Once a Courtesan (Once Wicked Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover more historical romance… My Darling, My Disaster

  Only a Duke Will Do

  Highland Deception

  Less Than a Lady

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Liana LeFey. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Select Historical is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Erin Molta

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

  Cover art from Period Images

  ISBN 978-1-63375-871-1

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition March 2017

  This book is dedicated to my real-life hero, my husband of twenty years. He knows how to love, and his love has helped me heal.

  “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”—1 Corinthians 13:4-7

  Chapter One

  London, June 28, 1727

  Raquel no longer exists. That woman is gone. I am Jacqueline Trouvère now.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Jacqueline concentrated on breathing evenly and slowing her racing pulse. Sweat cooled, making her nightgown cling unpleasantly to her skin.

  No matter how different life was now, no matter how safe her immediate world, terror still lived in her dreams. Every night it stalked her, breathing down her neck, freezing her blood.

  “Will I ever be free?” The dark swallowed her shaken whisper.

  The dark. The lamp had gone out. She’d forgotten to adjust the wick before falling asleep, and now the only light in the room came from the dying embers in the grate.

  Jacqueline swung her feet over the side of the bed. Grabbing the cold lamp from her bedside table, she took off the globe and carried it to the hearth.

  Holding a tiny flame to the fresh wick, she watched it flare to life. The lamp once more cast its light like a shield against the night. Shadows fled, and she breathed again.

  Adding a fresh scoop of coal to the fire, she poked and fanned it until it burned bright. The clock on the mantel told her only five hours had passed since she’d fallen asleep. Despite her fatigue, however, her rumpled bed held no appeal.

  She removed her damp nightgown, drew on a robe, and slid her feet into worn slippers. Trudging to the washstand, she poured a little water into the basin and rinsed her face. The shock of the cold water against her skin stripped away the cobwebs from her mind, bringing her fully into the present.

  As she patted her face dry, her stomach let out a mighty growl, completing the awakening process. A wry smile tugged at her mouth. Now she wished she’d done more than nibble at her dinner. Breakfast was still hours away.

  It’s that confounded builder’s fault, putting me all in a furor and upsetting my appetite yesterday. Why does every male in London think me an empty-headed fool to be taken advantage of with impunity?

  Going to her desk, she sat and took out a fresh sheet of stationery. Lord Tavistoke must be informed. She hated to bother him, but the situation required it.

  London was a man’s world. If a dispute between a man and a woman was brought before the magistrate, he tended to side with his fellow male, regardless of the evidence. Male solidarity had more pull than fairness. She had proof of the builder’s fraudulence, but it was no guarantee she’d see justice served. Having Tavistoke quietly exert his influence on her behalf would.

  Signing the letter with a flourish, she laid it aside on the blotter to dry. A splotch of ink on her hand caught her eye. In the dim light the dark fluid reminded her of blood. So much blood… She rested a hand on her belly. So much has been lost.

  Stop this. He’s dead, and I’m free. The life I have now is of my own design. Determined to put the nasty business out of her mind, she moved on to the much happier task of reading an essay written in French by the first and oldest of her students, Honora.

  Staying busy seemed the best way to keep the specter of her past at bay, and there was always work to be done here. A school this large didn’t run itself. She served as headmistress, teacher, nurse—whatever was needed—and she was glad of the hard work and long hours.

  Pride filled Jacqueline as she scanned the lines. Honora was a prime example of how the proverbial sow’s ear could be transformed into a silk purse. If she could overcome her origins, anyone could. Just because a girl was born in the stews didn’t mean she was without worth, and having a prostitute for a mother should never condemn a child to a life of the same.

  The house was awake and stirring by the time Jacqueline went down to breakfast. Joy buoyed her spirit as she passed between trestle tables lined with little girls in gray woolen dresses and clean pinafores. Their cheerful greetings of “Good morning, madame” banished the last of her lingering malaise.

  After breakfast, she went to her office to complete the supply orders for the coming month. To her surprise, Mrs. Farrow, the arithmetic teacher, was waiting by the door.

  Her heart sank at the look on the woman’s face. Not another one. This will be our second loss within six months. “Good morning, Mrs. Farrow. Is there something I may do for you?”

  “Yes, Headmistress. I need to speak with you privately for a moment.”

  Unlocking the door, Jacqueline let her in. “Please, sit down.” She opened the curtains to let in more light while she lit the lamp. “I can have tea brought in, if you like.”

  “No thank you, Headmistress.” Mrs. Farrow perched on the seat’s edge, as if prepared to flee at any moment. “I came because I’ve some news to share with you. News that, I fear, will not please you.”

  “You are leaving us to marry Dr. Whitehall.” Jacqueline smiled as her colleague’s eyes widened.

  “You knew?”

  “It was not hard to see how much you admired each other.” The physician retained by the school to look after the children’s health had taken an immediate and obvious liking to Mrs. Farrow. “When is the happy day?”

  “September twenty-second.”

  She couldn’t hide her dismay. “Such a short engagement, only three months?”

  Mrs. Farrow blushed. “We would wait longer, but h
is mother’s health is failing, and she would see her son married.”

  There was nothing to be done but accept it. “You must accompany Dr. Whitehall when he comes and take tea with us as often as possible.”

  A look of discomfort crossed Mrs. Farrow’s face. “Actually, we’ll be moving to Newcastle immediately following the wedding—he would have told you, but I asked him to let me speak to you first.”

  Two friends—and two vital employees—gone. It was a crushing blow. “I see.”

  “I can stay until the end of August, at the latest.”

  Breathe. “I shall advertise the position immediately. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

  “No, Headmistress. I’ll leave you to your work and return to my duties.” But she didn’t rise. “I shall miss this place,” continued the young woman, a quaver in her voice. “It has become my home. More than that, I shall miss those I’ve come to look upon as family here, including you. I don’t know what I would have done if not for your kindness. I’m aware my leaving puts you in a difficult position, and it fills me with regret.”

  Jacqueline blinked back tears. “Don’t allow regret to diminish your joy, Mrs. Farrow. You have repaid tenfold what was given to you, and I certainly don’t begrudge you your good fortune. Few find love even once in their lifetime. That you have found it twice is a miracle.”

  The teacher bowed her head. “Thank you. I…” She swallowed. “I would like to ask one final favor of you.”

  “You have but to name it.”

  “Will you stand in place of my parents at my wedding? Of all the people I’ve come to regard as my family here, you are the dearest.”

  Determined not to cry, Jacqueline nodded and kept her manner brisk. “It would be my honor.” When Mrs. Farrow had gone, she shut the door and sank back into her chair.

  Miracle, indeed. The kind of love that had driven Dr. Whitehall to propose to Mrs. Farrow was something straight out of a fairy tale. Such love is for other people—certainly not a barren former harlot covered with scars like me. That she’d come to bear such labels without her consent didn’t matter in the least. No decent man would have her.

  The muscles in her back twitched, and she stretched to ease them. As she did, the skin across her shoulder blades pulled taut in odd places. No. Not even the convenient lie of widowhood would be convincing enough. No man would ever look at her naked and think anything but the truth—that she’d been another man’s ill-used plaything. Who would desire such a wife?

  Stop this. Stop it this instant. Dwelling on the past and bemoaning a future she couldn’t have did neither her nor anyone else any good. Hers was an enviable life now, and what she did mattered. Taking out another sheet of stationery, she focused on drafting the advertisement for Mrs. Farrow’s position.

  …

  September 3

  Jacqueline was contemplating her bed when there was a knock on her door.

  It was Katie. “Apologies for disturbing you at this late hour, Headmistress, but he has come.”

  There was no need to ask who “he” was. “Is there anyone with him?” Jacqueline asked, taking up her shawl.

  “Two girls. One looks to be about eight, the other is older. Fourteen maybe?”

  Jacqueline sent Katie to the kitchen to fetch tea and a loaf for their guests, and hurried to the parlor.

  Despite being fully aware of her past, the gentleman inside bowed as if she were royalty. “Madame Trouvère. My regrets for coming here so late, but I’m afraid it could not be avoided.”

  “You are always welcome here, my lord.” Turning to the two girls, she smiled. “And you, as well. I am Madame Trouvère.”

  The children stared at her with unconcealed apprehension.

  Jacqueline knelt, putting herself at eye level with the younger one. “You are safe here. You need not be afraid.”

  The older girl stepped between them. “’is Lordship says this is a school.”

  “It is indeed. A very special school.”

  Peeking out from behind her sister’s skirts, the younger one piped, “We ain’t never been to no school.” She whinged in protest as her sibling shoved her back behind her.

  “I told ’is Lordship I’d work to pay ’im what I owes,” said the elder. “What do the likes of us need to go to school for?”

  “So you can learn how to speak and behave properly,” Jacqueline replied. “You will also learn to read and write and many other fine things.”

  “What good’ll that do?”

  “All the girls here learn such skills so that when they leave, they will be able to find work befitting a lady,” Jacqueline explained patiently.

  “Lady?” Rough laughter erupted from the child’s mouth. “I ain’t no lady.”

  “Perhaps not now, but if it is within my power to make it so, you will be.”

  “But school’s for rich people, an’ we ain’t got no money.” A decidedly grubby thumb jerked in Tavistoke’s direction. “I told ’im so.”

  “You won’t need any money here,” Jacqueline assured her. “This gentleman has taken care of everything. All you need concern yourself with now is learning.”

  “Why would ’e do that?” The girl cast another nervous glance at Tavistoke. “You don’t owe us nothin’—it’s me as owes you.”

  Jacqueline stepped in before he could speak. “His Lordship is a good, kind man who has brought others like you here to safety. You will meet them tomorrow after you have rested.”

  “I don’t want nothin’ I cannot repay,” insisted the girl. “I can earn me keep. I’ll work—honest work, mind.” Her voice wavered. “That other woman made me do bad things to earn me bread, but I ain’t never doin’ them again. You can starve or ’ang me, but I won’t—an’ I won’t ’ave me sister do it none, neither.”

  Dear God…

  Her upset must have been apparent, because Tavistoke took over. “Madame Trouvère is not like the other woman.”

  Composing herself, Jacqueline took the girl’s icy hands in her own. “No one here is going to make you do anything you don’t wish to do, and you need not fear mistreatment. Will you give me a chance?”

  “’ow do I know it ain’t all some trick?” The girl shifted from foot to foot, clearly wanting to believe her but too suspicious to do so.

  “Because I know something of what you’ve suffered.” Jacqueline pushed up one sleeve, exposing a scarred wrist and holding it out for their perusal. Both girls’ eyes widened at the sight of her pale, puckered flesh. “Like you, I was once forced to do things I did not want to do.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “But this gentleman”—she nodded at Tavistoke—“rescued me from that place. He’s the reason I’m alive and the reason this school exists. I invite you to stay here with me and let me help you make a new life for yourselves.”

  Tavistoke again addressed the girls. “You’ll both be safe here, I give you my word.”

  The girls’ eyes searched Jacqueline’s soul, stripping it bare.

  These children desperately need someone to trust. “Will you let me help you?” she asked again. Breath returned as the older girl, at last, nodded. “Good.” She smiled. “What are your names?”

  “Me name’s Fanny. Fanny Thatcher.” She drew her sister out from behind her. “An’ this is Abigail.”

  “You talk strange,” the little one blurted.

  “That is because I was born in France,” Jacqueline answered. “How old are you?”

  Again, the older one—Fanny—took over. “I’ll be fourteen come spring. Abi don’t look it, but she’ll be ten at Michaelmas.”

  Anger burned through Jacqueline. So young! “You may call me Headmistress.” Rising, she looked to Tavistoke, in whose eyes raged the same wrathful fire she now banked within herself. “I will see to their care and send word when they have settled in.”

  “I look forward to hearing of their progress.” Turning, he bowed to the two girls, whose eyes again went wide. “Miss Fanny, Miss Abigail, I bid you fa
rewell.”

  Jacqueline knew this was likely the last time they would ever see him. Tavistoke didn’t come here often. When he did, it was in secret. She curtsied and watched with satisfaction as both girls attempted to imitate her. They will be good pupils. “May I speak with you privately for a moment before you leave?”

  He nodded, and together they stepped out into the hall.

  Closing the door, she braced herself and asked the question she couldn’t ask in front of the girls. “I need to know the extent of the damage.”

  A muscle leaped in his jaw. “You heard the older one. The little one is frightened, but unharmed. We got her out before the buyer’s arrival.”

  It was better than she’d expected. “And did you catch the…” She swallowed past the knot in her throat and began again. “Did you catch him?”

  “The buyer, yes. The seller, unfortunately, is nowhere to be found.”

  Katie arrived with the tea cart, and Jacqueline sent her in with instructions to feed the new students. Again, she addressed Tavistoke. “The one you caught is bound for Tyburn, I hope?”

  A grim smile creased his lips. “No need. The fellow met with an unfortunate accident—trampled by a horse when he bolted into the street in front of an oncoming carriage.”

  “I wish you could have caught the seller, too. Fanny said it was a woman.” Her gut knotted again. “Do you think it could be Boucher?”

  “I don’t know anything for certain, but I believe so. We’ll keep looking.” His lips thinned. “They are trying to keep it quiet, but you need to know there have been nearly a score of deaths in Covent Garden within the last two days, all from the same establishment these girls fled.”

  Jacqueline felt the blood leave her face.

  “The girls don’t know,” he went on. “I did not have the heart to tell them everyone they knew had been murdered. I warned them to keep quiet regarding where they came from, but—”

  “Children often forget, yes. I shall speak with them both and stress the importance of discretion.”

  He nodded. “As for their demeanor, I can say with confidence the younger one is unlikely to give you trouble, but the elder—”

  “Is nothing I cannot manage,” she said briskly. “Now that I know what I’m dealing with, it will be easier. She will do fine once she settles in and sees how good it is here.”