Miranda perked up at this, her curiosity heightened. Mr. Sterling’s voice was smooth and even, yet somehow still seductive with promise—as if he weaved a spell around her.
“This courtesan might be perfect for a woman of your experience. You see, while he is most eager to accept an arrangement, he does not boast your … wealth of carnal knowledge.”
Miranda was stunned as she puzzled out what he alluded to. “Are you telling me … this man is a …”
“A virgin,” Mr. Sterling confirmed. “Though he is not at all ignorant to the mechanics involved. Think of it, Mrs. Hughes … a man with years’ worth of pent-up need, just waiting for the right woman to unlock his potential. A man like that would be a slave to your whims, wanting to please you. It’s an opportunity no client before you, has been granted.”
His words were having the intended effect, filling Miranda’s mind with thoughts that made her neck and face grow warm. Taking a lover who’d never been with another woman had never occurred to her, but now that Miranda thought on it, the prospect was rather appealing.
Suddenly, the excitement of taking a courtesan outweighed her trepidation. She had come this far. Why not avail herself to what this agency offered? She was independent and financially capable of buying anything she wanted.
“Just how dear will these services be?” she asked, meeting Mr. Sterling’s piercing gaze.
He pushed a document across the desk, and Miranda studied what turned out to be a contract. The details of an arrangement between two nameless parties were spelled out, along with stipulations of secrecy and nondisclosure. Halfway down the page, Miranda found the figures—one hefty initial payment, then monthly amounts for the gentleman’s upkeep. She could afford to pay this price without batting an eyelash, thanks to the generosity of Lord Hughes and the efforts of a solicitor who had steered her in the direction of a few lucrative investments.
“What does he look like?” she asked. “Is he an agreeable sort of person?”
“He is tall, nearly my height. Well formed. Dark hair and dark eyes. Somber, but in that mysterious way ladies seem so fond of. He is the son of a peer and university educated, so he will fit in seamlessly wherever you require an escort.”
It shouldn’t surprise her to learn that he was of the upper crust, like her. Plenty of the nobility hid their financial troubles with paste jewelry, re-purposed clothing, and a veneer of pride. The Gentleman Courtesans seemed a novel way for a man to get himself out of all manner of financial debacles.
“If you need time to think it over, I understand,” Mr. Sterling prodded when she remained silent.
Clearing her throat, she turned the contract back toward him. “Actually, I have decided I’d very much like to meet this Mr. …”
“Thornton,” he offered. “Roger Thornton. Once you sign the contract and he agrees to the terms, I will arrange a meeting between you.”
And with that, Miranda became the keeper of a man she’d never met—even sending Mr. Sterling a bank draft for her initial payment later that evening. Another week passed without her ever laying eyes on the mysterious Mr. Thornton. It was decided they would meet at the Christmas house party being hosted by Mary and her family. It had been easy enough to convince her friend to extend an invitation to Mr. Thornton’s family, thereby ensuring his attendance at the two-week event.
“A house party is the perfect place to begin such an assignation!” Joan chirped with excitement when Miranda told their group of friends what she had done. “Oh, Miranda, you must tell us everything!”
Later that week, she found herself sharing a carriage with Maud on their way to the Rodingham estate in Norfolk, the chatter of two children cutting through the companionable silence. Glancing at the girl and boy seated across from her, Miranda’s lips softened into a smile. Her daughter, Ursula, sat beside Maud’s son, Allen, their heads bent together as they played with a toy theater. They had managed the journey well so far, amusing themselves with toys from the bag at her feet. The theater was an intricate design—a replica of Theatre Royale in London, with printed cards and cutouts of actors that could be arranged in a variety of ways.
Ursula was her mirror image—tiny and delicate and nearly four years of age, with smooth, straight strands of dark brown hair arranged in neat plaits adorned with pink ribbon. The girl was the only child born of her union with Lord Hughes, and Miranda could never regret that she hadn’t given her husband a male heir. Ursula was too sweet, too perfect, for Miranda not to be thoroughly enchanted and utterly in love. Besides, her husband’s brother did well enough as the new Baron Hughes.
“I cannot believe you are going through with this ridiculous plan,” Maud hissed from beside her.
Miranda found her friend staring disapprovingly over the rims of her spectacles and offered a sheepish smile. “What can I say, Maud? The proprietor was quite … convincing. Besides, it’s no more than other widows of the ton indulge in. What’s the harm in it?”
“Hmph,” Maud huffed. “There will be much harm done if you are found out.”
Darting a glance at the children to ensure they were still engrossed in their play, Miranda then turned back to Maud. “I won’t be. For the first time in my life, I’m doing something because I want to, because it will please me. I understand you do not approve, but perhaps you might bring yourself to at least understand my reasons. We aren’t so different, after all.”
Maud pressed her lips together and sighed. Like Miranda, she had endured a loveless marriage, though she suspected Maud’s husband hadn’t appealed to her sensually, either. The way she puckered her lips with distaste at the mention of carnal matters gave her away. Perhaps that was why it was so difficult for her to understand Miranda’s decision, or Joan’s anticipation of an impending affair.
“I do not mean to judge you,” Maud said, her tone softening. “Forgive me. I only worry you could be ostracized if anyone found out. You, Mary, and Joan are my dearest friends. I know I seem like a stick most of the time, but it’s only because I care about you all so much.”
The rare show of vulnerability from Maud brought a smile to Miranda’s face. She laid a hand over Maud’s and gave it a gentle pat.
“Of course you care. It’s why we love you so dearly. I don’t want you to worry. We are going to enjoy this party, and that’s that.”
Maud fell silent again, and Miranda was content to let the rest of the drive to Rodingham Abbey pass quietly.
The air of the late afternoon was crisp and smelled of coming snow as they dismounted from the carriage in the circular drive before one of the largest and oldest country estates in Norfolk. Smooth white columns framed rows of footmen wearing festive green and gold livery, while two sets of curved staircases led up to the double front doors.
More footmen appeared as if from thin air to retrieve their belongings, while two governesses and a pair of lady’s maids appeared from the carriage that had followed them from London. The women took Ursula and Allen into their care, allowing one of the footmen to guide them to where the other children and their governesses or nurses would take their quarters over the duration of the party. The maids accompanied their baggage in the opposite direction.