TuesdayNights by Linda Rae Sande Page B

quarters in London, and he could think of no friend to whom he could take a young woman who, from all appearances, was a harlot.
    Especially at this time of the night.
    “And your brother, sir? Shall we wait for him?” Mr. White asked, keeping the door ajar just enough to hear his master’s reply.
    Michael shook his head. “No need, Mr. White. Marcus did not grace us with his presence this evening,” Michael replied with a sigh.
    Thank the gods my mother isn’t in residence at the townhouse! If he could get Eloisa through the vestibule and up the stairs without Jeffers or another servant seeing them, he would put her in the blue bedchamber. There she could find a gown and slippers ... but he was getting ahead of himself. She needed a bath. She needed a good night’s rest. She needed a lady’s maid.
    He’d have to pass her off as a visiting daughter of a friend. Which is what she is, he considered. But no woman in her right mind would travel to London without a chaperone – a maid, at least – and a valise. Eloisa had neither.
    Sitting directly across from her, he tried to determine in the dim light if she was more hurt than she appeared. His coat remained clutched tightly around her with one hand while the other pressed against the side of her face. “Who hit you?” he whispered, hoping she would know so that he might practice his pugilistic moves on the man.
    She shook her head. “Some baron, I believe. I do not know his name,” Eloisa sniffed. “I was trying to get away. I ... he ... he ruined me,” she sobbed, her tears flowing freely, smudging the black kohl beneath her eyes so that she looked as if she hadn’t had any sleep in several days.
    Michael didn’t mention that she would have been ruined even if she hadn’t been touched by a man. Just being in the brothel had done that quite effectively. He held out his handkerchief. She finally reached over and took it. “How long have you been in London?” he asked then.
    Wiping her unbruised cheek with the cloth, she sniffled. “I only arrived this morning. On the postal coach,” she whispered, a sob interrupting her statement.
    This morning? Christ, she looks as if she had been here for days, Michael thought in dismay.
    “There is no position ... is there?” she wondered sadly, her tears finally subsiding. How could this have all gone so wrong? She’d finally made it to London, sure she would have a respectable position and the opportunity to meet a man of means, and instead she was ruined . Would life with Angus MacFadyen really have been that bad? she found herself wondering. For the barkeep at the Ship had been the one man she knew felt affection for her. And the one man she had allowed to kiss her all those years ago.
    “No,” Michael replied simply, his head shaking from side to side to reinforce his answer. “Tell me ... tell me exactly what brought you to London,” he insisted, his voice soft despite the simmering anger he felt deep in his gut.
    This was his business partner’s daughter!
    Eloisa gave a shrug and sniffled before she finally answered him. “Last week, I saw a printed notice for governesses and servants for London homes. It was in the window at the mercantile in Shipley,” she explained before taking a deep breath. “It was all very professional looking. It was a printed notice – not written by hand. I didn’t want anyone else to see it – I have been desperate to find a position in London– so I took it out of the window. When I got home, I immediately wrote to the woman in the notice ...”
    “Lucy?” Michael interrupted, wondering if the madame actually used her name in the notice or if the notice was part of a larger scam to get young people into the city.
    “Mrs. Gibbons, yes,” Eloisa said with a nod. “From the way the notice was written, I thought her to have an agency that placed governesses in the homes of the well-to-do,” she continued. “I received a note back a few days ago saying she might be