare Joanna with the horrors she had sometimes witnessed since coming to the big city.
Joanna looked at her in shock. “You think I should do that? Lie with anyone other than Christopher? For money? That’s disgusting, Rosie. What kind of woman do you think I am?”
Then she stopped herself, aghast at what she had just said to her best friend.
“Well, I guess it’s good enough for me, though, dearie, isn’t it.” Rosie’s face was cold all of a sudden. And Joanna was ashamed.
Chapter 21
No Free Rides
But Rosie didn’t stay angry for long. Holding a grudge was not in her good-hearted nature.
Tamed By The Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 13
