Page 77 of The Shadow of Breninsol
However, the not knowing gnawed away at her, until eventually, she couldn’t take it any longer and forced herself to make the trek to the madam’s plush and warm office. Eleanor demanded answers, but the madam only repeated that someone had paid her and refused to say who.
Eleanor had a sneaking suspicion it was related to the marquis. It was either wishful thinking, or her wine-addled mind had convinced her it was the marquis.
At first Eleanor had anticipated a visit from the marquis, himself. She’d thought he’d come to The Ladies Grace to see her, but as her bottles diminished, that fantasy vanished. Her irritation grew with each passing day, along with her list of grievances she’d be confrontingthat manwith.
He knew she was a courtesan, and yet he was stopping her from her job. He was taking control of her life, and he was nowhere to be found.
He hadn’t even had the balls to tell her in person he’d paid for her. She felt like that made it all the more worse, that he’d paid for her and he hadn’t even bothered to see her, just left her. By inviting her to his private party, she’d mistakenly thought he had wanted to get to know her. In that moment in the carriage she’d believed that he could want her…stupid, stupid. But this had been what she wanted wasn’t it, to be left alone, but why then did it feel so hollow?
As she was drinking her way through whatever number bottle it was—she’d lost count at some point—she thought there was something worse: finding the necklace in his possession.
Those thoughts grew darker. Of course, the marquis was responsible for the missing woman, Linnet. He wasn’t opposed to betting on women. To her knowledge, he’d already done it twice. What was to stop him from making other bets? Was it some sick game he was playing, and potentially Linnet was part of it, somehow? What was to say it was solely the marquis? There could be a group of those aristos making macabre bets. There were enough courtiers for them to do so.
Before those grim thoughts spiralled too much, Iris had appeared in her room. She’d been a frequent visitor, more so than Eleanor would have liked. Each time Iris visited, her fragrant scent would linger, and the newly ordered vibrant gowns made the woman bloom in the drab grey of the room.
In Eleanor’s unsober state, she knew Iris was checking on her. She’d take a few swigs from whichever bottle Eleanor was currently drinking, but she’d know not to ask too many questions. Albeit Iris’s main reason for visiting last night was to tell Eleanor that the Collection had begun, which meant a week of the lord’s bidding for their new Favours. Eleanor felt bitter at that, but like everything else, she didn’t want to pay attention to it.
Since it was the Collection, palace attendance wasn’t obligatory for the courtesans, so boredom consumed them with nothing to do. Iris had her hands full keeping everyone in line at breakfast, and with all the gossiping and sniping, Eleanor didn’t lament missing the mid-morning rituals.
Julia was the only other visitor. She would collect as many empty bottles that’d fit into her basket and leave just as silently as she’d entered. A sour bitterness twisted shamefully at Eleanorwhen the girl came, so she stayed still on the bed, pretending to be asleep.
She had more time alone than she’d realised, which inevitably led to her drinking more, even if it was the cheap watered-down wine of the version she’d appreciated from her time at court. She cursed herself one evening, finding herself wishing to have spent the evening withhimrather than drinking by herself.
Madam Grace was probably hoping the marquis would bestow his patronage on her, but Eleanor bitterly knew that wouldn’t be the case. Eleanor had been a pawn in their aristocratic games at her expense.
She was disposable, a mere courtesan. It made her loathe them, with their fine clothes and pretty jewels. They played with people in their games, as if others were living breathing toys for them to break on a whim at a moment’s notice. Only this time, they’d…he’dtoyed with her, and Eleanor had been through worse. This wouldn’t break her. She just wanted to be alone with her wine, regardless of its terrible quality.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A Favour's Price
Eleanor groaned into her pillow as she turned her head, and the morning sunlight streamed into her room. She licked her dry lips at the prospect of drinking more wine. But Madam Grace’s shrill voice interrupted her thoughts as it rang along the corridor.
“My Lord, my ladies, they’re not used to visitors at this hour.”
Perhaps today was the day Madam Grace would drag her to work, she thought grimly. Then she’d definitely need more wine.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Eleanor lifted her head from her pillow, as dread filled her with what the rapping on her door meant.
No. No. No.
She stumbled to her feet, pulling her thin sheet with her and clutched it to her naked body. Eleanor winced at the sound of the door slamming open and hitting the grey plastered wall behind it.
Madam Grace’s ear-splitting voice added to the noise, in an overtly cheery tone that Eleanor didn’t trust. “Eleanor. This seems to be a habit. You are to pack your trunk.”
Eleanor looked past the smiling madam, but the doorway was empty. The gnawing sensation in her stomach eased only a bit.
She blinked, recollecting Madam Grace’s words. “Trunk”?Was this woman serious? Her possessions were insufficient to fill a trunk, let alone the woman knew none of them owned such an expensive item.
“Why? Where am I going?” Eleanor croaked through bleary eyes.
Madam Grace pursed her red lips. “As if I care where you’re going. He’s paid handsomely for you.”
“What?” Eleanor blinked against the ferocious light streaming in. That sinking feeling she thought had fled swelled.
“You’re now his Favour,” the madam replied. A pleased red smile stretched on the Madam’s face, and Eleanor was sure it wasn’t for her benefit.
