Lady of Pleasure (16 page)

And that was the end of it.

Though not the end of Caroline going.

Only after she had finished the last ounce of port from her mother’s sideboard did Caroline realize she was drunk. She had meant only to quell her nerves.

Instead, she had drowned them.

Her brother had already left for the club, as he did every Thursday night when there wasn’t a social gathering to attend, and he wasn’t expected to return until his usual one in the morning. As for her mother? The poor dear had gone to bed early with a blistering headache she had been suffering from the whole day.

Which meant…the night was hers.

She bit back a hiccup. Maybe she shouldn’t have drunk the whole decanter. Adjusting the white satin bow below the thin lace which trimmed the shoulder of her rose-colored, gigot sleeves, she ambled toward Mary’s room trying to trudge past the swimming effects of port. Ensuring the governess, Mrs. Peterson, wasn’t anywhere in sight, Caroline pushed open the door, hurried in and fumbled to shut it behind her.

It was going to be a long night.

Anne, Elizabeth, Victoria and Mary sat one by one on the edge of the bed, their stockinged feet dangling and each pertly positioned at different heights, all dressed in matching nightdresses and ruffled nightcaps.

It was so adorable.

Anne paused, leaned far forward on the bed and sniffed in Caroline’s direction. “Are you wearing perfume?” She leaned back and waved an open-palmed hand before her face. “You’re likely to make poor Caldwell faint. You smell like too many flowers in bloom. Eck.”

Caroline mockingly wrinkled her nose at her. “I do not,” she drawled, her words feeling as though they were swimming. She fought against it. “Men like perfume. It’s a new jasmine fragrance out of Paris. I bought it yesterday with Mama when we went shopping.” To ensure she wouldn’t smell like nutmeg. She wasn’t a scone, after all.

“Wear less of it next time,” Anne retorted, still waving an agitated open-palmed hand. “Because there is no need to bring all of Paris to London.”

Mary shoved Anne hard, causing Anne to stumble forward on the bed with a squeak. “Leave off. She certainly smells better than
you
.”

Anne sat up and glared at Mary. “How about I buy you a casket so you can sleep in it every night?”

Mary paused. “How much do you think one would cost? If I did want one for my room? Are they expensive? Do you know?”

Caroline groaned. “For heaven’s sake, Anne, don’t give her ideas.”

Anne edged up a fist and shook it silently in Mary’s direction.

Mary stuck her tongue out.

Caroline sighed and pointed at them both, trying not to make her arms sway. “Enough. I don’t need this right now. I have a hired hackney waiting for me outside.”

Victoria rose from the bed and quieted her voice, coming toward her. “I’ll retire into your bed like we planned and bury myself in the linen. I’ll sleep there until you get back. You don’t have worry about Mama or Mrs. Peterson finding out. They never peer in on us after nine. You should, however, be home before Alex returns from the club at one. Because he always checks in on us.
Always
. No matter the hour.”

“I know.” Caroline had snuck out of the house many times to sit by the river at night or to secretly escape to their father’s cottage in Surrey when she missed him, all of which she managed without being caught, but she had never snuck out of the house for a man who wasn’t her father. She felt guilty. Or at least she had when she’d started on her first glass of port. A hiccup escaped her, startling her.

Her sisters all stared.

They knew she only ever hiccupped whenever she drank.

“Are you tipped?” Anne echoed.

Caroline winced. “Only by an ounce.”

“
An ounce
?” Victoria piped. “You’re hiccupping! And your words are a touch slow.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “I only had five or…or six glasses of port. I had to. I’m nervous.”

“Five or six?” Victoria blinked. “Why would you drown yourself during the most glorious moment of your life? Don’t you want to remember anything? And why would you be nervous about meeting Lord Caldwell at this party? It isn’t as if you’ll be alone with him. Aren’t you simply meeting him there?”

Caroline leaned heavily against the door, knowing it was time she confessed her sins to those she loved. “Actually, I will be alone with him. I’m…I’m meeting him at a champagne party. He invited me to go.”
Mouths opened.

Elizabeth choked out, “You’re going to a…
champagne party
?!”

Mary slapped both hands against her cheeks and didn’t move.

Victoria’s green-blue eyes widened as she hurried toward her. “Women debauch themselves there,” she said in a shrill voice. “I once heard Papa tell his own valet during breakfast that men and women who go to champagne parties end up in trees naked with whip marks all over their bums.”

This is why she usually never drank port. “I know that.”

“
Do you
?” Anne glared. “If Alex doesn’t get to you first, society will hang you by the strings of your corset and make an example of you.”

Mary crossed her arms over her chest. “I usually
never
agree with Anne, but I will have to in this. I foresee a funeral.”

Elizabeth popped up off the bed, marching toward Caroline and pointed at her as if she were Satan. “You never told us you were going to
that
sort of party. I’m telling Mama. And let me assure you, the headache she retired into bed with is about to get worse.”

Knowing she was seriously outnumbered, Caroline clasped her hands together and begged, “Please don’t tell Mama.
Please
. She already told me I couldn’t go. And I have to go. I have to! Caldwell is expecting me. If I don’t go, it would be no different than making him think that I would allow Alex
and
Mama to come between us. And I won’t do that to him. I won’t abandon him at a time when he
finally
has the courage to kneel.”

Elizabeth stared. “And what happens if he debauches you at that party and doesn’t marry you? What then? What becomes of you then?”

Caroline swallowed. “He wouldn’t do that.”

Anne puckered her lips. “Men do things we don’t expect them to do all the time. Our own brother is a good example of that.”

Caroline tried not to panic, knowing Anne was right, but she had to believe that Ronan had a greater plan. He would never debauch her and leave her. Never. Debauch her and marry her, yes, but never debauch her and leave her. “If I become his in that way – and I want to and I can and I will, for that is what people who love each other do – no one can deny us. No one. Not Alex, not Mama, and certainly not all of you.”

They stared her down, those green-blue eyes anything but understanding.

“He will marry me,” Caroline insisted.

They continued to stare her down.

“I know he will,” Caroline added.

They
still
stared her down.

“It’s Caldwell,” she argued. “For heaven’s sake, I have known the man since I was thirteen!”

They looked even
more
dubious.

“I love him.” Caroline felt as though she would burst knowing it. Or was that the port that made her want to burst? She sighed. “If this were your chance to be with the one person you have always wanted to be with, the one person you were destined to be with, would you take that chance? Or would you walk away from it in fear of super…superficial respect…ability?” She couldn’t talk.

One by one those faces crumbled. Victoria sighed.

Caroline was endlessly thankful nothing more needed to be said.

Easing out of the hackney she’d hired, Caroline stepped into the misty dampness of the night which was already settling straight into her bones. Thick fog hovered, dimming the yellow glow of the gas lamps at the end of the narrow cobblestone road.

She swallowed at seeing a long line of black-lacquered carriages waiting for their masters who apparently were all inside. She paid the driver his due three shillings, which she was barely able to count out in the blur she was feeling. The wizened, bearded man eyed her, as if fully aware of the adventure she was about to embark upon. Snapping his reins, he clattered away, turning down a narrow side street, leaving her completely alone in the faintly lit, foggy square.

She drew the veil tighter around her shoulders and head, burying herself in it. Why did she feel like a soused bandit?

Fingering the well-folded missive Caldwell had given her, she shoved it into the safety of her bosom. Her heart pounded as she glanced about the looming shadows of townhouses within the square she did not recognize. She eyed the lavish, limestone townhome before her, whose shuttered windows had been drawn, filtering very little light out onto the street. A remaining group of veiled women quietly entered through a door being held open by a masked footman.

This was not how she’d planned to lose her virginity.

But then again, a woman couldn’t plan
everything
.

She hesitated and followed the group of women, trying to keep her slippered feet steady against the wet stepping stones leading toward the entrance. She stumbled and fell onto the stone path. Wincing from the sharp impact against her knees and hands, she muttered, “Try to arrive in once piece. Do try.”

“Is this your first time in attendance?” a veiled lady drawled from beside her in the shadows. “Or is it your first time drinking?”

Startled, Caroline glanced up. “I slipped.”

The woman held out a gloved hand down toward her. “You needn’t worry about being nervous. I was nervous my first time, too. But those who organize it always take precautions in protecting the identity of every woman in attendance.”

Why did she suddenly want to leave? Caroline grabbed the gloved hand being offered and almost pulled the woman down onto the path in an effort to climb back up. She staggered up despite her corset and arranged her full skirts. “I appreciate your assistance.”

“The path is a touch slippery from the rain we had earlier. Ensure you walk slowly. And enjoy your evening.” The veiled woman swept past and disappeared down the stone path. Pausing to hand something to the masked footman, the woman disappeared into the golden light through the open door.

Caroline brushed off her gown, thankful there were very few marks on it, and followed the darkness of the path. The seductive melody of violins floated in the distance through the open door where candlelight flickered warmly from within. Why did she feel like a moth floating toward a flame?

She walked up the wide stone stairs toward the candlelit entrance.

An incredibly tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired gentleman with a black velvet mask tied around his eyes and nose as if he were a highwayman, not a footman, sidestepped toward her, preventing her from entering through the door. Aside from a blood red, silk cravat and the elegant embroidered ivory waistcoat that peered out beneath his dark evening coat, he wore all black. “Your invitation,
s’il vous plait
.”

She blinked through the veil. Oh. “I burned it.”

He stepped closer toward her, towering a good two and half heads over her own and bumped her back out the door and to the stoop with his large frame. “How unfortunate,” he delivered in a gruff tone that had a subtle French accent, hinting he had been in London more years than he had been in France.

Her heart skittered as she peered up at his anything-but-pleased façade. It was a good thing she had practiced French with Ronan throughout the years. “
Bonsoir, monsieur. C’est un…plaisir de…de vous…rencontre. I peut êtra donnée…d’entrée?
”

Blue eyes blinked down at her from behind the slits of his black mask. “Your French is a murdering insult to my people, and
this
is a private gathering. So, no, you may not enter. Leave. Or I will ensure you do.” He stepped back and slammed the door shut, missing her toes by an inch.

She winced and glanced toward the street. The port had butchered her French. She was quite sure of it. She sighed and patting her hand up the door, used the large knocker. Because she most certainly wasn’t going home without a kiss.

Within moments, the door opened. The same gentleman with the mask eyed her. “Was I not clear enough,
mademoiselle
? Or would you like me to say it in French? Or I can say it in German, too.”

She felt as if her passport wasn’t in order. “Please,
monsieur
. Lord Caldwell is expecting me. I have to see him.”

He paused and glanced down the path behind her. “He is expecting you?”

She nodded.

He shifted toward her, sighed and wagged his gloved fingers. “Lift your veil.”

She prayed he didn’t know her mother or her brother. Oh, how she prayed. Caroline grabbed the ends of the black lace and flopped it back away from her face.