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 24, 1813 ~
The snow had begun to fall as I sat down to breakfast; huge, flat flakes blanketing the ground and forcing quiet on Piccadilly Street. My staff abandoned their usual duties to follow winter storm protocol. Firewood was brought inside and stacked beside the fireplace. Scones and sweet potato pies were baked. And the chickens were given more pine shavings to keep warm.
For my part, I wrote out missives and made sure they were in the bellman's hand before the storm made it too difficult for him. One missive, in particular, I felt especially urgent. The one I'd written to Captain Remington and his wife. The plan to reunite them in the bedroom had worked, and the two re-consummated their marriage after I had been thrown out of it. They had been all smiles and rosy cheeks as they offered me their undying gratitude, something both felt they could never properly repay. Although, I had lost a potential benefactor, I had gained two dear friends.
When it came time to meet the carriage for my journey to the church, I had some apprehension as to whether the idea was a sensible one. My front stoop had already disappeared beneath a thick layer of snow, and the heavy accumulation on the awning broke loose just as Captain Thompson knocked on my door. He needed a thorough dusting off before we could take our seats in the coach.
"Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?" he said as he patted flecks of snow off his boots.
"Do you think we should risk getting stuck on our way back? I doubt the snowfall will let up before the service is over."
"It's just a bit of snow. London has seen worse."
"Yes, not a week ago."
He smiled at me without reserve. "If we get stuck, at least we'll be in good company."
Indeed?
I didn't question why the captain's mood was so favorable. I merely enjoyed it as we exchanged pleasant conversation on the way to Reverend Lawtey's parish. I asked about Alice's recovery, which had been going well, and he informed me of his upcoming boxing match due to occur on the Wednesday next. When we arrived behind the long queue of carriages, coachmen remained busy covering their horses with blankets, and the parishioners annex was open to offer the men shelter from the cold.
Before the captain could detain us at the rear of the church, I nudged him to follow me down the aisle to the front. On my way, I noticed Mister Faircloth and his wife sitting in a forward pew. This surprised me, since I was sure his wife would have suggested another parish after our awkward encounter last week. It must have been the reverend's keen speaking voice and impassioned delivery that brought them back.
Captain Thompson seemed to recognize the couple as well, and he greeted Mr. Faircloth with a chin jut as we took our positions in front of the pulpit. "He's a benefactor, I take it?" he enquired boldly.
