A Courtesan's Worth

Book 2: Gentlemen of London

by Felicity George

Genres: Regency Romance

Synopsis

BRIDGERTON meets MOULIN ROUGE in this sexy, heartwarming and unputdownable opposites-attract Regency!

'A gorgeous, captivating Regency romance' SOPHIE IRWIN

'A smart story, compelling writing and a big smile on any reader's face when they finish' JODI ELLEN MALPAS

A mistress cannot marry for love...

As one of the famous Preece sisters, Kitty is the most sought-after courtesan in London. But with the vicious Duke of Gillingham scaring away any man who looks her way, securing a new arrangement with a wealthy gentleman will be no easy feat. Kitty's only hope to find someone suitable is through her loyal and cherished friend, the Reverend Sidney Wakefield.

Sidney has devoted his life to the church, but it was never by choice. He is a writer and Kitty his muse. As he is roped into Kitty's plotting, he begins to realise that protecting her from the malevolent Duke comes at a price - and it might mean losing Kitty to someone else entirely.

As Kitty and Sidney try to find a way out, it becomes clear that years of friendship have developed into something deeper. Except that they are from different worlds and Kitty's heart has never been hers to give away...

YOUR FAVOURITE AUTHORS LOVE A COURTESAN'S WORTH

'Irresistibly sexy ... I adored every scintillating page' Jessica Bull

'A dark and seductively dangerous Regency world - think Bridgerton meets Moulin Rouge - where everything, especially love, has a high price' Emma Orchard

Release date: July 6, 2023

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 336

Sample

After the Wedding of Lord and Lady Holbrook …

The Reverend Sidney Wakefield hopped down from Dr Alexander Mitchell’s carriage, his booted feet landing squarely on the pavement before number twenty-nine Half Moon Street. He stretched his long legs. Seven hours on the road had left his muscles tightly sprung, eager for movement. He would run later that night, he decided, once he had settled whatever business awaited after a week’s absence in Suffolk for his friend Nicholas’s wedding to the former Lady Margaret Fairchild.

Sidney shifted a flowerpot of sweet peas from one hand to the other as he glanced at the lowering sun. He wanted to deliver the blossoms to Mount Street soon, so he could give them to his favourite four-year-old before she snuggled into bed. Tonight, the sweet peas could rest beside Ada-Marie’s cot and fragrance her dreams; tomorrow, she could plant them in the jardinière outside her nursery window. Although Ada-Marie’s eyes wouldn’t see the pink and purple blooms, she’d delight in their sweet perfume and the softness of the frilled petals.

With a bit of luck, Sidney would also have a chance to talk with his dear friend Kitty Preece, Ada-Marie’s guardian, and assess how she’d fared in the past sennight. Kitty’s mind had been troubled lately, and Sidney worried for her.

As his housemates John Tyrold and Lord Edward Matlock disembarked from Alexander’s carriage, a miaow arrested Sidney’s attention. He smiled at the massive ginger tabby rubbing himself against the iron railing in front of the five-storey brick terrace.

He reached down to ruffle his pet’s thick fur. ‘Did you miss me, Marmalade?’

The cat purred but otherwise didn’t deign to answer.

The front door of number twenty-nine swung open, and Mrs Smith, the housekeeper, emerged, followed by her husband and their niece, Ellen. Together, they comprised the staff of the bachelor abode, serving John, Edward and Sidney.

Mrs Smith put her hands on her hips as Mr Smith attended to the portmanteaux. ‘So you lot are back, are you? Well, don’t scuff up the floor with your filthy boots, for I’ve given this house a top-to-bottom and back again in the last four days, and Gad’s me, it needed it.’ Her gaze fell on Sidney, and her eyes softened. ‘Your quarters weren’t too dreadful, lamb. It’s them I despair of.’ She glared at John and Edward. ‘Lord Edward’s got his paints and brushes in such disarray and his studio reeked to the heavens of turpentine, and as for you, Mr Tyrold, I couldn’t find the top of your desk for your stacks of dusty papers—’

‘Which,’ John interrupted, a thundercloud upon his brow, ‘you’d better not have touched, Mrs Smith, lest you’ve jumbled my fortune and we end on the streets because I cannot set it to rights.’

Sidney smothered a smile. John was only teasing, and Mrs Smith knew it. There was no chance of John’s fortune being lost; his assets totalled to about four million pounds, making him one of the richest men in Britain. But grey-haired Mrs Smith loved to badger her employer. John allowed it (although he’d take no such thing from any other soul), but he retaliated relentlessly.

When Marmalade meandered off, evidently tired of being petted, and Dr Mitchell’s carriage departed, Sidney bounded up the stoop with Ada-Marie’s blooms in hand. The heady scent of Mrs Smith’s beeswax polish hit him as he crossed the threshold into the wood-panelled entrance vestibule with John and Edward at his heels. Edward ran upstairs without a word, but John perused a stack of correspondence on a side table. Sidney placed the flowerpot by the door, ready for his imminent departure for Mount Street, and headed towards the narrow stairs to change his clothes.

John halted his progress by tossing him a sealed letter. ‘Something for you, Sid.’

Sidney caught it, glanced at the unfamiliar hand, ripped the wafer seal, and read – Duffy and Ward, Publishers, Paternoster Row.

Sidney’s heart pummelled his chest – he hadn’t dared hope for this response yet. Breathless, he skimmed the words.

8 July 1813

Dear Mr Wakefield,

Mr Duffy and I … pleased to offer … exclusive publishers and distributors of the three enchanting manuscripts which you delivered last month … propose an August publication date for first … readers will delight in the love story of Mr Villeur and Charlotte as much as we did … trust you will find our terms of settlement more than satisfactory … I have the honour of being, etc., Mr C Ward.

Too elated to read comprehensively, Sidney clasped the letter to his heart and whispered his gratitude to the heavens. Here, at last, was the answer to countless prayers, and not a moment too soon.

‘All well, Sid?’ John peered over his own post , his green eyes sharp.

Sidney’s chest expanded. ‘Oh, John, it’s never, ever been better!’

John’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t get excited. John never got overexcited. ‘Best let me have a look at that letter, my boy.’

Sidney shook his head. ‘Later, John. There’s someone else I must tell first.’

John’s lips thinned. ‘Off to Mount Street with you, then,’ he said gruffly as he returned to reading.

With warm blood coursing to his every extremity, Sidney dashed up two flights of stairs to his spartan chambers. Clearly, Nicky’s lovely wedding was a harbinger of joy. The world was a beautiful place. Love and goodness abounded.

Still beaming like a boy, Sidney plucked his finest coat from his wardrobe and laid it upon the thin mattress of his wooden bed, along with a pair of buff trousers. He peeled off his travelling clothes, washed his lean body, and checked his reflection in his tarnished mirror. He could do with a fresh shave, he decided.

From a drawer, Sidney withdrew a Wedgwood bowl of sandalwood shaving soap, a luxurious gift which he used only on special occasions. He’d look his best tonight, come what may.

Sidney enquired for Kitty when the butler opened the cherry-red door of the Preece sisters’ grand house on Mount Street, but Mr Dodwell shook his head.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Kitty and her sisters are out for the evening.’

‘Where?’ Sidney asked eagerly, as he stood on the stoop holding the sweet peas and a recently purchased present for Kitty. He’d meet up with them wherever they’d gone.

Mr Dodwell hesitated, and Sidney was about to reach for a precious coin when a familiar man appeared on the grand central staircase beyond the butler’s shoulder.

‘Mon Dieu, Monsieur Dodwell,’ cried Kitty’s dresser, Philippe, his blue eyes shining under his forward-brushed sandy locks. ‘Miss Kitty would not like you to leave her good friend Monsieur Wakefield waiting for an answer.’ The tall Frenchman, who dressed with an understated elegance to rival Brummell, glided to the door. ‘Mon bon monsieur, les mademoiselles left for Vauxhall half an hour ago.’

Ah, all was not lost. Sidney could join Kitty at the Pleasure Gardens.

Philippe extended his hands. ‘Would monsieur like Philippe to place the flowers and package in Miss Kitty’s chambers?’

‘The flowers are for Ada-Marie. Might I take them to her if she is not yet abed?’

‘Alas, the children are asleep, monsieur.’

Sidney couldn’t take a flowerpot to Vauxhall. ‘Would you ask Nanny Ashcroft to put them beside Ada-Marie’s cot? To give her sweet dreams?’

Philippe accepted the sweet peas, burrowed his nose among the blooms, and inhaled. When he glanced up, his face shone. ‘Les beaux rêves en valent la peine.’

Sidney grinned.

Beautiful dreams were worth it, indeed.

Kitty Preece stepped from the bow of a Thames wherry and planted her gold-slippered feet on the shingle. Her four dark-haired sisters, gowned in silks which glistened in the amber rays of the setting sun, clustered together near the Vauxhall stairs as passengers emptied from dozens of lantern-lit boats along the Lambeth bank.

Kitty gathered her breath and squared her shoulders.

Tonight was the night.

She strode towards the stairs as lilting music and peals of laughter emerged from behind the Pleasure Gardens’ walls. Among Vauxhall’s myriad of multicoloured oil lamps and shadowy paths, Kitty must find a yet-unknown gentleman tonight and secure an offer of arrangement – a left-handed marriage, as it was termed – and thereby free herself from the despicable Duke of Gillingham, set to take her as his mistress in a month.

It ought to be a minor feat for the most desirable courtesan in London, but for the last month, Kitty hadn’t had a single stroke of luck. The marquess she’d hoped to hook had stopped calling, gentlemen shied away when she promenaded in Hyde Park, and no man but Gillingham had stood up with her at the last three of the Preece sisters’ famous Thursday evening entertainments.

Now time was running out. Her arrangement with Gillingham was set to commence in August, but if she didn’t ensnare a wealthy keeper this week, her chance would be lost. Within days, the haut ton would abandon London’s stifling heat for the shade-dappled parkland of country estates.

A wind swelled along the Thames, intensifying the river’s stench, and ruffling the single layer of translucent silk gauze that comprised Kitty’s gown. Matilda, the eldest of Kitty’s four courtesan sisters, leaned on Kitty’s arm as they trudged up the moss-damp steps. When they reached the top, Matilda paused under the glow of a street lamp and shivered as she examined Kitty from delicate laced slippers to gold-ribboned coiffure.

‘Philippe outdid himself tonight,’ she said, breathless from the climb.

‘He calls it Venus in gold and white.’ Kitty laughed as she elevated her arm skyward and posed like a marble statue, as her dresser, Philippe, had demonstrated earlier. The gold armlets positioned halfway between Kitty’s elbow and shoulder blazed momentarily as the last rays of the sun slipped behind the distilleries and lumber yards on the far side of the river.

‘Your gown is near as wispy as gossamer.’ Matilda tilted her head, and the corkscrew curls which framed her plump face bobbed. ‘But so cleverly draped as to not give it all away. Lovely, of course, for your figure is as pert as ever, Kitty-cat. If the duke is here tonight, he’ll be beside himself, the old goat.’ Matilda chuckled and coughed as the pedestrians spilling over the Vauxhall stairs thrust the sisters towards the elongated aquamarine awning of the Pleasure Gardens’ water-gate entrance.

Kitty bristled among the jostling merrymakers. For the first time in the thirteen years of her profession, Kitty disagreed with Matilda about her choice for Kitty’s next keeper – the man Kitty would reward with exclusive rights to her elegant body for as long as he desired, in exchange for her upkeep.

The Duke of Gillingham was wealthy and powerful, but he’d maltreated his eldest son. Kitty’s stomach heaved when she remembered how Gillingham had wrenched the frightened young man from her bed and sent him quaking to Spain to fight for Wellington. The day Richard had sailed, the duke had paid Matilda a thousand pounds upfront for Kitty, with an offer of one hundred more monthly. It was a fortune much needed by the sisters now that Matilda and Barbara – both well past thirty and with twelve children between them – attracted less attention.

Only after days of Kitty’s pleading did Matilda request a two-month reprieve, allegedly so Kitty’s heart could heal from the severance of her year-long arrangement with the duke’s son. But Kitty had deceived Matilda and the duke with that lie, for while she’d liked Richard well enough, she wanted the reprieve to find anyone other than Gillingham to replace him.

As Kitty and her sisters stood in the entrance queue, Matilda’s cough intensified. She hacked until her blue eyes watered and dampness glistened on her forehead. Kitty’s heart twisted. Her eldest sister suffered from an infection of the lungs that had been exacerbated by a cold during her most recent confinement.

Kitty burrowed a hand into Matilda’s red reticule and drew out a flask. ‘Here, dearest.’ She pulled Matilda aside near the double-door entry and motioned with her chin for her other sisters to wait. ‘A sip or two as needed, Dr Mitchell said.’

She rubbed her sister’s back as Matilda swallowed the herbal brew. The aroma of liquorice, hyssop, and honey permeated the evening air.

Kitty restored the flask to the bag and dabbed away a tear on Matilda’s pink cheek, careful not to smudge her sister’s rouge. ‘Ready now?’

Matilda nodded. ‘You go first, my beautiful Kitty-cat.’

It was time for five ladies of the night to enter the Garden of Pleasure.

Kitty flashed her bronzed-medallion season token at the tailcoated ticket-taker, and, with her sisters following, she sashayed through the doors into a burst of light, music and laughter. Vauxhall glittered like a star-strewn sky. Tens of thousands of illuminated glass globes nestled in trees and draped pavilions. A two-tiered orchestra box sparkled as the musicians played jigs for dancing couples, while acrobats performed before wide-eyed children who clung to their parents’ hands.

In a semicircle around the entrance, other customers’ heads turned. Their jaws dropped at the delicate gown which displayed most of Kitty’s spectacular bosom. With her chin aloft, Kitty assumed her position in the formation she and her sisters had perfected: a vee, with Kitty in the front like the proud figurehead of a ship, Matilda and Barbara flanking her two steps behind, a pair of queens slipping past their prime but noble yet in their diamonds and silks, and Jenny and Amy in the back, fresh-faced butterflies blowing kisses to slack-jawed youths.

The crowds parted before them. Debutantes flushed scarlet, their eyes bulging as their pursed-lipped mamas grasped their elbows and propelled them away. Plumed dowagers peered down their long noses with curled lips. Bewigged waiters winked cheekily as they bustled from the kitchens towards the tables, white towels slung over their forearms and silver platters held high.

A modish society lady, draped in pearls, fluttered her fan. ‘Sluts,’ she exclaimed to a scarlet-cheeked friend. ‘Have they no shame?’

‘Think nothing of them,’ her friend replied. ‘They are like chamber pots – merely a place for men to dump their waste.’

Kitty blinked. That was a new one, cruder but no more cutting than what she’d heard for years. She blew the ladies a kiss, whereupon the ruddy one said, ‘Soon enough you’ll be haggard and old, and no man will want you,’ before whipping around and hastening away.

It was true – and the reason why Kitty must earn now. Her value was like that of a shiny toy, picked up and discarded at will, soon to tarnish and break.

But the ladies’ opinions needn’t affect Kitty because her sisters protected her from heart wounds. Besides, Kitty was at Vauxhall for the gentlemen. From the port-fed papas to the straight-backed youths, any deep-pocketed one of them would do, provided he wasn’t vicious like Gillingham.

From the direction of the cone-roofed rotunda approached a cluster of scourers – wealthy young roisterers who spent their summer nights breaking windows and attacking the Watch. Amy’s long-legged keeper, Mr Spencer-Lacey, emerged from their ranks, his rakish face splashed with a grin, and Amy, the doe-eyed baby of the Preece sisters, floated to his arms. Kitty’s heart warmed. Spencer-Lacey was a devil-may-care young buck – no doubt well on his way to running through his family fortune – but he was kind to Amy and an affectionate father to their infant son. It wouldn’t last, of course, but for now Amy was happy.

The scourers split into two groups: Spencer-Lacey and others ventured towards the dinner boxes, while a faction led by the firebrand baronet Sir Vincent Preston trailed Kitty and her three remaining sisters through the fairy-lit Covered Walk, their boots crunching on the gravel.

Jenny, with genuine delight sparking in her long-lashed green eyes, squealed as they encountered a slackwire walker juggling six colourful balls, while a flautist frolicked about him. ‘How marvellous,’ she said, clasping her hands to her bosom as if she’d never seen the like.

Kitty threaded an arm about Jenny’s waist and kissed her second-youngest sister’s satin-smooth cheek. Effervescent Jenny was frequently giddy, sometimes silly, but always ingenuous, despite having borne three children to as many different men.

Sir Vincent snorted, ruining the tender moment. ‘If you wish to see a marvel, gentlemen,’ he announced to his friends, ‘observe Kitty Preece’s tits. There are no finer mounds in Britain.’

The crudity recalled Kitty to her urgent mission to find a keeper other than the Duke of Gillingham. Since many scourers possessed abundant funds, she cast a smouldering gaze at Sir Vincent and his friends, hopeful a contender stood among their ranks. But, sadly, only none-too-wealthy Sir Vincent met her eye. Two of the others examined their boots. One rubbed his neck and stared at the blackening sky. The fifth, an obnoxious and gossipy lout named Bonser, whispered something in Sir Vincent’s ear.

Still, it was worth a try, so Kitty batted her lashes. ‘A worthy gentleman may climb these mounds, sirs.’

Matilda inhaled sharply and pinched Kitty’s arm, but she plastered on a smile when she turned to the young men. ‘Kitty isn’t available, my lovelies. Nor is Jenny. But you may call at Mount Street to make arrangements for Barbara or myself—’

Sir Vincent guffawed. ‘You’re ready for the knacker’s yard, Matilda. Besides, as Bonser here’ – he jerked his head at his whispering friend – ‘reminded me, why pay a fortune for what costs two shillings in the Dark Walk? Come, gentlemen.’

As he sauntered past, he smacked Kitty’s arse. It smarted, leaving her skin raw and stinging.

Bonser brayed with laughter. ‘Take care, Vince, or her duke will avenge himself on you.’ While the group rambled away, a last snippet floated back. ‘Rather than wasting your money on whores, you should find yourself a rich dowd as I have. I shall be a wealthy and well-satisfied man soon.’

Kitty peeked at Matilda, who blinked rapidly, her colour high. Sir Vincent’s cruel words had hurt more than his bruising smack. ‘Oh, Matilda, don’t let him—’

Matilda’s eyes flashed. ‘Kitty, kindly remember we rely on you. Stop playing fast and loose with Gillingham’s goodwill.’

With that, Matilda turned on her heel towards The Grove, where Vauxhall’s tiered orchestra box glittered like a gem-encrusted queen at the opera. Under strewn stands of many-hued lights, couples swirled to the tune of ‘The Lass of Richmond Hill’.

Jenny spotted her keeper and danced into his arms.

Heavy-hearted, Kitty circled The Grove with Matilda and Barbara, her resolve growing with each step. Yes, she must earn, but there were plenty of rich men other than Gillingham. Vauxhall was teeming with them. And Kitty only needed one.

She batted her lashes to catch the eye of a popular young viscount as he ambled past the dancers towards the supper boxes. As Lord Britnell’s eyebrows lifted, Kitty glided the tip of her tongue along the bottom of her top teeth.

The nobleman froze. His gaze melted down, his features tightening as he took in her body, naked under the film of flimsy silk. While he watched, Kitty slipped a fingertip under her neckline and slowly stroked one of her nipples, which hardened into a pert peak beneath her gown.

When Britnell raised his eyes to hers again, frank lust smouldered.

Kitty half-smiled. Oh, yes. There were enough rich men at Vauxhall for her purpose. She’d start with the viscount. If she could manage five minutes with him in the Dark Walk, she’d allow the young lord to fondle and caress until he begged to keep her.

Matilda brushed against Kitty’s side. ‘The Duke of Gillingham.’ She fluttered her jewelled fingers in the duke’s direction. ‘He’s watching you.’

Matilda’s words wiped the smile from Kitty’s face.

Lately, Gillingham always watched, as if one of the most powerful politicians and courtiers in Britain had nothing better to do than spy on Kitty’s actions.

The spell between Kitty and Britnell fizzled, and the viscount scurried on his way. Kitty cut her eyes in the direction Matilda indicated. Gillingham strode through The Grove with his daughter Lady Caroline, who was engaged to marry a foreign prince in a week’s time. Under the duke’s formidable black brows, his heavy-lidded eyes blazed, and his thin lips sneered.

The duke was a snake, and Kitty was no Cleopatra to hold a viper to her breast. Gillingham wouldn’t slither into her bed.

Kitty shuddered.

A shawl as soft as down slipped around her. ‘I’m not cold,’ she said over her shoulder. What was Matilda doing, covering her? Kitty had wares to display.

‘The night has only begun. It may yet be chilly.’ The familiar voice rumbling in Kitty’s ear sent delighted ripples throughout her body. ‘And you always forget your wrap.’

With a gleeful squeal, Kitty spun around, the evening’s anxieties washing away. She wanted to grasp the speaker in a bear-like embrace, but it wouldn’t do to make a public display of her unlikely friendship with the Reverend Sidney Wakefield. She squeezed his warm hand instead, her heart fluttering as it always did when his strong fingers enfolded her slender ones. ‘Sid. You’re never at Vauxhall.’

Sidney flashed a grin, his features gleaming under the oil lamps. ‘Good evening, Kit. Matilda, Barbara.’ He released Kitty’s hand and swept off his tall-crowned black hat. He bowed in a grand, old-fashioned manner, revealing his thick blond hair which lay in waves above his straight brows.

It was a rare treat to see Sidney without his stark parson’s coat and flat white collar. He wore a simple but well-tailored olive-green tailcoat, cut short in the front across his trim waist. Tight buff trousers, pulled taut by the instep strap under his polished black shoes, encased his slim but muscular legs. A crisp white cravat cascaded below his full mouth and cleft chin. His light brown eyes shone like amber as he kissed the sparkling fingers of Kitty’s sisters. Barbara flocked to his side and clung to his arm, fluttering her lashes.

Kitty frowned, reality descending to smother her momentary delight. Without question, Sidney was one of the handsomest young men in London – his golden good looks attracted nearly as much attention as Kitty herself did – but Barbara should mind her behaviour. Sidney might be as graceful and athletic as an out-and-out Corinthian, but he was also a mere curate who couldn’t afford to displease his vicar at St George’s Church in Hanover Square. And despite certain whispered rumours, Kitty remained convinced Sidney was almost as innocent as a new-born babe.

‘When did you return to town, Sid?’ Kitty asked with a shake of her head at Barbara, who stroked Sidney’s waistcoat-clad chest. Barbara crinkled her straight nose with a laugh, disregarding Kitty’s silent scold.

‘I arrived this evening, and I rushed to Mount Street, only to have my heart crushed when I learned all the Preece sisters had left for Vauxhall, and Ada-Marie was already abed.’

Sidney’s warm manner brought a small smile to Kitty’s lips. He was always a darling; throughout their six years of friendship, they’d bolstered each other. ‘So you dashed here to cover me as I walked through the gate, even though Philippe intended my arms to be bare tonight?’ she asked teasingly as she removed the shawl he’d given her. But when the rich azure Kashmir slid like liquid lapis in her hands, Kitty’s smile fell away. ‘Why, good heavens, Sid! Wherever did you …’ She hushed, flushing. What she’d almost asked might hurt his feelings. The shawl must’ve cost at least five guineas and Sidney barely had two farthings to rub together.

Sidney’s amber eyes twinkled. ‘Wherever did I find the money for such a present for my muse?’ His grin deepened; he was like an adorably naughty boy with a secret up his sleeve. ‘That is what I want to tell you, Kit. I have news—’

Barbara interrupted, fluffing the folds of Sidney’s cravat. ‘You’re more handsome than ever without your Geneva collar, but what would your bishop say? Would he call you improper? Are you improper, lovey?’

Sidney cleared his throat. ‘N-no, Barbara. You know that.’

Kitty glared at her sister. ‘What did you want to tell us, Sid?’ she asked, wishing to hurry Sidney’s communication so he could escape Barbara and return to company more suitable for a respectable gentleman. Surely one of his friends had accompanied him to Vauxhall – the wealthy businessman John Tyrold, or the kind obstetrician Dr Mitchell, or the artist Lord Edward – although Kitty didn’t see them anywhere.

‘Er, that I … I have n-news.’ Sidney stumbled on his words, his eyes flitting between frowning Matilda and simpering Barbara. ‘I … I …’

Kitty patted Sidney’s hand. The news must relate to his writing. He was trying to gather the courage to speak on a subject that always made him shy, and no doubt Barbara’s petting unsettled him. If Kitty didn’t have a mission to accomplish, she’d have asked Sidney to take a glass of wine with her at a supper table. But there wasn’t time. Kitty must strike before the gentlemen were senseless from drink or poorer from the card tables. Sidney’s news could wait, and Barbara needed to stop her flirting so Kitty could return to her hunt.

But dreamy-eyed Barbara was clearly enjoying herself. She petted Sidney’s flat abdomen, disturbingly close to the waist of his trousers. ‘Kitty told us you were in Suffolk for Lord Holbrook’s wedding,’ she said. ‘The marquess is a divine man, but his marriage is no loss to us, is it, Matilda? I never expected he’d offer an arrangement. Holbrook is so handsome, there were plenty who gave it to him for free. Rather like you, Sidney, my love.’

Matilda grunted in disapproval. ‘Preece sisters don’t give it for free, Barbara.’

Sidney rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks decidedly pink.

Kitty scowled. ‘Stop it, Barbara. Sid’s blushing.’

Barbara grasped Sidney’s chin and moved his head from side to side, sighing. ‘He’s more handsome for it. Why are impoverished younger sons always more beautiful than their ennobled fathers or elder brothers?’ She slipped her other hand behind Sidney’s coat and slapped his bottom.

Sidney jumped, and a flame ignited in Kitty’s breast. Barbara was as crude as Sir Vincent in her way, and Sidney was a lamb.

‘Barbara, take your hands off Sidney immediately. Half his congregation is here, and while a curate speaking with courtesans – presumably attempting to save our souls – might be tolerated, if you paw at him like a starving tigress, you’ll subject him to malicious gossip, and get him in trouble with his vicar.’

Barbara jutted out her bottom lip, but she released Sidney with a huff.

Ever polite, Sidney thanked Barbara for his liberation before turning once more to Kitty. ‘Might I speak with you privately, Kit—’

‘Hush.’ Matilda held up a hand. She stood on tiptoes and looked over Kitty’s shoulder. ‘Kitty, distance yourself from Sidney. The duke is positively glowering.’

Kitty glanced over her shoulder. Gillingham, no longer with his daughter, stood at the edge of The Grove beside a giant man in leather breeches and hobnailed boots. The goliath was not a gentleman, but he was the duke’s acquaintance all the same, for the nobleman whispered into his ear as they both glared at Sidney. The henchman rubbed a stubble-darkened cheek, nodded and spat.

Kitty tensed. As much as she wanted to repel Gillingham, she wouldn’t put anything short of murder past the duke, and the man at his side clearly intended no good towards Sidney. Kitty held out the shawl, ensuring Gillingham had a clear view of her returning the gift. ‘I mustn’t accept such a present, Sid.’

Sidney’s broad shoulders slumped. ‘Oh.’ His voice was flat, and he tugged at the knot of his cravat.

Matilda snatched the shawl and wrapped it around herself. ‘I’ll take it. The wind is picking up.’ She glanced at the duke. ‘Come, Kitty. Bid Sidney adieu and let us away. I don’t care for the look on Gillingham’s face. He doesn’t like your friendship with Sidney, and I wouldn’t want him to suppose you intend to break the terms of our arrangement.’

Kitty fully intended to terminate the agreement, but if she riled Gillingham, he’d likely demand an instant commencement to their arrangement, and Matilda mightn’t hold off. Kitty needed every available hour to catch another keeper.

‘We’ll talk later, Sid,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Visit me and Ada-Marie tomorrow, and you can tell us both your news.’ Kitty met his eyes and smiled, thinking of the little girl they were raising together.

Despite having men in her bed since the age of fifteen, Kitty, alone of the Preece sisters, had never conceived. From the beginning of their friendship, Sidney knew how much Kitty longed to be a mother; thus, when an infant with white moons covering the pupils of her eyes was abandoned outside the Mayfair Maternity Hospital, Sidney had brought her to Kitty rather than take her to the orphan asylum. ‘My friend Dr Mitchell says the baby is blind,’ he’d explained, his golden head bowing over the blanket bundle encircled in his protective arms. The baby?