Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
W hen I arrive back home, I ring for Medora, my lady’s maid.
“Yes, Your Grace?” she asks as she lets herself into the room. She’s older than I, at twenty-seven. Her skin is a creamy peach, while mine is a dark beige. Medora has a bigger bust than I, and she’s much thinner about her middle.
“Would you help me out of this hideous dress?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“Perhaps we could use it as fuel for my hearth fire tonight?”
She harrumphs. “Might as well burn its weight in bank notes, Your Grace, for it likely cost as much.”
“I don’t care. I can’t stand the sight of it for one second longer. Apparently, I had no reason to wear black all this time.” I tell her about my run-in with Lady Petrakis.
“Perhaps we burn this one, but might I suggest relocation for the others? Such fine material would feed families.”
“Very well. See to it, but I want to watch this one burn.”
When I step out of it, Medora throws the heavy dress atop the ashes in the hearth. “There. What would you like to wear instead?”
I skip over to the wardrobe that matches the rest of my room. White finish. Gold handles. Sweeping designs of trailing flowers. More chrysanthemums.
I begin to flip through dress after dress. Without any preamble, I ask, “Medora, have you ever had a lover?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “A few, Your Grace.”
“I’m thinking of taking one.”
“Truly? Who?”
“I don’t know yet, but I intend to find someone. And quickly.”
Before my sister’s wedding.
“Falling in love can take time, Your Grace.”
I consider a bright green day dress with long sleeves, before sliding it aside and looking at the next. “You misunderstand me. I have no intention of falling in love. I only want a lover.”
“Oh,” she says in response, as though she doesn’t quite understand.
So I help her. “Men in my position are permitted mistresses. So why not me? I’m wealthy, titled, and sick of spending my nights alone. I want a mistress. The male equivalent of one. What would you call that?”
“I don’t think there is a word for that.”
“Then perhaps we should make one.”
For a moment, there isn’t a sound except for hangers slinging across the rack in my wardrobe.
“Let me make sure I’ve got this right,” Medora says. “You want to keep a man in the way men traditionally keep women? Exchanging sex for housing, clothing, and all other possessions? No love involved?”
“Precisely.” I mean, it wouldn’t hurt if my lover fell head over heels in love with me, but I intend to remain at a distance.
I step away from the wardrobe with a pale orange dress with sheer sleeves that extend to my elbows and ribbons that tie into neat bows at my back.
“What do you think of that?” I ask her.
“I think it’s brilliant, Your Grace! As long as you’re careful, why shouldn’t you carry on as a powerful man in your position?”
“Careful?” I ask.
“For two reasons. One, as the woman, you will still bear all the responsibilities if you become pregnant. And two, despite you having the upper hand as far as money and reputation, the man you choose will likely be much stronger than you. I don’t wish to see any harm come to you.”
The way Medora looks out for me is heartwarming. I’ve, of course, already thought of such things. I have come all this way, risen as high as I can go, and yet, because women are the child bearers, we are left with all the consequences of pregnancy. Not the man, who is the reason for a woman becoming pregnant in the first place.
I will place an order for contraceptives before starting any physical relationship.
As for Medora’s second concern, it hasn’t escaped my notice that I’ll have to place my trust in a man if I’m to do this. He won’t be like Pholios, weaker than me due to illness. I’ll have to choose someone who will not abuse me, who will heed my wishes when we are behind closed doors. Even then, I could choose someone who seems kind and then proves to be entirely different when we’re alone, just as Pholios was. Luckily, my staff consists of many footmen with impressive physiques, bless Mrs. Lagos for hiring them. I will have them within hearing distance, should I need aid.
It’s sad that such things have to be considered, but if I’m to do this, I need to do it the right way.
I step into my dress and turn around so Medora can do up the back. I imagine myself at Alessandra’s wedding, all eyes on me, not the bride. On me, not the queen.
“I promise to be careful,” I tell her. “Time to take next steps, then. I suppose I should interview some candidates.”
“Perhaps you need not choose someone so soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“May I speak my mind, Your Grace?”
“Please do.”
The fabric at my back tightens as she does another clasp. “Perhaps you might take some time to figure out what you like. Men don’t start by taking mistresses. They sample first.”
“Sample?”
“Yes, at brothels and the like.”
“Oh.”
I think on that for a while. Even when I’m fully dressed, I don’t yet turn. Visit a brothel. Sample. Learn what I like.
It’s a good idea.
Nerves and excitement clash in a delicious dance in my belly. I’m going to do this. I’m really going to do this.
I will have everything I’ve ever wanted.
I T DOESN ’ T TAKE MUCH digging to find the perfect place. Not only has Alessandra been busy making her new edicts, but the people of Naxos have quickly made changes to accommodate the new laws. Women no longer have to wait until marriage to engage in sexual relations?
Then why not open a brothel dedicated to serving female clientele? Zanita’s boasts its “welcoming environment, enthusiastic and healthy workers, and complete discretion for any noblewoman wishing to partake,” according to the article in the paper Medora shows me. Its grand opening was just two weeks ago.
I arrange for a carriage to take me that very night.
Everything is lit by candles, rather than electricity, which of course adds a sensual air to the main receiving room. Having never been to a brothel before, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but something tells me this place is much classier than those the poor attend.
For one, all the prostitutes are more clothed than I expected. The men wear very tight pants. Some wear suspenders without shirts underneath. Others are barefoot with buttoned-down shirts left open. Everything is meant to entice, rather than give anything away. It’s tasteful while slightly scandalous.
Second, there are so many more male prostitutes than women, but there are female workers present, too. Many women of the nobility prefer female to male lovers, so it’s no surprise that Zanita’s has some of each. They all lounge on chairs and cushioned ottomans, talking or playing games of cards. You’d think this were no more than a gaming hall. It’s so relaxed and normal, clearly meant to ease the gentler patrons.
“Welcome,” the madam says, stepping forward out of the crowd. I assume she’s the madam, since she looks a bit older. “I’m Zanita. How can I help you?”
I hand over a hefty purse. “I’m here to sample your male workers.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Your Grace,” I correct her.
“Please forgive the oversight, Your Grace. It shan’t happen again.” Lady Zanita snaps her fingers. “Gentlemen, if you please.”
The men in the room immediately stop what they’re doing and line up against the far wall, shoulder to shoulder.
“Your advertisement claimed discretion,” I say, turning away from the dozens of well-muscled men.
“Indeed, Your Grace.”
“I would like to pay for house calls.”
“That’s not a problem. Who would you like to have accompany you home tonight?”
When it’s my first time? “Someone patient and gentle.”
“You will have to be more specific than that, Your Grace. These are professionals, all trained to see to your needs, not their own. Any one of them is capable of performing a perfect first-time experience.”
Is that so? Well, then.
I take a few steps closer and walk down the line of men. Some have pale ivory skin, some medium tones, like mine, and some so dark that their skin shines beautifully in the light. I make eye contact with each man. Some offer cheeky smiles, others wink, still more bite their lips as they look me up and down, making me feel wanted.
Professionals, indeed.
“Do you like working here?” I ask one at random. The question may be strange, but it feels like something I need to be sure of.
“Payment for sex?” the ebony-skinned man responds. “Isn’t that every man’s dream? Though it’s a special treat when someone as beautiful as you walks through those doors.”
I return my attention back to the madam. “I will try them all, starting with this one.” I point to the man who spoke.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Sandros, love, and what shall I call you?”
I rather like that word on his lips, so I say, “Love works just fine.”
T WO MONTHS FLY BY IN absolute bliss. Zanita was right. Each and every one of her workers is capable. I find that it is less their looks that impress me, since they’re all so beautiful, but more what they uniquely offer.
Thaddeus gives sensual massages before each session, claiming he loves to feel every inch of me before we start. Kallen likes to snuggle after lovemaking, cradling my body against his while I drift off to sleep. Soterios is determined to see to my needs three times before he lets himself get lost, saying women are a wonder in how they can perform again and again in rapid succession.
But Sandros is perhaps my favorite. Not just because he gave me a perfect, nearly painless first experience, but because he will spend hours kissing me during each session. As though he is ravenous for me. As though I am special to him.
And I show him that he is special to me by offering him gifts: sapphire cuff links, silk suits, expensive colognes, and anything else I’d love to see him wear. But my favorite is at night when he wears nothing at all.
I feel more relaxed and free than ever as I go about my life. I cannot wait to see the look on Alessandra’s face when I show up with Sandros in tow at her wedding.
While the workers toil the days away refurbishing the interior of the manor, I set my mind to the estate grounds. There is much to plan. Hedge mazes and gazebos and flowers. Water fountains, paving stones, and everything else I can think of. I meet with botanists and gardeners, more carpenters and stone masons.
The hedge maze is already nearly done. I paid extra to have mature plants transplanted here. The water fountain plumbing has been finished. I’m just waiting on the mason to finish the sculpture: a beautiful horse with its front legs kicking into the air.
New flowers and tree blossoms bring a sweet scent to the air, and the lawns are visibly greener, thanks to the professional who made some adjustments to the seed and soil.
The estate is already mine in name, but now it is looking it in appearance, too.
“You have a lovely smile, Your Grace,” Medora says as she helps me out of a new day dress in a pink pastel color, and into a nightgown of soft silk. I feel like I’m floating when I wear it, so I ordered ten of the exact same one in different colors. Tonight’s is a dazzling lavender with straps instead of sleeves.
“Thank you, Medora. It is nice to have reasons to smile every day.”
“Your smiles aren’t the only ones gracing the dukedom. You might not be aware of all the good your raises have done for the staff, but the footman, Doran, was able to pay for a treatment his mother desperately needed to help her back. Kyros bought new shoes for Nico. The lad is growing faster than Kyros can keep up with. I helped my parents make ends meet when they were short on their rent this month. You’ve done some real good here, Your Grace.”
Her words warm my heart. “I want this place to be a safe haven for everyone who lives here. I want all my staff to lack nothing they need.” They all deserve to feel safe and happy. I hadn’t realized how crucial that was until I finally began to experience it for myself.
Just after Medora leaves the room, Sandros appears in the doorway.
The look he gives me as he takes in my revealing nightgown makes my toes curl.
“I’m almost ready,” I say as I enter my washroom. “Make yourself comfortable.” I pull the spring flowers from my hair and brush it, my teeth, and take care of my nightly routine. While I wash my face, I think I might hear a sound over the running water. Perhaps Sandros moved across the room?
But as I dry my face on a pink towel, I hear a shout and the sounds of a scuffle.
My body goes rigid as a blast of fear shoots up my spine. I do a quick survey of my bathroom before my eyes land on my toothbrush. The handle is made out of silver, and the end comes to a slight point.
Holding my feeble weapon behind my back, I exit the washroom.
Only to find a man, one who is most assuredly not Sandros, sitting on my now-rumpled bed.