Page 43 of A Royal Kiss & Tell
“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 sodamning,” 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
ITTOOKAfew 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.
