Fiery Harlot Seduced by a Duke Page 3

  “Thank you Sir.” Mary relished the warm feel of his skin against her hand. “I will never forget your kindness.”

  He returned a serious expression. “Will you promise me one thing?”

  “What might that be?” Mary asked as he pulled on his gloves.

  “Find another way to make a living.”

  She lowered her eyes. “I will try sir.”

  “I have seen too many young girls abused by men.” He paused for a moment. “I mean cowards in the peninsular wars.”

  “Posh boy!” Molly shouted over to the Duke as she grabbed an unruly scally. “Get out!”

  “Your wish is my command.” The Duke donned his hat and made a hasty exit with a departing smile.

  Mary tried to fight back the tears. She could not believe how kind he had been to her. It was such a relief to have some money. She would be able to buy food for the rest of the week.

  Molly marched over to Mary. “Well you might as well follow him.” She pushed her towards the door. “Go on out!”

  Mary broke down and cried.

  “Don’t put on the tears for me,” Molly huffed with derision. “You’re not the first harlot to try that trick.”

  “I’m sorry.” She wiped her tears away with a shaking hand. “It’s the first time a man has ever shown any kindness towards me.”

  “Really.” Molly stared at her in disbelief, maybe her tears were real. “You need to toughen up love.”

  “I will.” Mary walked towards the door. “I won’t come in the tavern again.”

  “Wait a moment.” She looked back at Molly. “That Duke seemed quite taken by you. Do you know him?”

  “No,’ Mary replied. “I’ve never set eyes on him.”

  A money making scheme formed in Molly’s mind. “Let’s have a closer look at yer girl.” She took hold of Mary’s hair and swept it up in a bun. “You have nice bone structure and good teeth.”

  She looked down at her body. “And a very desirable body. Maybe I could help you.”

  She dropped Mary’s hair around her shoulders and took hold of her hand. “If you can catch the eye of a Duke, you might be useful to me.”

  Chapter 7

  Mary followed Molly into a small room at the back of the counter. She wondered why she was being so kind to her. The Molly she knew would of thrown her out of the tavern a long time ago.

  Despite being a harlot once herself, she never allowed prostitutes to sell their wares on her premises.

  Molly sat next to a table with a half cut loaf and a plate of cheese and bread at the centre. Mary sat opposite her as she poured a jug of beer into two tankards.

  “Here.” She pushed the beer towards her. “You look as if you need a drink.”

  “I appreciate the beer.” Mary lifted the tankard with a shaking hand. “But it’s food I need.”

  “It’s that why you came into my tavern?” She fixed her with a steely gaze. “To earn some money for food?”

  “I usually street walk in the alleyways, but the heavy rain forced me inside.” She gulped down the ale. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” As she put her tankard on the table her eyes strayed to the plate of bread and cheese.

  “If you’re hungry eat it,” Molly gestured towards the plate.

  Mary stuffed the bread and cheese into her mouth like a wild street urchin. Molly was stunned by her quick consumption. She knew what it was like to be hungry, but had never seen anyone that famished. “When was the last time you ate?”

  “Days,” Mary mumbled licking the last crumbs off her fingers. “I’ve fallen on hard times recently. I used to share a cellar with another girl but she went back to Ireland. She was a good friend, I miss her.”

  She drank more beer to numb the pain. “We just about paid the rent between us. Now I’m on my own it’s getting harder.”

  “Why don’t you go back home to Ireland,” Molly bluntly replied.

  “I wish I could.” Her eyes began to water as she thought about the stone white cottage she shared with her brothers and sisters.

  “I couldn’t get a decent job back home, so I thought I’d make my fortune in London." Her voice trailed off as she remembered her mammy’s sweet embrace before she left. It seemed a long time a go.

  “I see.” Molly propped her chin on her hand. “So any money you make you send back home.”

  “To feed the family.” She became lost in thought. “Life was fine when Dad was around.”

  “Did he run away with another woman?”

  “Molly? He died of a heart attack.” She paused in reflection. “It happened when he was toiling the fields for a local farmer.”

  “Sorry my love.” Molly cradled her drink in her hands. “Is that how you came to London?”

  “I had to find some money fast.” Mary wiped some crumbs from her dress. “Mam was left with a family of six to feed.”

  A loud scream was heard from the tavern; Molly rushed out and saw two harlots ripping the hair out of each other. They were street walkers that had taken refuge in the warm dry tavern.

  “Where’s Tommy when I need him,” she huffed. She pulled the girls apart and flung them out onto the dockside to great applause by a group of sailors.

  Tommy suddenly appeared behind the bar having a sly drink. Molly pulled the drink from his hand and told him to look out for any more fights.

  She came back into the room with a fresh jug of ale. “I hope Harry gets back from Scotland tomorrow. There’s always more fights in the tavern when he’s not here.”

  “What’s he doing in Scotland?” Mary asked as Molly poured more ale into her tankard.

  “He’s gone to a relative’s funeral in Aberdeen.”

  “I didn’t know he had any family in Scotland.”

  “Old Uncle Thomas, he married a Scottish girl and moved to Aberdeen years ago. Harry was very fond of him as a kid.” Molly sat back in her seat and drank her ale. “Anyway enough about my family I’m more interested in you.”

  “Why?” Mary said in a cautious tone. “No one else cares about me.”

  “You might be useful to me as a Governess.”

  Mary felt a glimmer of hope, it would be such a relief to leave her shady past behind her and work in a respectable trade again. She looked at Molly with a smile on her face. “What do you want to know?”

  “How did you train as a Governess?”

  “My Aunty Jean taught me. She never married but worked as a Governess. When my Dad died she moved in to help Mam look after the children.”

  Mary gave a faint smile. “She taught me to read and write and some basic arithmetic. It was Aunty Jean who suggested I go to London.”

  “What an inspiring Aunty.”

  A sudden burst of cheers erupted in the tavern. “Not another fight,” Molly cursed rushing out into the counter. “What are you up to?”

  She caught a scallywag trying to rob some beer in a jug. She gave him a good clip around the ear and kicked him out. She noticed Tommy kissing a harlot in the corner. “Tommy get behind the bar now.”

  Mary smiled to herself, usually Harry kept the customers in order, but Molly seemed to be doing it better without him.

  She came back into the room rubbing her hands. “Thieving scallies,” she huffed, sitting back in her chair. “They would bleed me dry if they could.”

  “That would never happen to you Molly.” Mary looked at the half cut loaf on the table. She was still hungry and wished she could have some more dinner.

  “Anyway enough about scallywags lets have more bread.” Molly cut some slices of bread from the loaf. “When did you come to London?”

  “Two years ago,” Mary reflected, it seemed like a life-time ago. “I applied for a position in a grand terraced house off Regents Park. When I got there the family had moved out.”

  She looked at Molly spread a generous portion of butter across the bread. She couldn’t remember the last time she had butter. She only ate bread with a bit of cheese if she was lucky.

  “H
ow did you find another job?” Molly passed over a plate of bread to Mary.

  “I asked the Butler if he knew of anyone looking for a Governess. He looked at a reference I obtained from the Priest and passed it onto Lord and Lady Barren.

  Fortunately, they were impressed with my credentials and employed me to look after their young son.” Mary slowly ate the bread this time, savouring every little crumb in her mouth.

  “How old were you when you worked there?”

  “19.” Mary looked downcast as she wiped some butter from her mouth. “I didn’t realise what I was walking into.”

  “Did something bad happen to you?” Molly queried.

  “I’d been working for the family for about a year when Mr Barren’s brother came to stay. He was a bit of a rogue; he never stayed in one place for too long. He would borrow money off his brother and go out gambling all night.”

  Mary knocked back the last dredges of beer. “One night he came home drunk. Lord Barren had locked him out but he managed to get in through the servants hall.”

  She fell silent for a moment. “I had been on a night out with my friend. I felt hungry so went into the Kitchen and got some cake Jean the cook had left out.” She tried to find the right words.

  “I heard the door go. I turned around thinking it was Jean. But it was Tom; he was pacing around the floor in an agitated state. I think he had lost a lot of money in a game of cards.”

  “The very rich can afford to lose money,” Molly scoffed.

  “But this was a lot of money he owed to his brother. He was desperate for a bottle of wine to drown his sorrows. He tried to get the key off me to open the cellar door but I wouldn’t give it to him. I had been warned by the Butler not to give him the key, he had secretly stolen a few bottles of wine before.”

  Molly drank her beer transfixed by her story.

  “I told him I would tell his brother. He lost his temper and began to hurl insults at me. I try to get out the room but he stood against the door.” Tears streamed down her face.

  “He pushed me down and attacked me. It happened so quickly. I was an innocent virgin before he..” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “Despite my pleas to stop he carried on. I tried to scream but couldn’t.” She began to shake with the memory.

  “When he finished he said he’d kill me if I told his brother.” She tried to hold back more tears. “He took the key from my pocket and got up.”

  Mary tried to control her emotions. "I couldn’t bear to look at his face anymore. He opened the cellar, got a bottle of wine and left.”

  Mary put her head in her hands. It was the first time she had told somebody.

  “It wasn't you're fault.” Molly got up and cradled her in her arms. “Let it all out.”

  Mary felt a certain comfort in her embrace; she was like a surrogate mother to her.

  “Your story is a lot more common than people realise. Such deprived acts by the upper classes are shrouded in secrecy. Many girls are kicked out onto the street with no references. Some return home, but most don’t and end up as street walkers like yourself.”

  “You seem to know a lot about these women.”

  “A young Lord tried to attack me once when I worked as a young servant girl,” she said with a subdued expression. “I managed to fight him off, but the next day was ordered off the premises by the Butler.”

  “It’s a common ploy,” Mary remarked. “A good excuse to hire another vulnerable young girl desperate for work.”

  “I managed to get another job.” Molly drank some more beer. “I had a friend who ran the local tavern, I ended up marrying him. We had ten happy years before he died of tuberculosis last year.” She dapped her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “After his untimely death most of the regulars went to a new tavern by the quay.” She pushed the empty tankard away on the table. “Now I make a living selling beer to wayward sailors, scallywags and dodgy merchants.”

  Mary began to see Molly in a new light. Despite the hard exterior she showed to the world she had a vulnerable side. “Maybe I could help you out if you’re short of staff.”

  “I’m always looking for staff.” She became distracted at the crude laughter of a bunch of merchants. “It’s not the kind of place for a young girl to work.”

  “It’s better than being on the streets.”

  “Yes it is.” Molly thought about her money making scheme. “You could still be a street walker in a different way.”

  “Like what?”

  ‘”Have you ever thought of being a courtesan to a rich man?”

  “A courtesan.” Mary thought about her proposal. “Why would I want to do that?”

  Chapter 8

  Robert was caught in another rain shower as he asked a passing tradesman if he knew a Carter by the name of Albert Wood. But everyone he came across had never heard of him.

  He came to the conclusion that he must have returned to the army after a brief time on leave. There wasn’t much work for returning soldiers from the Peninsular Wars. Many ex soldiers ended up begging on the street or resorting to stealing food to survive.

  The Duke let out a weary sigh as he stood on the empty quayside. The only people that could solve his predicament were in White’s club, situated a few streets away.

  Outside the club Robert brushed off the excess rain from his long coat and tried to tidy the ruffled cravat around his neck. He was not suitably dressed to enter the club, the fight and the heavy rain upon his clothes had given him a rather drab appearance.

  He adjusted his hat and boldly walked through the doors of the exclusive gentleman’s club. He tried to pass the elderly clerk stood in the entrance, but was pushed back by the hand. “The tradesmen entry at the back.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “You heard.” He pointed to the entrance. “Only gentlemen come through the front door.”

  “I am a gentleman.” He proudly stood before him. “I am Robert Pensrose the Duke of Cornwall.”

  The clerk peered over his spectacles. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am,” Robert said impatiently. “Don’t I look like a Duke?”

  “More like a tramp from bedlam,” he announced in a lofty manner.

  “I am a Duke and I can prove it.” Robert pulled out a crumpled correspondence that confirmed his membership. “Here is a letter from Lord Barley the chairman of the committee.”

  The clerk glanced over the letter. “Doesn’t look like his writing,” he queried with a suspicious eye. “It could be from anyone?”

  “I realise that the writing is a little difficult to follow,” he said impatiently. “He most probably wrote it after a bottle of claret.”

  “Or two,” the clerk quipped.

  Robert clenched his fists. “This is getting ridiculous.” He tried to walk past the desk but the clerk stopped him again.

  “Forgive me Sir. I do not mean to be difficult.”

  “Your Grace.” The Duke seethed into his face. “That is my correct form of address.”

  “Your Grace,” the clerk demurred. “We have received a few imposters in the club lately.”

  Robert threw his hands up. “Which you most probably let in.” He paced around the foyer. “In the meantime the real gentlemen are outside the club, while the Lords are being robbed by the imposters inside.”

  He caught sight of his friend, Charles Leggan, Duke of Windsor in the hallway.

  “Charles,” he waved over to him. “Save me from this obnoxious man.”

  His friend came forward and confirmed his identity.

  The clerk was horrified by his mistake. “Forgive me your Grace.” He gave a very deep bow. “Will you accept my humble apologies?”

  “Out the way you stupid man.” Robert walked into the club. “I need a drink.”

  Charles followed him into the lounge. “A very large one old boy.”

  ****

  Robert sat in a comfortable armchair by a roaring fire as Charles poured out two brandies from a decant
er. He bent towards the fire and lit his cheroot deep in thought.

  “Is everything alright?” Charles passed a glass of brandy to him. “You seem preoccupied by something?”

  Robert looked up with a stunned expression. “What did you say?”

  “Is it mistress trouble?“ Charles sat in an adjacent chair and cradled his brandy glass in his hands. “Maybe you’ve lost a wager or you’re about to fight a duel?”

  Robert sat up in his chair. “That would be a more exciting proposition.”

  “Not if you lose,” Charles chuckled sipping his drink.

  “No my predicament is much worse than that.” He blew out a line of smoke. “I have to marry Lady Louise Wood-Ford from an affluent banking family. She is very young, nearly half my age.”

  “Gosh old boy is that a problem.” Charles let out a hearty laugh. “They do say young fillies are the best...Keep you up all night.”

  Robert toyed with his cigar in his hand. “She’s also a spoilt, rich heiress.”

  “The perfect marriage.” Charles put his brandy to one side. “What’s the problem then?”

  “I’m not ready for marriage.”

  “No one is my dear friend.” He propped his hand on his chin. “Once you fulfil your duty to your family you can take a mistress.”

  “But I don’t have to marry for duty. My older brother Mark has already fulfilled that obligation.” He gestured with his hands. “He’s made a good marriage to Lady Jane and now they have a brood of four boys.”

  “I’m sure your mother has your best interests at heart.”

  “Her interests not mine.” Robert drew hard on his cheroot. “It’s my life, I’m not getting married for anyone.”

  “You will.” Charles took a slim cigar from a box. “Sooner or later a cunning filly will trap you.” He grabbed Robert’s cigar from his fingers and lit his cheroot. “You’ll just have to grin and bear it.”

  “No I shall not.” Robert snatched his cigar back. “I did all that during the peninsular wars.” He fell silent with a painful expression. “I still think of my friends that never returned.”

  “It’s a tragedy,” Charles pondered, with his own memories of the battlefield strewn with young men. “One I still have night mares about.”