She was beginning to wonder if the adventure had been worth the bother when a prancing black horse caught her attention. It frothed and fretted, tossing its head and stepping sideways, breaking an otherwise perfect formation, yet its rider did not seem inclined to curb it. Unlike his fellows, who looked straight ahead, he seemed to scan the crowd with interest. Tall and broad-shouldered, he managed the beast with ease. He wore no uniform and looked more like a cavalier than a Puritan. He must be an officer, and a wellborn one at that. Her heart thudded with girlish excitement. From a distance he appeared to be young and handsome, and much like the gallant rescuer she imagined in her daydreams. It was hard to get a good look at him, though, with his wide-brimmed hat pulled low, obscuring his features.
Interest piqued, she leaned out further, trying to get a better look, when a sudden scuffle behind her knocked her off balance and sent her tumbling to the street below. She lurched to her feet a moment before a shod hoof would have crushed her fingers, only to back into the hindquarters of a startled horse. When it shied away from her, its rider cursing, she slipped and almost fell again. Surrounded on all sides she dodged and darted, wooden shoes slipping on the muddy cobbles, trying to remain upright as she was buffeted from beast to beast. As her panic grew someone snarled and cuffed her and one man kicked her between the shoulders, growling for her to get out of the way. People were trampled to death in London every day and if she fell again—
A strong hand gripped the back of her dress and swung her up and into the air as easily as if she were a small child. Her rescuer deposited her in his lap, holding her tight with one arm, apparently heedless of his fine clothes and her muddy form.
“Apologies, my lady, for the rough handling and the loss of your shoes, but you seemed in imminent danger of being trampled.”
It was him! The man she’d watched but moments before. The man from her daydreams. He was real. He had come to her rescue. She had never been at a loss for words before, but now, when she desperately wanted to say something witty, charming, memorable, she was tongue-tied. “I…I…I…”
“There now, lass. Take a deep breath and don’t worry. You’ve had a scare and need some time to gather your wits.”
She almost moaned in frustration. He thought her a witless fool!
“You’re shivering. Sit close now, and share my warmth.” She was cold and she had nearly died. She sank against him, her arms wrapped tight around his waist, enjoying the feeling of comfort and safety, the strength she felt in his arms and chest, and the sound of another heart beating, just inches from her own. As he tucked his cloak around her she heard cheering from the crowd. She’d had no idea anyone was aware of her plight or cared if they were. Now she beamed and waved to them and they roared their approval.
Her companion chuckled. “I think we have brought some entertainment to an otherwise dull morning. I’m afraid you’ll have to ride it out with me the rest of the way. There’s no place to put you down safely until we reach the palace gates. Will that suit?”
She nodded, shy for the first time in her life.
“Excellent! You’re safe now, lass. And you’ve the best seat in the house. Relax and enjoy the view.”
She felt like a princess in his arms, and as unlikely as it might seem, she decided he was her prince. Why else had he passed her way this day? Why had she noticed him right away? How was it she had fallen just as he was passing and what made him save her when no one else had even tried? It didn’t matter if she found nothing to say this moment, for fate had brought him to her and he was destined to be hers.
Even so, she still wasn’t sure what he looked like. His hat was pulled low, keeping his face in shadow. She could tell he was young. She could tell he was handsome from his strong chin, firm mouth and white smile, but she couldn’t see his eyes.
When they reached the courtyard outside the palace gates, he used his horse as a bulwark against the crowd, making a little island in a corner by the wall. He dismounted first, then lifted her from the saddle as if she were light as air. He grinned and wiped a speck of dirt from her nose. Her face blazed with embarrassment, but his smile was kind and amused. “You’re hard to see, lass, under all of this.” He rubbed a dab of mud from her cheek with one finger. “But if you’re half as lovely as those eyes, you must be a vision.” He took her hand and bowed, as though she were a great lady, then slipped half a crown in her palm. “To replace your shoes, my lady.”
“Thank you, my lord. For saving my life.” They were the only words she could find. Her heart was pounding so loud it was a wonder he didn’t hear it.
“No lord I, lass. Just a humble soldier who stumbled upon a pixie on the way home. To catch one must mean luck of some kind. Stay safe, girl, and wish me well.”
She watched as he rode away. She didn’t know his eyes, she didn’t know his name, but she knew he was hers and she’d see him again. She caught one last glimpse of him as he passed through the castle gates. As if sensing her gaze upon him, he looked back at her and waved.
She started home with frozen toes, a smile she was sure would never go away, and the feeling she was walking on air. When she wasn’t humming to herself she broke into laughter or sudden bursts of song. Halfway there, she met two of her mother’s ladies accompanied by a burly doorman. They hurried over, breathless. They had been searching for her all morning. Her mother needed her at once.
The brothel was always humming with energy and noise. It rang with the sound of song and laughter, though the singing was drunken and off-key and the laughter often shrill. It smelled of braised beef, brandy and ale, stale perfume and stale sex. Silks and petticoats rustled up and down the stairs and in and out of the secret exit for those guests who preferred anonymity, and well-dressed gentlemen and partly dressed ladies wandered its halls.
Several of those who lived there were her friends. Her mother’s ladies often told her stories as they taught her how to mix perfume from oils and flowers, and how to paint her face and fix her hair. She wasn’t terribly interested in those lessons, but many of them were country girls and she loved their tales of princes and princesses, magical folk who granted wishes and careless girls who got lost in the wild. And now I have a story all my own.
They had told her other things, too, over the years. Things about men, though her mother had been careful to keep her away from the customers. How to soothe them, how to excite them and how to give them pleasure. How to use a beeswax cap or silk-covered sponge to prevent an unwanted baby, and a sheath to protect against a man who appeared diseased. Between their frank talk and what she’d witnessed through open doors, around corners and in supposedly quiet corridors she’d seen enough of naked husbands and great lords, callow young men and randy soldiers, to feel she didn’t need or want to learn any more. That’s not love. Love was what she wanted. And she’d found her true love today.
Not that her mother would approve. From early on, her mother tried to instill in her the importance of wise commerce. It was how she herself rose from the ranks of drabs prowling London’s streets, working in alleys with their backs against a wall, to become a prosperous woman of affairs. But I don’t have to be like her. I don’t and I won’t.
She was hurried up to her room with a great deal of fussing and clucking, only to find her mother waiting with a warm smile and a cup of hot chocolate. She eyed her warily and clutched her kitten defensively. Her mother was not one for kind gestures or maternal concern.
“Well, here you are, lovey. And just in time. Today’s a very special day for you indeed.”
Hope blinked, confused. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“You’ve grown up within these walls, girl. You understand. Today you take up your duties as a woman. You’ve had a roof over your head all these years and plenty to eat, too. That’s more than many a poor lamb in London can say. But you are a woman now. Your courses started last month. Your greatest possession besides beauty is your maidenhead. A jewel that is. A thing of great value. Something a woman can give