Chapter 7 #2
Bridget’s stomach dropped as her world began to churn.
Courtesans, she could understand to a certain point—but a mistress?
A singular woman dedicated to receiving her husband’s affections?
The news made her want to shrink in on herself in shame.
Was there no end to her husband’s depravity?
How low had this man been willing to sink?
She barely heard the directions William gave her; she only gave a numb nod as he finished. Then, without another word, she left, feeling William’s pity-filled eyes staring at her back.
“The day is drawing to an end, my lady,” Farley said as Bridget yet again exited the carriage. “Are you certain you do not wish to return home for the evening and renew your search tomorrow?”
Bridget glanced toward the orangish-red sun that was starting to set behind the large, identical brownstone buildings laid out before her, then shook her head. She had used the short ride to the Blue Parrot to gather her humiliation and self-pity and transform them into rage and determination.
“No,” she stated, “I have wasted too much time as it is.”
Farley sighed, but did not argue further.
“I must insist you still be careful, my lady,” he replied. “This part of London may look nicer, but it is just a ruse.”
Bridget nodded. She was beginning to understand that things were often not as they appeared. After all, she had spent her entire life pretending she was not lonely and sad, covering up such feelings with pretty gowns and expensive jewelry.
As she started yet another search, Bridget thought more about such things.
Of all the time she spent attempting to be the perfect daughter to her guardians and the ideal wife to her husband.
Where had such efforts landed her? What rewards were there to reap for hiding her feelings for the sake of others?
Becoming the laughing stock of London. That was what her reward was.
“Look at the pretty lady, mama,” Bridget heard as she walked down what she had thought was an empty street.
“Hush, child,” a woman softly scolded.
Bridget turned to the voices and felt a bout of guilt as she realized she had just walked past a woman and a child sitting in the street.
While the East End had been abuzz with people, the neutral territory had been eerily empty.
The two behind her were the first people she had seen since she started her search nearly half an hour ago.
“Apologies,” Bridget offered, doubling back to them. “I was so lost in my thoughts, I did not see you there.”
The young woman blushed behind the smear of dirt on her cheeks as she gave Bridget a canted smile.
“Ye have no need to apologize, Miss. We are used to not bein’ seen,” the woman replied.
Another bout of guilt slithered through Bridget as she shifted her eyes to the little girl. She placed her around the age of four. Her greasy hair had been tied into a messy braid, and her face was just as filthy as her mother’s. Even so, Bridget saw the beauty in the little girl’s freckled face.
Pain flashed through Bridget’s breast. Would this have been my future? Had I once been that little girl? What would my life have been like if my mother had not sold me into better circumstances?
“Are you lost, Miss?” The woman asked, holding out a tin cup. “Give us a penny or two, and we’ll be happy to help. This place can be a bit confusin’, as you see. What with how it looks all the same.”
Bridget immediately untied the purse strings from her belt and offered the entire sack to the woman, a sense of kinship rising in her with surprising fierceness. The woman’s green eyes grew wide as Bridget did so, but she did not take it.
“That’s too much, Miss. Ye will need that around here,” the woman replied.
“Please take it,” Bridget replied, urging the purse toward her. “I am in need of answers, and I am willing to pay for them. Go on. Take it.”
Though the woman still looked at Bridget hesitantly for another moment, she reached out a thin, bare arm and clutched her fingers around the purse.
Then, as if someone was about to appear and take it from her, she brought it quickly to her chest and shoved it into the low bodice of her tattered dress.
“What do you need to know, Miss?” the woman asked.
Bridget took another look around the empty street.
“I am looking for a place called the Blue Parrot.”
The woman’s gaze fell to her lap, as if ashamed.
“That place is nasty business, Miss. Ye don’t want to go there,” the woman replied.
“What kind of business?” Bridget asked.
“A business that will no longer take me and a business that would love to have the likes of you,” the woman said, slowly raising her eyes back up to Bridget. “Are ye lookin’ for work?”
Another shiver passed down Bridget’s spine.
“No,” she said softly. “But I am looking for someone who might be there.”
“I did not think ye were,” the woman noted, looking Bridget up and down again. “Too pure ye are. I can feel it comin’ of ye in waves. Ye do not want to visit the Blue Parrot, Miss. They’ll take that from ye right away, they will.”
The woman’s warning caused a sour feeling to erupt in Bridget’s belly. Men, she decided then and there, were despicable creatures.
Still, I have to find Warren.
“I will not let them take anything from me,” Bridget swore, not only to the woman but to herself. “Now, please, it is imperative that you tell me where the Blue Parrot is.”
The woman’s eyes shone with pity, but she raised her thin arm and pointed a long, crooked finger down the street.
“Two doors down on your left side. Play the part and tell the guard that yer lord husband ordered ye special.”
Bridget turned back to the woman with a startled quickness, her eyes wide.
“I know a lady when I see one,” the woman said, standing up. “Even if she is not in a pretty dress or wearin’ jewels. So will the guard, and if he believes ye are a wife, ye have no chance of finding yer husband.”
A blush of embarrassment bloomed in Bridget’s cheeks as she watched the woman take her daughter’s hand and walk away in the orangish-red sunlight, the hue growing deeper by the moment. She clutched her throat as she wondered what the woman had been through.
“I wish I had more to give you,” Bridget whispered.
With a heavy heart, she turned back to the door that would lead her to her husband. She needed to find Warren and put an end to his humiliating behavior once and for all.
Play the part, the woman’s words echoed in Bridget’s mind.
What did she mean? Could she possibly…
She took off her cloak and looked down at herself, thinking for a moment.
Then she drew her dagger from her belt and made a small cut at the center of her white bodice; then she ripped it open a little further until her cleavage was apparent and easily seen.
She drew the dagger down the side of the brown skirt, creating a slit from her thigh to her ankle.
Bridget blushed deeply as she did so. She had never been so bare in public!
Next, she undid her braid and tossed her long, curly hair, fluffing it until it looked wilder and messier.
Then she drew part of it up, using the small dagger to hold it in place, then drew a couple of long strands down around the sides of her face.
She pinched her cheeks and her lips until she felt them begin to swell and fuse with blood, then drew in a deep, steadying breath as she thought of Bella the Barmaid. She was bold. Unapologetic. Blunt. All of the things Bridget had shied away from. Until now.
Bridget opened her eyes, feeling a spirited thrill coursing through her veins as she sauntered toward the door, gave a knock, then planted her fists sassily on her hips.
I can do this. I can.
The door was swung open by a tall, fit, bald-headed man in a black suit with brown eyes that grew wide as he took Bridget in. She smirked, batted her lashes flirtatiously, and leaned in toward him.
“You’re new,” the man muttered as his gaze fell toward her bosom.
“And special, love,” Bridget added, doing her best to mimic Bella’s accent and demeanor. “I am here for the Earl of Winslow and the Earl of Winslow only.”
“Winslow has not been here in four days,” the man said, his eyes still riveted on Bridget’s swell of cleavage.
Bridget faltered for a moment. Four days? Why hadn’t he gone back for William then?
“However, you come in and talk to Charlie; I guarantee he will pay ye just as much as the Earl did to take up one of our vacant rooms,” the bald man went on. “We’ve got a house full of gentlemen tonight that would love to take the likes of ye for a ride.”
Indignation rose up in Bridget, nearly making her break character.
A ride?
His hand reached out toward her waist, and before Bridget could stop herself, she slapped his hand away. He looked up at her, startled, and she drew on a wicked smile.
“Sorry, love. No money, no touch,” she said.
“Well, come on in and we’ll—”
“Did you not hear me?” she asked with a wave of confidence taking over her. “I am meant for the Earl and no one else. And if he is not here, then I need to find him. He already paid up. Now, tell me where he is.”
The man seemed perplexed by her nature as he raised a hand to rub his head.
“Couldn’t say,” he said with a shrug. “Did ye check Henry’s?”
Henry’s?
“What’s that?” Bridget asked.
The man’s awe-struck gaze suddenly hardened into a suspicious look. He finally looked directly into Bridget’s eyes, as if looking for a secret.
“A bird like you don’t know Henry’s? Who is your handler?” he asked.
Bridget felt her persona start to fall apart as her heartbeat began to hammer in her chest. She had no idea what a handler was, and as she tried to think of a fake name, her mind suddenly went blank.
The bald man took a step toward her, looking as if he was about to grab her and drag her inside, when suddenly someone else’s hand grabbed her shoulder and twirled her around.
Her heart slammed into her chest, and she suddenly grew very warm as she looked up into the Duke of Redgrave’s piercing blue eyes.
“There you are,” he purred, his deep, calm voice contradicting the anger in his eyes. “I believe you are in the wrong place.”