Caroline’s Courtesan (The Comerford Courtesans #4)

Chapter 1

Caroline Banfield was not supposed to hate.

Those kinds of strong emotions were not for ladies, or so she had been told her entire thirty-three years on this earth.

But she hated her brother and as she watched him storm around her parlor, barking orders at the servants who were packing his things so he could depart London, she was fairly certain he hated her, too.

As if to prove that point, he pivoted to her, face bright red and eyes flashing with violent rage.

“You were meant to be her chaperone! To crush some sense into her stupid, vapid mind and yet you stood by and did nothing.” He stepped closer and Caroline had to force herself to stay her ground when all she wanted to do was back away.

“Or perhaps you encouraged her to run away. Was that what you did, you treacherous bitch?”

Caroline lifted her chin. She had been called such a horrible name, and even worse ones, many times in her life. By her brother, then later by her late husband. Somehow she never grew accustomed to it. Normally it made her curl into her shell, become smaller so she wouldn’t be such a target.

But today her brother was talking to her about her niece, his daughter, Arabella, who had been dragged to London so he could essentially sell her as chattel to the highest-bidding “gentleman”. Someone who would break her exuberant spirit and take all her joy.

That Arabella had run rather than stayed to accept that fate gave Caroline a sense of bravery she often felt she lacked. “Albert, have you ever considered perhaps you are the reason she would do this? You and your wretched machinations?”

He lunged toward her, fist raised, and she recoiled in terror that he would strike her. How many years had it been since that last happened? But he stopped before he could crush the blow against her face and froze.

“How dare you?” he asked at last, backing away.

Once again, Caroline’s first impulse was to appease and pretend and make things comfortable for Albert. But once again, it was Arabella’s bravery in the face of his plans that forced her to do something different.

“I dare because I know exactly what she feels. And as your sister and, yes, her chaperone during your time here in London, it is my duty to tell you that you have pushed her away.”

His eyes narrowed. “Arabella told you this? Ran to you and said these things in order to obtain your pity?”

Caroline threw up her hands. “No! I have seen all of it for many years. I have watched you be cruel and hard and controlling toward all three of your daughters. I’ve watched you give them brutality rather than love.

And I was too cowardly to say anything. But you merrily threatened to give your eldest daughter to the oldest, most disgusting man with whom you could make an arrangement.

And she knows you aren’t in jest because you… you did the same to me.”

Her breath grew short as she pictured her late husband, George, who Albert had forced her to wed when she was just seventeen and George was only a few months shy of sixty.

The marriage had been horrible, and blessedly brief.

She had been free of him since he died ten years before when she was twenty-three.

“You were lucky to have what I provided,” her brother growled. “He settled you well.”

“The only thing he ever did right,” she snapped back. “No wonder Arabella ran, Albert. No wonder.”

Albert’s eyes narrowed and once again he took a step toward her that she had to fight not to move away from. “If you find out where she is, you will bloody well tell me, Caroline.”

She held his stare, terrified by the wild anger she saw there.

And even more afraid that he would be able to see the truth.

That he would determine in that cruel glance that she already knew where Arabella was and then he would find ways to extract that information from her and harm or even do worse to both of them as punishment.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Fucking bitch,” he spat, and then turned on his heel without further word and stormed from her house to the carriage that was waiting to ferry him away, back to the countryside and the two other nieces she couldn’t protect like she could now do with Arabella.

When he slammed the vehicle door and it raced down the drive, she sagged, leaning her hand on the back of the closest chair to support her when her shaking knees no longer could.

Her butler, Dennis, stepped into the room, face long with worry. “May—may I provide anything, Mrs. Banfield?”

She shook her head. “No. Mr. Comerford is gone and I’m not sure he’ll ever return.” She drew a few shaky breaths and smoothed her gown as she straightened up. “I will require the carriage, though.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dennis said, and began to leave the room.

She raised a hand as a terrible thought entered her head.

“But…but tell them to wait half an hour before they ready it. Also, have Kendrick be certain that my brother has truly vacated the area before he brings it to the door. I don’t think Albert would be clever enough to put together a ruse and follow me, but I must be wary of all contingencies. ”

Dennis nodded. “Yes, of course, Mrs. Banfield. We will be extremely diligent for the next few days at least. Now, are you certain I couldn’t bring you tea while you wait?”

She sank into the chair she had leaned against as the weight of what had just happened moved through her trembling body. “Actually, that would be lovely.”

As he left the room, she covered her face with her hands. There were those strong emotions again, ones she would have to cover by the time she dragged herself to the place where Arabella had run. To the woman she had run to, one who lived a life in perfect opposition to Caroline’s own.

Meeting that woman, seeing the shocking place where Arabella had gone, that was nearly as terrifying as the showdown she had just finished with Albert. And so she would have to be prepared.

Simone Stanhope was in an elite group of courtesans and she was well-aware of the power it gave her.

There were lightskirts, woman who walked streets and played in pubs and gaming hells and took on men for a night.

Then there were courtesans, and there were varying levels of success for them.

Simone had started as a mistress to men with money but little power.

She had built herself up over the years to be sought after and well-compensated for the pleasure of her company and the body that went with it.

To be pursued by earls and dukes and once even a king, though not her own.

She had become rich in the process, thanks to the good management of her funds and the power to influence her lovers to settle her well on their way out the door.

It was a good life, even if there were occasional bouts of loneliness, which she tamped down because how foolish was that thought?

She had friends and lovers galore, she wasn’t lonely.

There was the sound of a clearing throat at the doorway to the study where she was seated at her desk spiraling in these thoughts rather than working on her ledger for the month. She lifted her gaze to find her butler awaiting her notice.

“Ah, Waring. Do you require something? Is our houseguest in need?”

He shifted. “Miss Comerford is no trouble at all, Miss Stanhope,” he said, referring to the hellion of a young woman Simone had taken in just a few days before.

A bold little thing named Arabella Comerford who had insisted she wished to become a courtesan and would brook no refusal. Simone liked her already.

Simone lifted her brows as she awaited the reason for the interruption, which Waring provided swiftly. “You do have a caller, though.”

He crossed to hand over a finely done calling card with a woman’s name swirled in gold filigree across the heavy vellum rectangle.

Mrs. Caroline Banfield

“Banfield,” Simone repeated. “Why do I know that name?”

“She claims to be a relation to Miss Comerford,” he said. “And is asking to see her.”

Simone sighed. That was the trouble with taking in lost lambs.

Sometimes shepherds…or in this case, shepherdesses, came to find them.

Or perhaps this woman was a wolf. It was hard to say.

It was why Simone knew the name, though.

Arabella had spoken coldly of her father, but very warmly of his sister, her aunt Caroline.

But warmth when one was doing what was expected didn’t mean the poor girl would find assistance with a lady of Mrs. Banfield’s rank now that she had strayed.

Simone made a swift decision and rose from her desk. “Put her in the red parlor.”

Waring was normally unreadable, which was a benefit given what he saw and heard on a regular basis, so when he arched a brow, she almost smiled.

It was somewhat of a triumph to surprise him.

Her red parlor was where she often entertained lovers and played out her best performances as a sensual, untroubled courtesan.

The room was as much of a seduction and a promise of sin as the way she dressed or carried herself was.

She chose that chamber in which to place Mrs. Banfield because it would certainly make the lady off-kilter.

All the better to see her true intentions.

“That’s all, dear man,” Simone said with a wave of her hand.

He departed and she glanced at the clock on her mantel before she returned to her ledger. She would wait at least half an hour, let the woman stew and really see where she was.

Simone remained distracted, though now it was because she was planning all her avenues of attack. When the time had passed at last, she smoothed her skirt, glanced at herself in the mirror above her sideboard to ensure every hair was in place and then made her way down the hallway.