Vice

Chapter 8

Mistress Dennison asks that Your Grace would do 'er the honor of waitin' upon her." Mr. Garston bowed low, delivering this message as the Duke of Redmayne ushered Juliana into the hall at Russell Street half an hour later. "If you can spare the time, Your Grace."

"Certainly," Tarquin said. "I wish to speak with her anyway." He turned to Juliana. "Stay within doors. You'll be sent for shortly." He strode up the stairs without a backward glance.

"Looks like you and 'Is Grace 'ave come to some arrangement," Mr. Garston observed with a benign smile. "Lucky girl. A right proper gent is 'Is Grace. 'E'll see you right." He pinched her cheek. "Such a long face, missie. There's no call fer that. The other young ladies will be green with envy, you mark my words."

"Then I wish one of them would take my place." Juliana said wanly. She turned restlessly back to the front door, still open behind her.

"Now, now, missie. You 'card what 'Is Grace said." Mr Garston moved his large bulk with surprising speed to close the door. "Y'are to stay within doors till yer sent for."

Like a slave obeying her master, Juliana thought, still stunned by the magnitude of what she'd agreed to. She heard Emma's voice in the drawing room, followed by a giggle, and then a chorus of laughing voices.

They sounded so lighthearted. How could they accept this degrading servitude so cheerfully? Perhaps they could teach her a valuable lesson in resignation. Juliana went into the drawing room.

"Oh, Juliana, come and sit down." She was greeted with warmth and enthusiasm by the trio of women sitting heads together on the sofa, leafing through a pattern magazine. "You've been driving with the duke. Has he formalized his offer for you yet?"

"What do you mean… formalized?" Juliana perched on the arm of a chair.

"Oh, he has to make arrangements with the Dennisons. They draw up contracts if someone wants us exclusively," Rosamund explained. "Will you stay here, or will the duke set you up somewhere on your own? I don't think I'd like that myself, it would be so lonely." Her plump, pretty face beamed contentedly as she squeezed Emma's arm beside her.

"I am to marry the duke's cousin, Viscount Edgecombe," Juliana said flatly. She couldn't bring herself to tell them of the other half of the arrangement.

"Marriage!" gasped Emma. "Oh, my dear Juliana. How wonderful for you. You'll be set for life."

"So long as it's not a Fleet wedding," Lilly said darkly. "D'you remember Molly Petrie? She left Mother Needham's to marry Lord Liverton, only he took her to a marriage shop instead. And when he'd had enough of her, he threw her out with just the clothes on her back. And she ended up sleeping under the stalls in Covent Garden and taking anyone who'd give her a penny for gin."

"What's a Fleet wedding?" Juliana asked, curiosity finally penetrating her stunned trance.

"Oh, it's when they get an unfrocked preacher to perform the ceremony. There's marriage shops all around the Fleet," Lilly told her. "It's not a proper marriage, although sometimes the girl doesn't know it… like poor Molly."

"But that's dreadful!" Juliana exclaimed. "Wicked. It's evil to trick a woman like that."

Emma shrugged. "Of course it is. But men don't care. They do what they want. And there's not much any of us can do to stop 'em."

Juliana frowned fiercely, her straight brows almost meeting. "If you all got together and refused to be treated badly, then they'd have to change their behavior."

Lilly laughed indulgently. "My dear Juliana, don't be a simpleton. For every one of us who refused to give them what they wanted, there'd be half a dozen eager to take our place."

"It's not as if treating whores badly is a crime," Rosamund pointed out. "I mean, you couldn't go to a magistrate and lay a charge or anything."

"No, the magistrates are too busy persecuting us," Emma declared in disgust. "It's hard to earn any kind of a living if you're not in a respectable house. The others are always being raided, and the girls find themselves making a trip to Bridewell at the cart's arse."

Men and women whipped at the cart's tail through the streets of Winchester for vagrancy or disorderly behavior was a common enough sight, but Juliana had never expected to find herself in a world where such punishment was accepted as an occupational hazard. "I still think that if everyone protested, something would change."

"Brave talk, but you're new to the game, Juliana," Lilly said. "Wait for six months and see how brave you are then."

"If she's to be properly married to a viscount, she won't have to become accustomed," Rosamund pointed out. "But why is the duke procuring you for his cousin? It seems very peculiar."

"You'd best try to find out if this cousin wants anything special," Emma said. "Sometimes they have to have whores because respectable women won't do what they want. But he might want something bad… something hurtful. You want to be sure you know what you're getting into."

She couldn't tell these women that she was being blackmailed and that whatever the duke and his cousin wanted of her, she'd be obliged to provide. She couldn't tell them that all her brave protestations about making a stand and forcing a change in their conditions of service were so much posturing. She was as firmly caught as any one of them, with no more power to alter her destiny at this point than a pinned butterfly.

" 'Is Grace bids you join 'im and Mistress Dennison in the small salon, Miss Juliana," Mr. Garston spoke from the doorway.

Bids, not asks. Juliana rose. She had no choice but to do His Grace's bidding.

Outside the door to the small salon, she hesitated. She should knock. Then, with a little tilt of her chin, Juliana decided to make one small gesture. She threw open the door and stepped into the room.

"Oh, there you are, Juliana." Elizabeth looked startled.

"Not a surprise, madam, surely. I understood you had asked to see me."

Tarquin's lips twitched. Miss Juliana seemed to have recovered her spirit. He stood up and came over to her. "Come and sit down, mignonne.” Taking her hand, he brushed it with his lips, then deliberately and very lightly kissed her mouth.

It seemed a casual greeting, but Juliana understood it for what it was. A public statement of possession. A shiver ran up her spine, and she looked away.

"My dear, someone has been inquiring for you at the Bell," Mistress Dennison said. "Do you know who it could be?"

Juliana's blood ran cold. They had traced her to London. She shook her head.

"This gentleman seemed convinced you had come from Winchester, not York," the duke said gently. He raised an eyebrow as he met her gaze. "He described you rather accurately. But perhaps you have a twin somewhere."

"Don't play with me, my lord duke," Juliana said fiercely. "I have no intention of denying that I got off the Winchester coach. What point would there be at this stage?"

"None whatsoever," he agreed, taking a seat opposite her. "So who would be searching for you… apart from the constables?"

"My guardian, Sir Brian Forsett, perhaps."

"I understand this was a young man," Elizabeth said. "Somewhat corpulent and a little… well, rustic, according to Mr. Bute."

"George," Juliana said flatly. "But why would he bother to find me? It's a case of good riddance, I would have thought. For everyone," she added almost in an undertone.

Tarquin's gaze sharpened, resting on her face. He watched the flicker of hurt in the green eyes, the momentary soft quiver of the full mouth. To his astonishment he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her.

Only with one other woman had he had such an urge. Pamela Cartwright. How flattered he'd been when the beautiful Pamela had chosen him, a naive youth, over the sophisticated men-about-town, the wealthy roues, the powerful politicians, who clustered at her feet. And how long it had taken him to understand that she was interested only in his fortune. He'd bought every kiss, every caress, and convinced himself that she gave him love in return. He'd trusted her with his innermost feelings, had stripped himself bare for her, and she had trampled on his youthful passions, his burgeoning sensitivity.

But that was in the past, and he was no longer an idealistic vexing fool

"Come, now." he said briskly "You can't imagine that you can disappear off the face of the earth without some member of your family looking for you."

"I don't see why not." Juliana said "My guardian and his wife were delighted to wash their hands of me. They'll be in no rush to find me, particularly when I'm supposed to be a murderess. They're more likely to disown me."

Her tone was matter-of-fact, but Tarquin saw the hurt that still flickered in her eyes, still tremored slightly on her mouth, and he caught a glimpse of the lonely, unloved child she'd been.

"This George," Elizabeth prompted, bringing the duke sharply back to the issue at hand. "Is he a member of your family?"

"My husband's son," Juliana said. "Sir George, I suppose he is, now that John's dead. He probably wants to find me so he can get the marriage settlements back He was furious at the conditions of my jointure."

"Ahh," said Tarquin. "Money. That's a powerful motivation. How clever is he, in your opinion'"

"Thick as a block," Juliana said. "But he's as vicious as a terrier when he gets an idea in his head. He won't let go."

"Well, I daresay we can put him off the scent," the duke declared. "As the wife of Viscount Edgecombe, you'll be beyond the reach of some country bumpkin."

"But not beyond the reach of the Duke of Redmayne," she flashed.

Tarquin regarded her wryly and in silence for a minute while she stared back at him, refusing to drop her eyes. Then he turned back to Elizabeth. "If you'd send for Mr. Copplethwaite, madam, we can complete the formalities. The sooner Juliana is established, the safer she will be."

"Established as what, might I ask?" To Juliana's annoyance her voice shook slightly. "Am I to be married by an unfrocked priest in a marriage shop?"

"Now, who could have put such an absurd and insulting idea in your head?" demanded Tarquin, genuinely startled.

"Such an ungrateful creature, she is," Elizabeth declared, glaring reproachfully at Juliana. "To be so ungracious when she's being offered such an opportunity."

"Oh, spare me your pious hypocrisies, madam!" Juliana leaped to her feet. "I am being compelled into prostitution, so pray let us call a spade a spade." She spun on her heel and stalked to the door. Unfortunately, the dramatic affect of her exit was somewhat diminished when her skirt caught in the door as she slammed it behind her and she was obliged to open it again to release herself.

The Duke of Redmayne took a leisurely pinch of snuff. "I foresee a somewhat turbulent few months," he observed. "But I expect I shall find it interesting, at the very least." He rose to his feet. "I'll return this evening. I don't wish Juliana to keep company with the other girls today, I'm inclined to think she's listened enough to their tales and gossip. She should keep to her chamber for the rest of the day. I would find her there alone when I come."

"And the lawyer, sir?" Elizabeth walked to the door with him.

"Instruct Copplethwaite to call upon me in Albermarle Street as soon as the contracts have been drawn up to your satisfaction," he said. "I will then procure a special license. The marriage should take place without delay… Oh, and reassure the child about the marriage, will you? I won't have her believing I would play her false."

"I cannot imagine how she could have thought such a thing." Elizabeth curtsied at the door.

"Neither can I," he responded aridly. "Good day, ma'am." He bowed and strode down the stairs, leaving Elizabeth at the top, looking both thoughtful and annoyed, before she turned and made her way upstairs to Juliana's chamber.

Juliana had discarded her hoop and was struggling with the laces of her corset when Mistress Dennison entered. "You should summon Bella to help you," Elizabeth said.

"I am accustomed to looking after myself," Juliana responded, gyrating impatiently as she tugged at a recalcitrant knot. It came undone, and with a sigh of relief she pulled the garment from her, tossing it onto the bed. "Did you wish to speak with me. ma'am?''

"His Grace bids you remain in your chamber," Elizabeth said.

Juliana sat on the bed in her shift and underpetticoat. "Why?"

"His Grace was most distressed that you should have heard tales of the marriage shops," Mistress Dennison said. "He prefers that you hear no more of such nonsense."

"Oh?" Juliana raised an eyebrow. "So it's nonsense, is it, ma'am? They were making it up?"

"No," Elizabeth responded. "It does happen, but girls who form contracts from this house are in no danger of such a deception. And His Grace of Redmayne is a man of honor."

"Pshaw!" Juliana declared disgustedly. “What he's proposing is hardly honorable, ma'am."

"Oh, I despair of you, girl." Elizabeth threw up her hands. "I won't argue with you further. Do I have your word that you'll remain in this room until His Grace returns? Or must I turn the key?"

"I'll not leave," Juliana said, falling back onto the bed and closing her eyes. "It makes no difference to me whether you lock me in or not. I'm a prisoner either way."

Elizabeth snorted and marched out, closing the door with a snap behind her.

As she lay on the bed, Juliana conjured up the image of the Duke of Redmayne. He was a powerful man, one clearly accustomed to getting his own way in everything. And he'd made it clear from the very beginning that he intended to have his own way in this.

She wondered how she would have reacted it he'd put the proposition to her in another way. If he'd asked her if she'd agree to it instead of threatening blackmail from the first moment.

If it had been put to her differently, she might have found the proposition almost enticing. If it had been suggested as a partnership that benefited them both, she might well have considered it. It could be no worse a fate than lying night after night beneath John Ridge, bearing his children…

Unconsciously, she moved her hands over her body outlined beneath the thin shift. That strange effervescence coursing through her again. A jubilant, exhilarated sewnse of anticipation. The Duke of Redmayne was an arrogant tyrant, but when he touched her, her body took off on some weird flight of fancy over which her mind had no control. She could enjoy that, if she decided to. She could enjoy the Duke of Redmayne, if she decided to. But she didn't have to let him know that.

A slow smile curved her mouth.

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After Juliana's solitary dinner Bella came in, her habitual beam on her round face. "Mistress sent ye up a right pretty chamber robe, miss." She shook out the delicate cambric folds of a white lace-trimmed wrapper. "Shall you put it on?"

Juliana took the garment from her. It was an exquisite froth of lace and ruffles, embroidered with tiny cream daisies. Another of the duke's sartorial inspirations?

"It's for when the duke visits ye," Bella said, confirming this unspoken assumption. "I'm to 'elp you get ready for 'im."

"Now?" Despite her earlier resolutions, Juliana's blood began to speed and her heart banged against her ribs. It was too soon. She wasn't prepared.

" 'Is Grace will be along after tea," Bella said. "Mistress said as 'ow I was to show ye about perfume an' what kind of refreshments the gentlemen like." She put a small vial on the dresser. "We jest dabs this be'ind yer ears, and knees, an' between yer breasts. Some gentlemen care fer it in other places, too, but I daresay 'Is Grace will tell you what 'e wants. They usually does." She smiled and nodded reassuringly. "Miss Rosamund 'ad a gentleman once what liked it between 'er toes. He liked to suck 'em." Bella giggled. "She said it tickled summat chronic. But she couldn't laugh in case 'e got upset."

Bella matter-of-factly began to remove Juliana's shift and petticoat. Juliana was for the moment speechless as she absorbed the maid's informative chatter. She'd heard similar discussions about adorning a prize pig for auction at the summer fair.

"I wonder if’n we should put a little rouge on yer nipples," Bella mused. "I don't know as 'ow 'Is Grace would like it. Lots of 'em do." She poured hot water into the basin and dipped a washcloth in. "I'll jest wash ye a bit. Freshen ye up a bit. Very fussy Mistress Dennison is about cleanliness in this 'ouse. We don't 'ave no need of mercury treatments or Dr. Leakey's pills 'ere."

"What are they for?" Juliana was prompted out of her stunned silence by this.

"For the clap a'course," Bella said in surprise. "Don't ye know about the pox?"

"Not intimately," Juliana said aridly. "But I imagine it's an occupational hazard, like the cart's arse and Bridewell."

The sarcasm missed Bella completely as she plied the washcloth over Juliana's naked body. "Oh, our ladies don't worry about that, miss," she said. "This is a respectable 'ouse. Only the best customers and the freshest pieces. We don't dabble in the market. Don't get no raids 'ere."

"You relieve my mind." Juliana gave herself up to Bella's attentions. The girl clearly knew what she was about when it came to preparing a harlot for a customer. She patted Juliana dry, then dabbed perfume behind her ears, at her throat, on her wrists, and behind her knees.

"What about the rouge, then, miss?" Bella opened an alabaster pot and dipped a finger in. "Jest a touch." Her finger approached Juliana's breast.

Juliana jumped back. "No." she said, revolted. "There are some things I'll endure, hut that's not one of them."

Bella looked disappointed, but she wiped her finger clean on the washcloth. "What about paintin’ yer toenails? Lots of the gentlemen likes that."

"No," Juliana declared. "No paint, no powder, no rouge. Just pass me that robe."

Bella hastened to fetch the chamber robe and slipped it over Juliana's shoulders. It fell in soft folds to her bare feet, caressing her sweetly fragrant skin. Bella fastened the fringed embroidered girdle at her waist and adjusted the high ruffled neckline.

"Oh, that's so demure, miss," she said in awe. "Doesn't show nothin' of you at all. I wonder what Is Grace fancies, then? Some men like the girls to dress as schoolgirls… and that Lord Tardeton likes 'em dressed like a nun." She shook her head wisely. "None so strange as gentlemen."

Juliana examined herself in the mirror. Demure was certainly the word, and yet not quite. The material was so fine that her skin glowed pink beneath, and when she moved, the gown flowed over her, revealing the shapes and shadows of her body. It was a most seductive garment.

Lord of hell, she was beginning to think like a whore! She took several steps around the room, feeling the sensuous swish of the robe, inhaling her scent as her skin warmed the fragrance. A bud of excitement grew in her belly, little rivulets of fire darting into her loins.

"Yer 'air, miss." Bella flourished the hairbrush. "I'll brush it fer you."

Juliana sat down on the ottoman, her head drooping beneath Bella's strong, rhythmic strokes. Her hair crackled, springing out from beneath the brush with a life of its own. It seemed to fill the room with color. She watched in the mirror as the candle's glow caught each vibrant strand.

"Will I thread the ribbon through it?" Bella laid down the brush and took up an ivory silk ribbon. Juliana nodded. She hadn't the will to make small, pointless gestures of independence tonight. They could prepare her for the duke's bed however they thought best. She had enough to do with mental preparation.

She watched as Bella fastened the ribbon around her forehead so that her hair was caught and held at the top but poured out in a river of fire beneath, framing her face and cascading onto the white cambric of her robe. "I look like some virgin shepherdess," she murmured. For some reason the thought set her eyes alight with the excitement that was blooming in her belly.

"All innocent like," Bella agreed. "I expect that's what ‘Is Grace fancies this evening."

"Do the gentlemen always make their preferences known beforehand?"

"Not always." Bella began to tidy up the dresser. "Sometimes the ladies 'ave to change all of a sudden like, if a gentleman 'as a change of fancy. I 'elps them, then. Me an' Minnie." She gathered up the basin, ewer, and washcloth. "I'll get rid of these, miss. Then I'll bring in the refreshments."

Juliana went to the window after the maid had bustled out. Dusk was falling, and the riotous sounds from the Piazza came clear on the still and sultry air. There was music, a fife and drums, rising above the general cacophony. In the street below a blind harpist sat on a box, plucking his strings mournfully in competition with a shoeblack who was hailing potential customers in a shrill singsong.

She was watching for the Duke of Redmayne. But even as she watched, she wondered if perhaps he was already in the house. The door knocker had been sounding for the last hour, and the customary evening buzz was in the air. Hurried footsteps, giggles, rushed whispers, came from outside her door as the girls returned to their chambers for some minor repair. She hadn't yet heard a male voice, but presumably they were still drinking tea and conversing in the drawing room as if this mansion on Russell Street was a conventional, fashionable household.

" 'Ere we arc, then." Bella staggered in under the weight of a laden tray. She was followed by a flunky bearing a tray with bottles and glasses. He set the tray on a low table before the empty grate and studiously avoided looking at Juliana in her robe of seduction. Presumably that was a rule of the house, she thought. He turned and left, again without acknowledgment, and Bella began to lay out covered dishes on the table.

"Now, 'Is Grace is partial to the claret," she instructed. "It's the right year, Mr. Garston says, so we won't 'ave to worry about that. Now, there's lemonade for you. The girls don't usually drink when they 'ave a gentleman. But there's a wine glass if the duke wants ye to join 'im." She examined the table, tapping her finger against her teeth. "Now, there's lobster patties, an' a little salad of sparrow-grass. 'Is Grace is right partial to sparrowgrass, dressed with a little oil an' vinegar."

Juliana was not particularly fond of asparagus, and lobster brought her out in spots, but of course her own wishes were of no importance. There was also a bowl of strawberries and a basket of sweetmeats that in other circumstances might have enticed her; however, she was feeling too sick with nerves to contemplate eating anything.

"Now, is that everything?" Bella counted on her fingers as she inspected the room in minute detail. "There's fresh 'of water in the jug on the washstand. Should I turn down the bed. or will ye do it, miss? It's 'ard to know what'd be best. Some gentlemen likes to feel that they're bein' seduced and don't want to come into the room and see it all ready, like. But others don't care to waste time."

"Leave it as it is," Juliana said, knowing that she could not sit and wait for the duke beside a turned-down bed.

"Right y'are then." Bella took one last look at Juliana, made a final adjustment to a ruffle at the sleeve of the white robe, then dropped a little curtsy. "If ye needs anythin', miss, jest pull the bell. I'll knock 'afore I comes in."

"Thank you, Bella." Juliana managed a smile.

"A'course I'll come to ye as soon as 'Is Grace leaves." The girl stood with her hand on the door. "Ye'll be wantin' a salt bath then, I daresay, bein' a maid an' all. An' I expect ye'll be glad of a mug of ‘ot milk an' rum." With a quick smile she whisked herself out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Juliana stood in the middle of the chamber, arms crossed convulsively over her breasts. A salt bath! So matter-of-fact. How many virgins had Bella prepared for the loss of their maidenheads? And then it occurred to her that losing one's virginity in this knowledgeable, comforting, female-centered house was infinitely preferable to being bedded to Sir John Ridge, carried to the bridal chamber amid a chorus of obscene jokes from drunken male wedding guests who had abandoned her to her fate at the chamber door. She'd known very little about what was in store for her. Lady Forsett had not thought fit to prepare her husband's ward for her wedding night. She knew a little more now, but not much.

The door opened as she stood there. Her hands fell to her sides, sweat trickling down her rib cage. The Duke of Redmayne quietly closed the door behind him. He turned to Juliana. His gray gaze held hers for a minute in the charged silence, then drifted slowly down her body