A Regency era courtesan gives up her empire for love and discovers how truly binding her connections are to the noblemen she used to serve.
*****
In the sequel to Courte...
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~ Monday April 26, 1813 ~
Happily well-rested, I awoke the morning following my return with a full list to manage. After breakfast and a cup of tea that I savored like a drink from the divine, I sat at my writing desk and wrote out missives.
The first went to my dear friend and tutor, Clementine Price; the second to the Remington's, a couple whom I had close relations; and, finally, I addressed my benefactors, including Mister Faircloth. Although I had severed ties with him just prior to meeting Captain Thompson, I still adored him. Of all my patrons, I was most dreading the Earl of Oxford's reaction to my recent lifestyle change. Despite his noble status, the man was terribly needy.
Once the bellman had the letters in hand, I joined Jasper at the chicken coop, letting him catch me up on newsworthy events that occurred while I was at sea.
"The battlefronts have been quiet. At least on land," he said as he scattered hay. "Your favorite author, Jane Austen, has published another book. Something about pride. Oh, and the prince regent's mother-in-law, the Dowager Duchess of Brunswick, passed of an acute asthma attack. Funny thing though, they discovered the coffin of King Charles the First as they were interning the poor gal."
"How dreadful for the royal family. I shall pen a missive to the prince regent with my condolences."
A few minutes into Jasper's graphic description of King Charles's severed head, Tilda arrived at the kitchen door to shout at me. "Mister Morrisey is here to see you, Mistress! He looks to be in an agitated state."
So quickly? I should have known he would dash over as soon as he knew I had returned to London. Perhaps, it would not be the earl who required the most managing. Mister Morrisey possessed the healthiest sexual appetite of all my benefactors, and he did not like to be denied things. I brushed the dust from the hem of my dress and followed Tilda back inside, saying a little prayer on the way to the parlor that my decorum nor my willpower would fail me.
At first glance, the man's ruddy complexion did, indeed, expose his distress. This was a man in desperate need of warmth and affection.
"Mistress Hayes. You are such a sight. When I received your missive, I felt compelled to call on you immediately. To see for myself that you had not changed."
"Why would I change? Did you believe I would return as an old sea hag?"
My levity had him stalking toward me wearing a smug grin. "I have missed your irreverent wit." He took hold of my arms and pulled me into his chest, lowering his face to my hair and taking my earlobe between his teeth. "You smell like spring flowers. Just like I remembered."
"I have only been gone two months." I tried to pull away, but he held me firm, kissing his way around my throat to the other ear. "Really, Mister Morrisey. Remember where we are."
"Very well. Let's continue this up in your bedroom. We have so much to catch up on."
My gut protested at the thought of disappointing this powerful, passionate man. But it had to be done, and quickly. "Can we talk for a moment, first? I have something to share with you."
