Chapter Eleven
The Petals’ Plan
Eleanor sat at the breakfast table, knowing no amount of dirty dishwater coffee was going to help today, but she was drinking the stuff out of habit.
The porridge was marginally better this morning, as it didn’t stick to the spoon so heavily.
Not that it mattered. Eleanor would have forced the food down no matter the consistency.
With each spoonful and sip of coffee, she tried to shake off the remnants of last night’s dream.
It’d been more vivid than previous nights and it was clinging to her, much like her porridge to the spoon.
Eleanor wasn’t sure if her run in with a certain lord—the Dark Star—last night contributed to her poor sleep.
She absentmindedly rubbed at her chest while she remembered how it felt to be held by him.
She took a ragged breath, as she remembered how his soft but firm touch from his fingers had felt on her skin.
That noble, the Dark Star, whoever he was, was not for her.
Affection was not for her. She would have to stay well away from him while she was at court and then she’d have to forget about him.
It almost pained her to think she’d have to leave him alone to his life without her.
After everything Eleanor had been through, it was no surprise that a bad night’s sleep perpetually plagued her.
The way she’d managed—barely—over the years was to fill her nights with either booze or bloodshed.
Since coming to The Ladies Grace, she’d swapped a brawl for a bottle, but it seemed that had stopped working.
She mused that maybe she needed to mix the two, a few too many drinks could lead to a good fight.
She relished the thought as she picked up the conversation happening around the table.
“Lord Stonguard wasn’t shy about his attraction to me,” Lucy said in a smug tone.
“What about Lord Forgen or Lord Glaedeston?” Veronica asked, while her eyes remained fixed on her book.
Her fingers traced the edges of her violet patterned headscarf, a seemingly mindless action that drew attention to the rich dark brown hair hidden beneath.
The absence of her usual cloth-strip plaits was unusual for Veronica, and it drew Eleanor’s attention from her morose musings.
Veronica wasn’t the only one wearing a brighter, newer accessory.
The Bellas looked like they’d dressed up, as if they were expecting a particular client to arrive at any moment for breakfast. Their hair was adorned with vibrant scarves, which also draped elegantly over their brightly coloured dressing gowns, adding another layer of colour and texture to their appearance.
Eleanor didn’t think the ladies had enough money to buy new scarves or dressing gowns, unless… they were gifts.
“Lord Glaedeston has a Favour,” Calla replied.
“So? Who’s saying she’ll last?” Mirabella said coyly.
Calla and Lauressa giggled next to Milk, causing Annabella to narrow her eyes at the women. “I don’t know what you pair find so funny.”
“Lord Holen’s wife looked unhappy when the courtesans from the Moonlight House offered to take him for the night,” Iris said, as she tucked a loose strand of her dark hair into her scarf that was simply wrapped around her hair.
“She had such a sour face, liked she’d sucked on a lemon,” Calla snickered.
“Because they asked about fucking her husband in front of her while she’s pregnant,” Jasmine replied in a dry tone.
Milk coughed and spluttered his coffee over the table. Cookie clapped him on his back to help his fellow bedmate breathe past the coffee he’d just inhaled. Cookie’s slaps were so hard that he managed to dislodge Milk’s bright orange headscarf.
“With his daughter and Favour next to her,” Iris added in a harsh tone.
Eleanor sighed into her weak coffee as Julia mopped up Milk’s coffee spray on the table.
They were getting short with one another and weary of the fierce looks from the court ladies.
Initially, it was amusing to them all, especially since the courtiers giving the venomous looks already had husbands with a Favour.
On the first night in the palace, Calla went as far as approaching some snooty court ladies about joining the Petals.
The courtiers appeared so astounded by the suggestion, almost causing someone to faint.
Eleanor wasn’t sure if that was true, as it depended on who was retelling the account.
But it was a story that never failed to produce sniggers from everyone, especially with Jasmine’s haughty imitation of the court ladies.
Yet, there was an increasing separation each day between the courtesans and the other ladies at The Ladies Grace.
“Perhaps Lord Forgen and Lord Stonguard will want to share Favours like His Grace and His Lordship,” Mirabella said.
“His Lordship?” Lucy asked.
Eleanor also found the title confusing; it wasn’t one she was familiar with.
Annabella rolled her eyes, as if this question was a massive inconvenience to her.
“ The marquis , dimwit. That’s what everyone calls him,” she replied haughtily, while she sipped her contraceptive tea with her little finger pointed out.
Eleanor did not know how the woman was sipping the damned brew like it was actually pleasurable; it tasted like feet and smelled like it too.
“Because it’s his title, fool, ” snapped Veronica. Despite her book being open in front of her while she was eating, she was listening to the conversation.
“We could gamble with him,” mused Iris, ignoring Veronica.
Mirabella scoffed into her cup while Annabella sneered, “and how are you going to manage that?”
“ Everyone knows he gambles in debts, not money,” Veronica said, as she tucked a stray tassel into the violet scarf that was wrapped around her thick, dark hair.
Eleanor stopped herself from huffing out a breath as the chipped teapot had made its tour of the table to her. She was not in the mood to catch a nose full of the burnt smoky aniseed, any more than necessary.
“Money is beneath him. He won’t taint himself with it,” Lauressa said defiantly.
“I’m happy to taint myself with his money for him,” Milk mumbled.
This time Cookie snorted into his coffee, but it only spilled over his cup. Milk smiled a thanks at Julia as he took the cloth to dry the table.
“He takes payment in full, ” Calla said with an emphasis, “from the lords that lose to him.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cookie muttered over the giggling coming from Lauressa and Calla’s end of the table.
Veronica rolled her eyes. “He sleeps with the lord’s wives as payment.”
“Or adds them to his orgies,” Lucy said, waggling her dark brows over her cup of the grim tasting brew.
“He's sired some of their heirs, but no-one will admit it,” Mirabella added in a salacious tone, with a sly smile on her lips, making Eleanor suspect there was something more behind her words.
An uneasy feeling washed over Eleanor, a feeling far deeper than the smell of the mouldy cheese and the sight of the sludge-like porridge.
Like generals plotting a campaign, the courtesans discussed their strategies, their eyes glittering with enthusiasm as they detailed their plans to captivate as many courtiers as possible.
She disliked the Petals' blatant discussions of their plans to ensnare the unsuspecting lords, their hushed tones grating on her nerves.
Was this what life had truly boiled down to, for everyone to relentlessly strive for a better life like this?
“You’ve all had plenty of evenings to catch His Grace and His Lordship ’s attention.
I doubt you will now. They’ll be begging Mirabella and me to be their Favours next Season.
” Annabella declared, her eyes narrowed to slits as she focused on the top of Veronica’s head.
Veronica's eyes were once again glued to her book, and she had returned to her earlier pretence of ignoring everyone in the room.
“We’ll see. The Collection starts next week,” Iris said flatly, as she helped herself to the teapot.
Eleanor nearly spilled her disgusting contraceptive tea.
Next week…?
The week-long bidding on the Courtesans determined who would become a Favour. A bidding war that Eleanor wanted no part of and had no control over.
Iris continued talking as she skilfully avoiding the chipped spout. “It never takes the lords long to realise if they want you or not.”
“And they would never go for you,” Jasmine added with a pointed look at Annabella.
“And why not?” Mirabella pouted, sticking her pink rosebud lips out as much as she could. Eleanor wasn’t certain if it was an act or simply her inclination for juvenile behaviour.
“Besides His Lordship being the richest noble, aside from the king—” Iris pointed out.
“Doubtful,” Lucy muttered loudly, as she determinedly buttered what she could of the stale bread.
Ignoring Lucy's interruption, Iris continued, “and he would need an equally noble wife to be a good match for him and for their heirs.”
“Why would a noble wife want her husband’s riches shared with a Favour?
” Jasmine added and pulled her patterned shawl over her shoulders.
Despite the fading of its once-vibrant hues to a soft, muted palette, the shawl Jasmine wore felt incredibly precious, a comfortable and familiar garment that was like a second skin to her.
“Lord Littlcharred doesn’t think so,” Veronica muttered into her book.
The cold draft, sharp and biting, snaked through the gaps in the kitchen window frames, making the women pull their shawls tighter around them. Yet, the chill of Veronica's words settled far deeper, casting a heavier mood over the morning's gathering.
“Oh, no? That lord of yours could do no wrong,” Annabella sneered.
“You’ll need to be careful with that one, flower ,” Iris cautioned. “Keep your wits about you. You never know.”
Veronica snapped her book shut. “He’s not like that. The others might be, but he’s not. He’s good and kind.”
Eleanor, along with Milk and Jasmine, couldn’t resist the urge to roll their eyes at that comment. Young and na?ve was a recipe for disaster.
“Whatever happens, your debt to the old bat will need paying, in full ,” Iris reminded her and all of them.
Eleanor doubted whether this lord of Veronica’s could pay her debt, as she’d been at The Ladies Grace longer than Eleanor.
They’d all known their debts had steadily increased the longer they were at The Ladies Grace and Madam Grace wouldn’t hesitate to add future debts.
If Lord Littlcharred, whoever he was, was landed, then it was possible he could afford Veronica’s debt, but who was she to shatter the young woman’s dreams by bringing her crashing back to reality?
Veronica and some of the other younger ladies believed in stories where the handsome prince would appear and save his beautiful princess for a happy and loving life together forever.
Those were stories for children.
Eleanor lived in the real world where handsome princes didn’t save anyone except himself, and the princess would stay where she belonged, with the villain, alone and forgotten, forever.
“Well…at least I have a lord interested in me,” Veronica said.
Before Iris could say anything, Annabella replied for her. “Look at you, one lord looks your way and you’re all high and mighty.”
“And what about you? Are any of your clients interested?” Lucy said, although her question wasn’t one she wanted an answer to. “Didn’t think so.”
Eleanor moved from the bench, trying to ignore where this conversation was leading to, and placed her plate in the sink for Julia to wash.
“You think you’re all high and mighty now you’re a courtesan ,” Mirabella said in a snide tone that stemmed from a place of jealousy.
With a sigh, Eleanor refilled her chipped cup with the aspiring coffee, its muddy appearance caused her to gaze into the depths of the liquid. She felt the storm brewing.
“Really? That’s what you got from what I said?” Lucy snapped.
As she returned to her seat on the bench, Eleanor cast a watchful eye over the Bellas, her attention now focused on the unfolding conversation.
“You think you’re better than us now?” Annabella added.
“I know I’m better than you, and when I become a Favour, then I’ll have the jewels to prove it,” Lucy shot back.
A grimace twisted Eleanor's features as she recoiled from the unpleasant, gritty taste in her cup.
“We know where you came from. No matter how many of those fancy-arse jewels you wear, you’ll be just like the rest of us.”
“We’ll see,” sneered Lucy.
Eleanor wasn’t surprised that it had come down to this, and she was intimately familiar with this type of fighting, even though there were now more positions, but at its core, there were similarities.
For some reason, being chosen to attend the party palace led the courtesans to believe they were all friends due to the shared experience.
In turn, making Eleanor their ally in this growing rift in the pleasure house.
She was tired of it all.
All the fighting, snide remarks, and bitter looks that were shared between the courtesans and ladies in the pleasure house.
The open hostility wasn’t limited to The Ladies Grace, there was squabbling between all three factions of women: The courtesans, who were each vying for a Favour’s position.
The Favours who were protecting their precarious positions.
The noble ladies, who were competing for special attention for a suitably wealthy husband.
Eleanor had seen the veiled animosity between them all, though they’d done their best to mask it.
All in the name of pursuing and furthering their own status in the world. To improve their status meant power, and that’s what this was about. For those who had it, those who wanted it, and those who coveted it.
None of them fooled Eleanor. On the surface, it might appear that they desired a complicated title, shiny jewels, and sparkling dresses, but these were merely decorative adornments for what it represented.
Power.
And the handsome-looking lord was the gatekeeper to this world for them.