Page 46 of A Courtesan Countess Worth the Scandal
He had been careful not to say anything that might alert his uncle to Nora or the highwaymen, or the ongoing investigation regarding the possible culprit behind the attack. In a way, that had made their luncheon all the nicer, for he had not had to think about all of that unpleasantness, even if it was only for a few hours. Instead, they had spoken of his travels, and of his uncle’s humorous anecdotes from the Manor, and the latest scandal in Parliament, among other things.
Afterward, however, his uncle had informed him that he would be returning directly to Keswick Manor, having fulfilled his mission of putting his nephew at ease about the household’s state. Liam had tried to urge him to stay a while longer, but his uncle had politely refused.
“Your Aunt shall string me up by my ears if I do not return with her preserves from Fortnum and Mason as early as possible. Indeed, she asked me not to come at all, and those preserves were my only means of persuading her,” Edward had told him, with a melancholic tone. It had only served as a reminder to Liam that his aunt still could not abide him.
Settling down at the table, where a maid brought his customary eggs, bacon, and toast, Liam opened up the large sheets of his newspaper and subtly opened the scandal sheets he had concealed within.
He had only to read the title of the primary story before his eyes widened. “She did it… despite being unwell, despite narrowly avoiding death, despite everything… she is continuing in her endeavor.” A small smile crept onto his lips. “She really is extraordinary.”
And yet, Liam’s heart lurched as he carried on reading:
Lionel Grey, the Earl of Westleigh, of Grosvenor Park, London, is a more recent addition to my gentlemanly menagerie. Indeed, he sought my charms for the first time not two months ago, after hearing of my glittering wit and famed (though somewhat fading) beauty from an acquaintance.
He is the sort of fellow that I like to call a “changeling.” A gentleman of two halves, where the angel and the demon are forever at war with one another. Had I known that, upon our initial meeting, I would not have deigned to continue our companionship, for where there is a demon, one is sure to be burned. However, advancing in my years as I am, I find I no longer have the luxury of being as selective as I once was.
I agreed to perform as his charismatic accessory six times in those two months, and though our evenings often began delightfully, with dancing, and conversation, and music, and laughter, I have many a healed bruise that tells a different tale. For when darkness falls, be warned that Lord Westleigh transforms into a beast.
You might ask why I continued to accompany him, if I thought him to be violent. You would be right to ask such a question, for it is a question that I asked myself every time he grasped my wrist with such brutality that I thought he might snap it like a twig. So, I shall let you all into a little secret—when a courtesan reaches a certain age, she must endure and grow more clever in the way she conducts her business, or she must starve.
When his hands wrapped around my throat and squeezed, on our fourth meeting, he let go before I lost consciousness and pretended it had been a jape that had gone awry. Did I believe him? Certainly not. Did I need his coin to survive? Definitively. Did I know that our encounters were numbered? Of course. I would have made that the last one, had he not sent a groveling apology and a multitude of gifts, along with a plea to see me again.
Would I call him one of the worst gentlemen I have accompanied? I do not believe so, though he has potential. On several occasions, though he knew it to be against the boundaries of our agreements, he put sordid hands upon me, and I had to be exceedingly quick witted in order to prevent myself from suffering another encounter, similar to that of Sir Arnold. On our fifth encounter, I excused myself to go to the powder room, and fled without a word after he pressed rather slug-like lips to mine and sought to devour me whole.
Again, gifts and apologies followed, and I am no position to refuse items that can improve my life. We courtesans may look elegant and gilded in our finery, but we have no fortune to speak of. If we do not work, we do not live. If we do not work, we cannot protect those dearest to us. Sometimes, the price for that security is painfully high, and sometimes the rewards outweigh the risks.
Fortunately, Lord Westleigh has yet to marry, and has no children who might learn of his cruelty, much too late. I pray that he never finds a wife, for I had the ability to escape him when I felt myself in a perilous situation. A wife would not.
Reader, you might wonder why I have not chosen a darker story to titillate and horrify. The truth is, I think it valuable that you learn of gentlemen who appear to be kind and genteel but have the capacity to change into hellish creatures who would seek to overpower the fairer sex at a moment’s notice, or a moment’s rejection of their advances. They are the truly dangerous gentlemen in this city, for they are skilled in the art of fooling ladies and pretending to be something they are not.
Lord Westleigh, as you may know, is seeking a position at court. Would you trust such an unfeeling wretch in the presence of royalty? Should such a creature, of low moral fiber, be permitted near the Regent?
On our last and final encounter, he threatened me most savagely. Words were hurled at me that I dare not repeat, even in these scandal sheets. I fear I would be suffering injuries far worse than bruising if another gentleman had not defended me upon that night. Lord Westleigh did intend to kidnap me if I would not go willingly, and perhaps I would be a corpse floating in the river if a brave knight in shining armor had not come to my aid.
I will end this one with hope, dear ladies of London, and leave you to ponder this cautionary tale. There are good, kind, loyal men in this city, but they are as rare as a diamond, and a woman can never tell when one might cross her path. Find these men, sweet ladies, and find your happiness in them.
For this jaded courtesan, I have only my stories. My chapters are done and written, and there is no happy ending in my destiny. For you, I pray there is, and you may learn from my mistakes. Be wary and do not tolerate harm, even when gifts and apologies ensue. A man’s character rarely changes, and there is little use in being a wounded savior of someone who cannot be saved.
Look forward to my next installment.
“London Butterfly”
Liam reread the story in disbelief, while his eggs cooled on the plate. He could not believe that Nora had sought to attack Lord Westleigh outright, nor could he believe that there was so much more to their interwoven tale than he had previously known. He had assumed that he had intervened on the first occasion of Lord Westleigh showing violence toward Nora.
“You bastard.” Liam clenched his jaw, wishing he had done more to punish that man when he had had the chance.
To think of Lord Westleigh wrapping his vile hands around Nora’s throat and squeezing until he cut off her breath… it was more than he could bear, for he had held her inhisarms, and had wanted to do nothing but keep her safe and warm. Why did these men of good breeding and station think it was within their rights to use brutality on women? Had they no heart?
“What have you done, Nora?” He shook his head, knowing this would only cause her further grief. “Why did you strike at him?”
Understanding dawned a moment later. Nora had clearly decided to write about Lord Westleigh in an attempt to protect herself. As with Sir Arnold, if anything were to happen to her after this had been published, Lord Westleigh would become the prime suspect and these sheets would be used as evidence. She was cutting off the potential culprits of the carriage attack before they could make a second attempt on her life.
Liam mustered a tight laugh. “She is either exceptionally bold or very foolish, and I did not find her to be foolish.”
Reading distractedly through the rest of the scandal sheets, to see if there was anything else to note, he felt his chest constrict with worry. No matter how intelligent Nora might be, this story would cause uproar. Lord Westleigh would not take kindly to her trying to thwart his position at court.
“She should not stay in the city,” he murmured. “She should certainly continue publishing these stories, but she will not be able to fight a horde of furious men if they come looking for her, en masse.”
Agitated, he looked through the rest of the letters as his mind whirled, trying to come up with a possible plan that might get Nora out of the city and out of harm’s way. To his disappointment, there was no response from her, leaving him at a loss.
