Gail Ranstrom - The Courtesan's Courtship

Dianthe’s frustration mounted. “Then how shall we ever solve this?”

“The truth has a way of coming out, miss. In its own sweet time.”

“I do not have time, Mr. Renquist. I could hang before the truth is known.”

Renquist gave her a sober nod. “Yes, I can see the problem, miss. And that is the very thing I am trying to prevent.”

She sighed as Flora Denton’s words rang in her head. You would have to be one of us.

Geoff paced the small rented room above the tavern in Whitefriars while Sir Harry scratched a few lines on a piece of paper. “Anyone else?”

“Edgerton’s cub,” Geoff told him. “I heard he was pursuing Nell but that she’d told him to come back when he inherited.”

“That was cold.”

“Nell could be cold. I imagine we would be, too, if our survival depended upon it. It wasn’t a courtship, for God’s sake, it was a business arrangement.”

Sir Harry nodded. “That’s it, then? I thought you said there’d been a dozen men in attendance. I’ve only got six names.”

“I will investigate the others, Harry. Apart from the six I just gave you, there are myself, two women, and a man I suspect was sent by Bow Street.”

“And the women?”

“Veiled. One, I think, was Flora Denton, Nell’s friend.”

“And the other?”

Geoff hesitated. Even though she’d been shrouded and veiled, he’d recognized the set of Miss Lovejoy’s shoulders, the slender lines of her form, the grace with which she moved. He wasn’t certain he wanted to bring her name into this.

Even while he’d been angry to find her at the funeral, he had to admire her ingenuity. He wasn’t particularly concerned that Flora had given her any information. No, Flora Denton was too canny for that. She knew discretion was her only choice. Now, almost certainly, the little dilettante would be flummoxed. She’d give up and sit quietly until someone from her family arrived to handle the matter for her. She had neither the experience nor the grit for more.

“The other woman?” Harry prompted again. “Did you recognize her?”

“I’ll take care of it, Harry. You follow up on the men.”

“Men? That’s a waste of my talents, Morgan. Trying to regain your reputation as a lady’s man?”

Geoff raised an eyebrow, remembering the days when he’d been known as the “Sheikh.” He’d had a way with women then, and a lighter heart and readier smile. And a much greater tolerance for social games and feminine wiles.

And, blast it all, he was about to pay for those days by having to keep a closer eye on the Lovejoy girl.

Late the following afternoon, Dianthe slipped quietly in the door of La Meilleure Robe and reached up to silence the little shop bell. She did not want Madame Marie’s clients looking into the corridor to see who had come in. The ladies would be waiting for her in the large fitting room in the back, so she hurried along the dark corridor and rapped twice before entering.

“Dianthe!” Sarah exclaimed. “Thank heavens you’ve come. We feared something had happened to you.”

“This arrangement really is not satisfactory,” Lady Annica pronounced. “What if we’d needed to contact you, Dianthe? What if you hadn’t been able to come? How would we have known where—oh! That reminds me. I have a letter from Afton for you. Mr. Thayer brought it by this morning. It was posted before your troubles, dear.”

Dianthe tucked the letter into her reticule. Thank heavens the ladies were there—Sarah, Annica and Charity. She removed her gloves and sat on one of the stools used for marking hems. “If you knew where I was staying, you could hardly plead ignorance if the police had come, could you?”

The ladies exchanged a telling glance.

“They did come, did they not?” she guessed, a knot tightening in her stomach.

“Well, yes,” Charity admitted. “And I confess that it was a relief not to lie. My husband would have known it immediately.”

Dianthe glanced at Annica and Sarah, and they nodded in admission. So, it was official. The authorities were in pursuit of her. But first things first. “I am sorry I was late, but I didn’t get much sleep last night. In fact, I only dozed off near dawn.”

“If you are not sleeping—”

“It is not because of my bed or accommodations. I am quite comfortable, but I ache to be doing something, and that makes me restless.”

Sarah sat forward. “Mr. Renquist told us that you went to Miss Brookes’s funeral yesterday. Are you mad, Dianthe? What if you’d been seen? You could have been thrown in jail!”

Dianthe remembered the funeral attendees who had watched her every move. “I wore a veil and only spoke with a friend of Miss Brookes’s, but she would not tell me anything. She is suspicious of me. Of anyone, in fact. She said that her income depends upon her discretion.”

“Oh! I had not thought of that!” Charity said. “Men—husbands and fathers—would not want their loved ones to know what they have been doing. And with whom.”

“All the same, a number of them were at the church. Mr. Renquist has their names and will be questioning them.”

Annica sighed. “This is apt to be a lengthy process. I would feel better if we knew how you were situated, Dianthe. I cannot bear to think of what hardships you may be enduring just to remain out of sight.”

Hardships? She was living in the veritable lap of luxury. She could not imagine what Lord Morgan had told the servants, but her every whim, her slightest wish, was catered to as if she were a visiting dignitary. “I am quite comfortable. Please do not give it a second thought.”

“Are you protecting your reputation, Dianthe?”

“I…am doing what needs to be done. I know that you, too, have run grave risks to accomplish your goals, and I am not taking unreasonable risks.” She’d known from the moment she’d decided not to taint her friends with her problem that she was risking her reputation—if, indeed, she had one left. What else could she do? Drag them down into ignominy with her? Never!

Annica frowned. “I do not like this the least little bit, Dianthe. You should come to one of us at once.”

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, ready for battle. “My reputation is the least of my problems. It is already in shreds. Confess! What is the on dit concerning me?”

Another awkward pause told Dianthe almost all she needed to know. “How bad is it?”

“People hush when we enter a room, as it is known that we are friends,” Sarah admitted. “My brother, Reginald, told me this morning that…that there is an order sworn to apprehend you. The only question people are asking is why you did it.”

Dianthe sighed deeply. Well, she had suspected as much. Gossip hates a void, and she’d become the juiciest topic yet in the slow summer months when most of the ton had retired to the country.

“Auberville is trying to persuade the authorities otherwise,” Annica said. “He provided them with a letter you had written me some time ago, so that they could compare your handwriting with the handwriting on the note found at the scene. It did not match, of course, but that did little to convince them. Auberville says there is some other piece of evidence they have against you, but he would not tell me what it was.”

“I cannot imagine what it could be. That was the only time I’d ever seen Miss Brookes.”

“That is what we tried to tell them,” Annica said. “But there is speculation now that there was some sort of secret connection that has been kept from common knowledge. I cannot imagine what but, given the girl’s occupation, I shudder to imagine what is being said.”

Dianthe took a deep breath and braced herself. “The point now is that…well, I’ve become fodder for the gossip mills.”