“What happened?” Katherine asked with far too much joy to suit Caroline.

“I thought him tedious, that’s all. And besides, his formal engagement to a Weslorian heiress will be announced by the end of summer. It’s been arranged.”

All three ladies stopped tittering and stared at her. “Really?” Felicity asked, incredulous. “Arranged? But...but I’ve heard he’s been in London sowing his oats.”

“Of course he is sowing his oats,” Priscilla scoffed. “Everyone is working to gain an introduction. And he’s far from home—he can do what he likes.”

“But...he and Mr. Frame called on a brothel just this week!” Felicity whispered loudly. “I heard that he took the woman with him.”

Caroline jerked her gaze to Felicity. “I beg your pardon, he did what?”

“Took her,” Felicity said. “He left the establishment with the...woman.”

“Took her where?” Katherine asked.

“You know,” Felicity said, her face turning red. “To his...castle, or what have you.”

Caroline felt a sour twist in her belly. She thought him a rake, but that was despicable. “Are you certain, Felicity? You don’t suppose you misheard?”

“Yes, I’m certain! Mr. Frame’s sister is a dear friend of mine, and she told me. She had quite a row with her brother about it, which threatens to ruin all of Christmas.”

“We are months away from Christmas,” Katherine pointed out.

“That’s how bad their row was.”

Katherine looked at Caroline.

Caroline wouldn’t give her the least bit of disappointment. “Well, I’m not terribly surprised. He’s a prince, and it goes without saying that he’ll soon be engaged, no matter his conduct. But if it were me, I’d not want my daughter anywhere near him.”

“Not your daughter, but perhaps you?” Katherine asked with a devious laugh.

“After the brothels and maids? Certainly not!” Caroline said primly.

“The maids! What maids?” Priscilla exclaimed as she took the lid off the box and pulled out the pattern Caroline had made.

She hadn’t meant to say that. She hadn’t meant to tell all the man’s secrets, particularly as it related to her house. She stood up and walked across the room to join Priscilla. “I’ve heard rumors that he has, from time to time, taken up with a housemaid here and there, that’s all.”

“What house?” Priscilla asked, looking properly offended.

“Oh, I don’t know, really.” Caroline unfurled the muslin pattern. “My point is that he’s a prince in name only. He’s a rake by any other name.”

“But this is so damning,” Katherine said as she rose from her seat so that she might have a look at the pattern, too.

Caroline did not miss the look that Katherine exchanged with Felicity. She didn’t like that look. It was rather judgmental. Of her? Or the prince? It hardly mattered—Prince Leopold was corrupting her maid, and Caroline was both irate and envious, and suddenly very tired, and she wanted nothing to do with him. Not much, anyway.

“I should tell Lady Montgomery about this,” Priscilla announced. “She would not like that sort of scandal at her ball. You know how she is.”

Caroline had said too much. “I do,” she agreed. “Perhaps we ought not to upset her with gossip.”

“Caroline! Are you making this gown?” Felicity asked.

“I am.”

“Astonishing! Will you make me one?” Felicity asked.

“Oh, darling, you must!” Priscilla agreed, and passed the dog she was holding to Caroline so that she could hold out the sleeves of the muslin.

When Caroline left Priscilla’s salon, she had orders for two more gowns. Both for Felicity, however. Katherine Maugham had eyed the gown with envy but could not bring herself to ask Caroline to make her one.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN


The guest list for the highly anticipated Montgomery ball has allegedly been culled by one. This should be a reminder to us all that even a prince of a man may be hiding some sordid secrets that no respectable young lady would want to introduce to her family.

It is said that a well-heeled gentleman, higher in social stature than most, has been spotted in some unsavory locations. It is rumored that this particular gentleman might have removed a skirt quite light in its appearance and placed it in the kitchen of a fine house. Several theories abound as to why, but the most sordid one is certainly the most plausible.

Ladies, it is suggested, if you are inclined toward canine companions, that you endeavor to open your windows and employ a broom so as not to offend your guests with uncomfortable smells and unwanted hair on the hem of skirts.

—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and


Domesticity for Ladies

IT TOOK A few days before Leo could persuade Mr. Frame to take him to the brothel he’d bragged about. But Mr. Frame, who had heretofore not shown any inclination toward morality, had suddenly developed one when it came to Leo. He thought it unseemly for a prince to make such a call. Leo didn’t know if he should be offended or pleased that a man he hardly knew thought to step in as his moral compass.

In the end, however, Mr. Frame was persuaded by a promise of a rare bottle of Alucian wine to be delivered to his home...just as soon as Leo had it delivered to London.

Fortunately, Mrs. Mansfield, the proprietor of this decrepit house, so wretchedly dark and dank within, did not know who Leo was, other than someone she had deemed important and thereby felt entirely comfortable demanding an outrageous amount of coin to meet Isidora Avalie. “Yes, of course! Winsome lass, that one,” Mrs. Mansfield had said, as she’d plucked at the loose threads on the arm of her chair. The woman’s girth alone was testament to the success of her despicable enterprise. On a table beside her was decanted wine and a plate of meats and cheeses and nuts, as if she planned to snack her way through the evening while women were subjected to God knew what in the rooms one reached through a very dark and narrow flight of stairs.

“It’s quite a compliment to ask for her by name,” Mrs. Mansfield continued, eyeing his clothing. “You look familiar, my lord. Have you visited us before?”

“How much for the girl?” Leo asked coolly.

“Well, she’s one of my best, she is. She’s Weslorian, you know, and they are particularly skilled in the art of pleasure. I get the highest coin for her.”

Leo never resorted to violence. Even in his youth, he’d avoided tumbles with friends—the thought of striking someone or something nauseated him. But he’d never wanted to punch someone in the mouth quite like he wanted to punch the leering smile off of Mrs. Mansfield.

He negotiated what was an extortionist’s rate for the lass, and when he handed over the money, Mrs. Mansfield hoisted herself from the chair and beckoned him to follow. She showed him to a small shabby room with a worn red velvet settee that looked as if it had been host to any number of gentlemen’s asses. There was a narrow gag-inducing bed in the corner, the sheets rumpled from use. Mrs. Mansfield summoned Isidora Avalie from somewhere behind a door in the room. “Hurry along girl, there’s a gentleman asking specially for you.”

Isidora entered the room timidly. She looked very uncomfortable, clad as she was in scarcely a dressing gown. She had dark hair and dark eyes, but Leo was struck by how vacant her eyes looked. She stared at him blankly for a moment then cast her gaze to the floor.

“What are you doing standing there?” Mrs. Mansfield said irritably to the girl and pushed her into the middle of the room, so that she was standing directly before Leo.

“You have an hour, milord,” Mrs. Mansfield said. “I’ll knock on the door ten minutes to, and give you time to dress.” And with that, she’d gone out.

Isidora did not look up. She was trembling. “Bon den,” he said. Good evening. “Weslorina?”

He hadn’t meant to startle her; he’d meant to assure her by speaking her native language. But the language panicked her. She’d turned and lunged for the door, but Leo was able to leap ahead of her to keep her from leaving before he could speak. She tearfully begged him in Weslorian and English not to hurt her, to let her go.

“For God’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you,” he’d insisted.

“Why?”

“Because I do, Isidora. You deserve better than this life. Help me find the others, help me bring the men who did this to you to justice.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You do,” he said gently but firmly. “Allow me to help you and the others.”

She immediately dissolved into tears. “I can’t,” she said tearfully. “They will force my father to give back the money. My family won’t take me back, not after this. I’ll have no place to go but the street—”

“You do have a place,” he said, although he had no idea where she might go—he would have to think of it. But he would think of something.

He gestured for her to sit on the foul settee and tell him how she’d gotten here. Her family was from the mountains of Wesloria, on the border with Alucia, she said. He knew the mountains were an impoverished part of both countries. Most of the men there worked in the coal mines. She said a gentleman had come and offered quite a lot of money to her father for her. She said her father took it to save the rest of the family from starvation.

Leo vaguely recalled his brother talking about the lack of economic opportunity, particularly in some parts of the country. Leo had barely registered the conversation, as he did any topic that seemed too weighty, because he had long been a man who didn’t want to bother himself with anything of importance. Isidora had been sold so a man could feed the rest of his children. Leo could not imagine what it must be like to live with nothing, or the sort of desperation the man must have felt that would allow him to sell one daughter to save his family.