A 19th century London courtesan agrees to a phony courtship with a navy captain and finds herself negotiating uncharted territory outside the boudoir.
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The year is eighteen-t...
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~ Sunday Jan 3, 1813 ~
The chronicle afforded extra space to report the events of the previous evening's boxing match. While I was disappointed to learn the captain had lost his battle, the article continued past the sporting exploits to describe an unexpected performance by the Duke of Norfolk's companion, Mistress Rosalind Hayes, who fainted dead away at the first sight of blood. The reporter went on to recommend the courtesan stick to what she knows; seeking her thrills in the bedroom rather than a boxing arena.
It took a full hour to find my wits after that. And I spent most of it debating whether I felt insulted or flattered the reporter had taken the time to research me and offer an accurate narrative. After all, a courtesan asserted more equitable repute than a mistress or a prostitute. Truthfully, what concerned me more was the duke's response, and I almost felt sorry for the reporter at pressing his journalistic advantage. Certainly, he had only considered the reaction of the readers and not the reaction of the duke.
Leaving the rest of the paper for a leisurely afternoon read, I prepared for church and caught a coach to the parish of Reverend Lawtey, my dear friend and benefactor, although ours was an unusual agreement. The sermon covered topics like fresh beginnings and opening our minds to new ideas. The world was changing fast. And, apparently, our souls needed to be prepared.
I had just returned home and sat to finish my reading when Tilda appeared at the parlor curtain, announcing a visitor. "Captain Jules Thompson to see you, Mistress. Should I tell him to return at a more..." She paused a moment, undoubtedly searching for the right word. "...opportune time?"
I thought it serendipitous the captain chose that time to call on me. I had been thinking about him all morning. "No, Tilda. You can show him. And bring some tea. However, be sure his visit does not overlap with Mister Morrisey's."
"Aye, Mistress. That would be most...discourteous."
Looking pleased with herself, Tilda trundled away, and I could not contain my smile. Discourteous was not the word I would have used. Mutinous. Disobedient. Hazardous. Now, those were words that fit the situation better. I was still wearing a grin when the captain entered the parlor, although he only made it as far as the curtain.
"I beg your pardon for my unannounced visit, Mistress Hayes." The captain's grimace gave away his current physical state, a consequence of the previous night's events, no doubt. And his chest pushed the boundaries of his naval jacket where his shoulder had been thickly bandaged. "Please, tell me you have recovered yourself since the unfortunate incident at the arena last evening. Alice insisted we not wait for a bellman to enquire."
"Alice knows of the incident?" A strong feeling of guilt overcame me as I bit my lower lip.
"She made enquiries at breakfast after taking in my current state. The papers offered the rest."
The captain remained as stiff as a statue as I took in his state; swollen lips, an irregular purple bruise around his left eye, and a distinctive hunch despite his attempt to stand rigid.
