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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The missive arrived as soon as I retired to my boudoir and set my feet on the settee. With an eager smile on her face, Tilda handed me the letter, which bore the wax seal of nobility. Upon closer inspection, I recognized the insignia of the manor of the Earl of Oxford.
Blast and bother.
Feeling sure the missive had come from a certain young lord who insisted I share a dance with him, I instructed Tilda to fetch me a brandy. When half the contents were warming my gut, I opened the letter and read the somewhat scribbled writing of Lord Albert Kingsley.
Dear Mistress Hayes,
I would first like to say that I was irrevocably intrigued by you at Baron Weatherby's gala last evening. I realize it was highly irregular to insist on a dance with the chaperone of a guest, but I simply could not help myself. Your radiance shines like a lighthouse beacon calling a seaman home.
Please, do not misunderstand me. I found your charge, Alice Thompson, to be an extremely engaging and intelligent young lady. Who would expect less of an admiral's daughter? Contrary to what many gentleman favour in a female, I prefer to know that their mind is as active and adept as their knowledge of the Scotch Reel. I mean to extend Alice an invitation to our family home to participate in Mother's annual coming out ball.
In closing, I would very much enjoy exchanging missives with you so that we may also get to know each other better. I will be waiting on bated breath for your reply.
Sincere regards,
Lord Albert Edmund Kingsley
Irrevocably intrigued? Indeed. How the letter had reached me so quickly, I could only guess. Perhaps, he had written it directly after the ball and left it for a bellman before he traveled back to Oxford. Either way, I was in a quandary about how to manage his request. Should Alice ever know the lord had reached out to me in such a manner, her feelings would surely be injured and our relationship damaged. The worst of it was, I knew very well that rejecting a member of nobility was a tricky prospect.
When my brandy glass sat empty, I had made the decision to wait until my head cleared before sending a reply to the persistent lord, and I spent the next hour sulking in front of the boudoir hearth. Clara's gentle tap roused me from my thoughts, and she suggested I take a wee bite of supper before the hour grew too late. I agreed to a bowl of squash soup, after which I retired. I had not forgotten about my appallingly early appointment.
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