Page 8 of Trade of a Lifetime (Trade Wind 1)

Chapter Three

Lady Clara Chadbourne’s elegant glide across the white marble floor of the Lilac Room in Miss Smith’s Tearoom was not noteworthy. None of the ladies nodding politely from their own tables among the potted ferns could fault her pleasant expression or unhurried pace.

The Oak Room next door was for gentlemen only. Clara’s surreptitious glances from the anteroom separating the two confirmed that the decor differed as much as the mood.

Detailed botanical studies hung on glossy, dark wood paneling in the Oak Room, and heavy olive-green curtains shrouded the windows. Light entered the Lilac Room through the filmy lace curtains; its namesake white wallpaper featured clusters of pastel flowers.

Whereas the ladies handled their tea cups with restraint, the gentlemen lifted theirs past high collars to their mustachioed lips with flourish and flair.

Clara was so practiced in the ruthless suppression of any public display of enthusiasm or anticipation, it rankled not in the slightest to keep her mask in place as she made her way to her dear friend.

“Good day, Stella. I beg your pardon if I’m late.” She sat down at the round table draped in white linen and set with silver and china.

“Not at all, Clara. I arrived early.” Stella gave her a reassuring smile before signaling to the uniformed attendant circulating with a tea cart. Her china was untouched.

The two of them made a charming pair of similarly aged friends with opposite physical characteristics. Stella was petite in stature and frame, whereas Clara was tall and statuesque. Stella’s perfectly coiffed hair was blonde; her doll-like features classic, with porcelain skin and Wedgwood-blue eyes. Equally striking, Clara’s luminous dark hair set off her green eyes.

Today, they both wore gowns with popular fan-front bodices, the fabric gathered in a V-shape from shoulder to waist. Stella’s was pale amethyst with white pinstripes. Befitting her own coloring, Clara wore deep-indigo.

Miss Smith’s was quiet in the late morning, right after opening, and it was their haven. The Lilac Room was London’s only locale for ladies to meet in public and dine without male company—without harming their reputations.

Clara and Stella met every Monday, departing just before luncheon when the droves of busybodies arrived to sip, see, and be seen.

“I do believe the sun is determined to be accommodating today, Stella,” Clara declared as their tea was meticulously poured. “It’s decidedly less dreary today than yesterday.”

Sharing bland smiles over their steaming tea, the friends exchanged benign pleasantries while their chosen refreshments were arranged before them.

All the while, they willed the tea cart to rattle to life and meander away.

As soon as it did, Clara discarded all pretense, her eyes full of hope and curiosity. At last, they could turn to their favorite topic, coordinating their activities related to the London Ladies’ Society.

“Did you enter Sultan Hammam?”

“Sultan Hammam?” Stella repeated as if considering whether she recognized the name. She took a sip of tea, then silently resettled the cup in its saucer.

“How your angelic features beam as you toy with me so. Cruelty suits you,” she said without heat. London was abuzz over the new Turkish bathhouse.

Stella smiled. “Yes, I visited the proprietor and completed a tour. I do believe it will be the therapeutic experience we hoped after reading of it inThe Times. As expected, it’s open only to the male public.However, in light of the generous compensation we—you—offered, the owner agreed to a special arrangement after hours.”

“The most mobile of Violet House’s occupants shall be allowed to visit!” Clara pressed her hands together in excitement under the table. She ignored her favorite tea cakes, intent on hearing more. “What is it like there?”

“Like traveling abroad, I imagine. Tiles everywhere. Lanterns with cutouts casting shadows.” Stella shook her head. “The women of Violet House won’t have seen the like! And if the visits restore any well-being or health, even for a short while, all the more worthwhile.”

“We shall have to arrange transportation, and I already have ideas. But first, I’m curious. What will the visits entail?”

“It’s a procession through hot rooms, a cool bath, and finally, a cooling room. Merely touring it was rejuvenating!”

“I’m so grateful for our good fortune! Quite honestly, I didn’t expect this. They seemed so intent on gentlemen visitors only.”

“Good fortune, indeed.” Stella’s smile bore a hint of slyness.

Clara took a measured bite of jam-filled sponge cake, suspecting more to the story.

She found herself on a precipice between worlds again. There was hers, whose rules she was trained to uphold at all costs, and the intriguing parallel world she was brought up to ignore when possible and to abhor otherwise.

Stella’s birth, appearance, and demeanor were befitting to her presence at Miss Smith’s. Her current circumstances and profession, however, simply could not bear scrutiny.

What had started as a pleasant acquaintanceship between the two women developed into genuine friendship, not to mention the joint founding and stewardship of the London Ladies’ Society. The LLS was Clara’s antidote to an aimless life, even its goals weren’t socially acceptable.

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