The Accidental Courtesan

From this moment forward, you will not wear any gown that shows even a trace of areola, a length of thigh, or any other part of your bodies normally covered by an undergarment.”

Miss Eva Black paused impatiently while muslin, crinoline, and satin rustled as several pairs of hands reached to jerk up unacceptably low necklines. A shadowy hint of the curved crests of at least one pair of rosy peaks disappeared from view behind stiff lace.

“Proper clothing is the first outward sign of a lady and the first rule that cannot, and will not, be broken.” She sighed, resisting the urge to tug at the high, scratchy neck of her gray wool gown. In the heat of the parlor, she felt trapped beneath the heavy layers of her spinster’s garments.

It took determination not to shuck off the dress and kick it into the overstoked fire with her slippered foot. With the rain whipping against the window, throwing open a sash wasn’t a viable option. She really had to give the maid simpler instructions on whether a fire was appropriate when the morning was warm, lest fainting become the order of the day.

The next several hours loomed ahead like a dismal and itchy fog, yet Eva forged on. Her suffering was unimportant. An example had to be set for her young courtesans at all times as they looked to her for guidance and the chance to free themselves from their desperate situations.

She continued, “With one’s breasts exposed, one can expect every reprobate for fifty miles around to come running for a peek. This is an unacceptable situation I intend to change over the course of the next few weeks. You must behave like ladies, if I am to have any chance of finding each of you a husband.”

More giggles and a flurry of whispers followed her pronouncement. The young ladies took a moment to settle before five pairs of curious eyes turned back to Eva. She pulled her fingernails away from her neckline and settled her hands in her lap. A lady did not fidget nor show discomfort in public. Eva was always the picture of ladylike serenity, even if she was no Lady by birth or marriage.

Lady Watersham’s book, Rules for Young Women of Quality, spelled out every societal rule in precise detail, and Eva had eagerly read and memorized every page. Now she passed those teachings on to others desperately in need of guidance and a chance at a life outside a courtesan’s lot.

So she wouldn’t fidget, even if pushed to the brink of insanity by the confounding prickles.

Out of sorts today for some unknown reason, Eva felt her mask of stiff propriety settle in the shape of an invisible noose jerked tight around her neck. Just once she wanted to giggle like a ninny with other girls, slouch against the back of the settee with her bare feet outstretched, or scratch her neck like a dog overrun with fleas.

Though only twenty-three, at times she felt eighty-three. She’d skipped the frivolity of youth for the weight of responsibility. At times it was almost too much for her narrow shoulders to carry.

“But how will a fellow know what he’s buying if he can’t see the merchandise?” Rose asked, pulling Eva from her thoughts of self-pity. The tiny redhead was a confection in pink satin and enough lace to cover several gowns from hem to neck.

“Merchandise?” Eva asked.

The perfect heart-shaped face turned sober as Rose seemed to reach for the correct way to express her ideas. She finally nodded her head. “Miss Eva, a fellow always wants a taste of what he’s purchasing before he proposes a contract.”

Rose’s bright blue eyes were remarkably innocent for a girl who’d spent the last four years of her life servicing an elderly duke. A loose curl settled over her right eye, making her look much younger than twenty-one. However, it was her frankness when speaking of her sexual experiences that gave her a decidedly less-than-innocent air.

Pauline, a buxom twenty-six-year-old blonde in yellow, nodded, nibbling on a knuckle. “A man will pay a higher price if he likes what he sees beneath a corset and drawers. Plump breasts and a nicely rounded bottom are most favored among the gentry.”

The comment was so matter-of-fact it took Eva a blink for her spine to catch up with her ears and draw her back from her moments of inattentiveness. She straightened one vertebra at a time, exasperated that a woman had to care what any man, or men, thought about her figure. If a lady wanted to eat so many pastries that her bottom grew as wide as the Thames, she should be able to do so without the judgment of the male species.

“Except for Lord Fitz,” Rose interjected with a knowing glance at Pauline before Eva could respond. The two friends nodded their heads in unison, setting their curls to bobbing. Rose put an open hand to the side of her mouth and lowered her tone to a loud whisper. “I hear he likes his mistresses to look and dress like footmen—”

“Let’s move along, ladies,” Eva interjected sternly. From deep within, and past the beginning of a headache, she hung on to a tiny thread of patience. All she wanted to do was pull the nearest pillow over her head to shut out the light and the world.

Running this school, as she called it, was never easy. Nor was it simple to turn her courtesans into proper ladies and match them with husbands.

However, the importance of saving young women from lives of servitude on their backs, with pompous lords riding them like grunting, sweaty jockeys, was the foremost reason for her to get out of bed every day and make the journey across town to Cheapside.

Each well-made match produced a rush of relief that there would be one woman less to end up broken-spirited and left to live in poverty and quiet desperation, once the line of rich and lecherous patrons dried up.

Any bedding these five courtesans would indulge in from this moment forward would follow a wedding in front of a vicar and with papers signed to legalize the union. That she’d make sure of.

Though her temples pulsed, she would get through this introduction to the rules, send the women off to contemplate the lesson, then rush home to put a cool compress on her head and take a long nap between soft sheets.

“A man should choose you as his partner based on your intelligence, your disposition, and the joy you bring to his life. Not, Pauline, what you have beneath your corset. So, that said, you shall never again, for any reason, wear fabrics thin enough to see through outside your marital bed.” Eva scanned the room and was satisfied all the women were now decently covered. “Advertising one’s wares to the masses is no longer permitted if you intend to change your circumstances and find a respectable mate.”

Audible groans and hushed whispers again sounded from around the modest yet tasteful blue room. Change did not come easily for her courtesans. However, Eva was confident that by the end of the month all her charges would step forward to meet the challenge she set forth: to make her, and themselves, proud.

“Trust me, ladies. You will have no difficulty finding a husband once I am finished with your instruction,” Eva said. “And he will care more about the strength of your character than the circumference of your breasts.”

Pauline knitted her hands in her lap and screwed up her face. Several emotions played across her delicate features.

Eva watched as a measure of understanding dawned in the young woman and the start of a new way of thinking passed through Pauline’s pretty hazel eyes. Satisfaction filled Eva’s heart; one enlightened courtesan and four to go.

The five women were of different ages, were from varied backgrounds, and had varied educations. They were all brightly wrapped from head to slippered toes in a selection of red, pink, blue, orange, and yellow feathers and bows, like exotic hens preening as they sought a cock with whom to mate.

Eva squelched a frown as she contemplated each in turn, perched together on the pair of rose-patterned settees. There was no dull mouse in the lot.

The women had been instructed to wear simple, unadorned clothing this morning. Perhaps next time she should be more specific about the cut and color of the gown. If this was the best each could come up with, a day of shopping was clearly in order.

Truthfully, catching the attention of a breathing, wealthy male had been their life’s work up to this moment. And the second requirement was likely more important than the first.

“But His Grace says a woman is judged by her beauty and figure,” Rose said innocently as she smoothed out her skirts. “And education is wasted on a woman. As long as she knows how to please a man and walk upright, she needs no further instruction.”

Eva scowled. “His Grace needs to be horsewhipped. Walk upright and service men, indeed! Next time the old buzzard visits, Rose, jerk his cane away from him and beat him senseless with it.”

Rose’s eyes widened, then the corners of her mouth twitched in response to the peals of laughter of the other girls. A spark of mischief lit her face. Clearly this courtesan did not share the view of her ancient patron. “I think I shall do just that. It would do the wretch a wealth of good, and his wife and daughters would certainly be grateful.”

While Eva sat shamefaced over her outburst about the arrogance of noblemen, the other women voiced various treacherous ways to make the old duke suffer for the crime of ignorance.

“Let us turn that stallion into a gelding,” said Abigail softly as her cheeks pinkened beneath wisps of brown hair that framed her round face. She was twenty-four and had been a year into her career as a courtesan, since her father, a tenant farmer, died in a fight over ownership of a flock of sheep. Only her beauty and some education had kept her from selling her wares on the docks.

“Stallion?” Rose said with a laugh and pressed her fingertips to her mouth. Her eyes flashed. “A suckling colt has more vigor with a mare.”

The jesting continued until all but the stern-faced Sophie were happily satisfied the duke had been verbally battered to a pulp. Though Eva suspected this particular gaggle of young women could try the patience of even the most stoic magistrate seated on a high court, she found she enjoyed their company. With all the darkness that marked her days, laughter and silliness were a welcome diversion. She even managed a smile at the image of the old duke slathered in pudding and covered with duck feathers.

Still, she had lessons to complete, and now was not the time to socialize if she were to keep on schedule. “As enjoyable as it would be to geld the duke, we are fresh out of rusty medical instruments to do the deed.” She waited a moment until she had their full attention. “Now, let us continue. I have matched former courtesans with husbands for three years, and I understand how difficult it is to give up your seductive ways. Yet, none of you were chained up and dragged here to sit through my teachings, and each of you is permitted to leave any time you choose. Harold informed you before he brought you here that the school is entirely voluntary. As you saw when you entered through the front door of this town house, the solid oak panel does not have metal bars.”

A secret network operated by word of mouth had brought each woman willingly to Eva’s door. Since most of the courtesans had worked from the time they were young, this made her efforts challenging. They’d been taught early that earls, dukes, and barons cared less about what lay above the neckline than what treasures could be found below. It was her job to change their perception of life and themselves. They had value beyond their bodies, and by the end of the month all five would know just how high their worth was.

“Henceforth, the only time any of you will show any private parts to a man is on your wedding night and beyond. Your pasts are almost behind you now, and a new life dawns. If you follow a few simple rules, you’ll be ready to wed before the month is out.”

Unfortunately, the task was never quite so easy. Especially for those like Sophie, who’d worked as a courtesan for twelve years, since the tender age of seventeen, when her parents died and left her penniless.

Older women like Sophie and Yvette had played the coquette for so long they used seduction and their beauty to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. It was difficult to break free of such a past and accept the idea that life held other possibilities. But Eva enjoyed a good challenge and her rate of successful matches was high.

“A gentleman does not need to see your parts exposed in order to make a proposal. A marriage proposal.” She leveled a glare on each woman in turn and pursed her lips. “If any one of you does not see your future as a proper wife and mother, Harold will bring the coach around. I will not waste my time and your monies on a futile endeavor.”

The courtesans peered at each other and then back to her. All shook their heads in unison. Two blondes, two brunettes, and Rose the redhead. All highly paid in their previous profession. Some wanted children, some wanted a home of their own, and some just wanted one man in her bed to love. Whatever their reasons, Eva would find them their perfect mate.

“Excellent. Let us get started.” Eva walked over to the bookcase and pulled a thick volume off the shelf. The women watched, openly curious, as she returned and settled into a high-backed chair.

“From this moment onward, you will not use vulgar terms for genitalia, breasts, or sexual positions as topics of conversation in polite company. You will stick to topics such as the weather, or Parliament, or current fashion. I care not which, as long as it isn’t immediately followed by a man shoving his hand down your corset.”

Several snickers followed, then faded quickly when Eva failed to join in. “You will learn deportment and manners and clever ways to begin a conversation, and all of you will learn to carry yourselves with the grace of a duchess.”

Eva turned the book to show its gilded black cover. The women stared as if the words were written in Latin. Though only shy Abigail couldn’t read well, five puzzled faces gazed at the large gold-inlaid word at the top of the cover.

Eva’s eyes softened and she nodded. “I promise a husband is now within reach for each of you.”

“I do so want a husband,” Abigail said, sighing.

Eva smiled at the beautiful girl. “Then a husband you shall have, Abigail.”

If not for the limited number of positions for which women could seek employment in this society, and the beauty of her charges limiting the chances of finding work in any household where a husband resided, she wouldn’t have needed to use her matchmaking talents to this end.

Eva herself had no interest in marriage and considered the institution dreadfully archaic. But her ladies really had no other choices. So marriage it was for her courtesans.

“Inside this book are information and sketches of men seeking wives; they have no compunction about your lack of virginity.” Eva opened to a page and turned the book so the girls could see the first face. “I asked each man to answer some questions. I wrote down the questions, and their responses, here.” She pointed to the page opposite the sketch. “I’ve verified the information myself, so each of you will know exactly what kind of man you are choosing and what he expects of his wife. When a man is matched, we remove him from the book so there will not be any confusion.”

She flipped to a page where the sketched face was blacked out. She’d kept his page in the book for an example to show the sort of man she would not tolerate. “Men who abuse women are immediately refused, as are men with drinking or gambling problems. These are respectable men who want a respectable wife.”

“But why would they want to wed one of us?” Yvette, a twenty-six-year-old brunette with tired brown eyes, crossed her arms over a sizable bosom and frowned. She’d had eight lovers during her six years as a courtesan, and her unhappiness with her lot showed in the hard lines on her face. She would be the most difficult to place without substantial effort on Eva’s part. “What is wrong with them? Hideous scars? Rotten teeth? A missing limb?”

“Yes.” Pauline nodded, and the yellow feather in her upswept hair fluttered along the side of her round face. “Men do not marry women like us unless there is something awful they are hiding. I want a husband, but could not abide a twisted troll with claw hands pawing at my soft parts.”

Eva’s shoulder blades tightened. Odd, women who willingly bedded the highest bidder had lofty standards when it came time to choose a mate.

She grimaced. The itchy gown was making her irritable. Of course she should have a pleasing mate.

“I assure you there isn’t a single troll in this book, but neither are there dukes or earls or kings.” Blunt honesty sometimes was exactly what these women required. If they expected to someday be addressed as “Lady” anything, they’d be sorely disappointed. “Men of stature require a virginal wife of impeccable birth to wed.”

At least until they whelped an heir or two to continue their perfect bloodline into the next generation. After that, they set up young women like these in apartments or town houses, away from their wives, and played their lascivious games.

The concept of unfaithful marriages was one Eva found distasteful. Once a man and woman wed, they should forsake all others. Perhaps if the matches were born of love and not for financial gain, it might be the case.

It was rare when a couple found true love. Even then, it did not guarantee a happy ending. She knew the dark side of love well.

Shaking off the press of bleak thoughts, Eva added, “Every one of these men is apprised of the general circumstances of your lives, and they have chosen to be included in this book.” She turned a few more pages and revealed several more faces. Some of the men were quite handsome, and none had claw hands. “They include barristers and shopkeepers and even a baron’s younger son. I do not hide what I do from my clients, and select them carefully for stellar character and financial security.”

“Yet they look for whores as wives,” Abigail said quietly, and shared a sidelong glance with Yvette. She plucked at the sleeve of her blue gown and sighed. “Perhaps you should explain to us their reasoning.”

Eva did not judge her charges for the lives they had led, for many had sad tales of desperate circumstances that led them to a courtesan’s path. But neither could she understand how resistant they became once under her tutelage.

By the time a courtesan reached Sophie’s age, she was well past the first blush of youth and no longer able to command a high price for her services. Suddenly, with age came the realization that her charm, sensuality, and pretty face were waning, and younger courtesans were ready to take her place. It was usually then that the woman became desperate.

If a courtesan had the sense to put aside coin for her future, she could close up shop and disappear into genteel retirement, or flee to the Continent for new adventures.

For others like these five, who had spent most of what they earned on fripperies and were without means enough to retire into obscurity, finding a decent husband was their chance for security.

Eva closed the book. “The reasons vary with the men.” She leaned back into her chair, the book settled on her knees beneath her flat palms. “Some have businesses to build and do not have the time to find a potential wife and court her. Some travel extensively and seek a woman of adventurous spirit to follow him to exotic locations.”

“Oh!” Rose bounced up and down on her seat and raised her hand. “I love adventure!”

Nodding, Eva smiled. The saucy little redhead would be a wonderful companion and wife for several of her clients. She still had the enthusiasm and blush of youth that men craved. “Excellent. I’ll keep that in mind, Rose.”

She turned her attention to each woman in turn. Their beauty should be only one part of what men saw when choosing them. Not the main or only reason.

“Truthfully, there are some men who seek to marry only women of rare beauty, far above the type of young lady they could normally attract. They want a peacock on their arm, not a sparrow. For that privilege, they will overlook a questionable past. Over the course of the month, you will be able to study the book and choose several men you feel will best match you. Then we will have a party where the introductions will be made.”

The courtesans fell silent. Each knew the men paid generous fees for Eva’s services, and the arrangements were business-based. Even so, several of them she had tutored and their suitors went on to make love matches. It was an end to which many aspired.

“What differs from your old life is that you all have choices here in this house. You pick the man, you decide what kind of life you want, and I put you and your suitors together. It is up to you how the relationship evolves. If you reject one match, we shall find you another until you, and he, are satisfied and we finalize the arrangement with marriage vows.”

Soft sighs filled the room.

“It sounds wonderful,” said Yvette wistfully. Apparently, even the most hardened of courtesans longed for love.

Eva ran her hand over the book and thought of how lucky these women were not to have fallen in love with their benefactors. It had happened with several previous clients and ended with broken hearts. She let out a pensive sigh of her own and blinked back the press of tears. If only Charlotte Rose had had a place like this to turn to before she fell into the love trap, her circumstances could have ended differently.

She mentally shook herself. It was not the time to drift into gloomy thoughts. Today was a day of new possibilities. “Though your suitors have no qualms about your pasts, they do require the public air of respectability. That is where my lessons become invaluable.” Eva peered over the top of her spectacles. “They have mothers, sisters, and families who might not be pleased with a former courtesan as the wife of their son or brother. From this moment on, you will forget everything you’ve done, every man who once warmed your beds, and live a modest life. And if you cannot do this, you are free to go. I do not force anyone to follow my directives. From now on, your future is your own responsibility.”

A sniff drew her attention, then Rose burst into tears. Pauline slid across the settee and squeezed her hand. “What is wrong, dearest?” She pulled a handkerchief out of her bodice and handed it to the distraught girl.

Rose dabbed her eyes and hiccupped. “Ever since my mother tossed me out on my bum when I was seventeen and her second husband took an interest in me”—she blew her nose loudly into the handkerchief—“I have relied on men for everything.” The last word had a high pitch to it. “I’ve done things I cannot even confess to my priest, for fear God will hear and strike me down.” She let out a low wail. “I don’t know if I can take care of myself.” She fell into a round of soft sobs. Abigail moved over and took a position on her other side. She rested an arm around Rose’s shoulder and clucked her tongue.

“Miss Eva will help us,” Sophie said firmly from the other settee. “And you will no longer have to suffer His Grace’s cold hands and limp—” She looked sheepishly at Eva and cleared her throat. “She’ll find you a man of adventure who knows how to love you as you deserve to be loved.”

Rose dabbed her tears and peered at Eva with measuring eyes, then slowly nodded her head. “Then I shall put my trust in her hands.”

“We all will,” said Abigail, and the others nodded.

Eva set the book aside and stood, hope for a successful outcome to this class springing once again into her breast. Sophie’s unexpected show of tenderness to Rose clearly had an effect on all the women. They were no longer facing this as five separate women, but as a collective and supportive group.

With one show of tears, Rose had done what usually took days or weeks to achieve. Togetherness.

Eva walked to Rose and pulled her to her feet. She tipped up the girl’s chin and looked into her shimmering eyes. “You need not worry, my dear Rose. By the time I’ve finished with you, you will be well able to care for yourself.”

With a wavering smile, Rose nodded and pulled her into a tight hug. Eva flinched but allowed the embrace. The other women stood and circled around, their excited chatter infectious. Eva had opened her mouth to offer further reassurance when her butler, Harold, came through the open door with a troubled expression on his face. Eva gently extricated herself from Rose’s embrace and stepped away from the group.

A sudden chill seeped into her bones, and she shivered. She looked to the windows, certain one had blown open to invite the cool morning into the stuffy room. But the panes were securely closed and locked and the heavy blue drapes showed not a flutter.

Strange. This was the second time in a week she’d felt that same dank chill slide through her body. If she wasn’t a woman of solid mind and not one to dabble in fits of fancy, she would worry that this chill was a sign of impending doom.

Rubbish. She shook her head to clear it and faced Harold. She was a bit ruffled by his intrusion, as her orders were clear: He was not to interrupt the lessons unless it was an emergency. She stepped close, out of earshot of the women. “What is it, Harold? Has something happened to Mother?”

He shook his head firmly. “No, Miss.”

Harold led her to the open doorway by her elbow. Her butler was tall, nearing thirty, and built like a pugilist; a perfect guard for the door of both this house and her home. He kept the girls safe and the riffraff off her front steps.

And Eva trusted him with her secrets. All her secrets.

He leaned toward her and whispered, “A man, a gentleman, is at the front door. He insists he has business with you that cannot wait.” He glanced down the hallway and scowled. “When I informed him you were not taking callers today, he said to explain to you that if I send him away, he will return with a Bow Street Runner in tow and have you arrested.”