Page 2 of A Tale of Two Dukes

Hanging my head low, I give them a grand show of my submission. “Forgive me. I was startled.”

With a snap of the woman’s fingers, the man lets me go. As my body splashes back into the water, I long to curl into myself, to hide my body from their questing gazes. Although, based on what the others were saying, a whore wouldn’t care who saw what.

Besides, the way all of them paraded around, naked as you please, confirmed the lack of care in which they guarded their bodies. I have to be one of them. I have to act as if the sanctity of my body no longer rests in the hands of my husband… One I’ll never have after this.

But there’s no time to mourn what will or won’t be. My family is safe through my actions, and that’s all that matters. Again, I hazard a glance at my clothes, my heart clenching as I recount the secrets lying within the folds of fabric.

The woman follows my glance and snaps her fingers at the man again. Without even a word, he knows her command. It’s as if they’re in sync in some way that I cannot even understand or fathom. He takes the dress, now ripped and soiled from my nighttime excursion, and tosses it into the fire.

My heart stops for a moment as the last possession I own goes up in flames. The dress itself holds no real meaning or even tender memories, but it’s the sense of finality as embers take hold of the fabric. Everything feels real now, inescapable.

Although, as painful as it is, I cannot help but feel a modicum of relief as the dress and contents catch flame and begin disintegrating into ash. It’s as if the threat in the letter no longer holds weight now that its destruction has begun. This woman has no clue what she’s done, but in my heart, I hold a modicum of gratitude for separating me from that vile missive.

“You didn’t think I’d employ you with such meager rags, did you? That is, if I decide to keep you. You may fail me yet, and then what will you do? Tramp about London Square in just your skin? I think not. You better impress me, my dear.”

Impress her? But how? Again, that creeping sense of helplessness slithers through my body. I cannot help the panic that causes my heart to flail behind my breastbone. Surely, she hears it. The slight hint of a smile convinces me it must be true.

“While you’re under my roof, such rags will not be tolerated. You will, of course, be dressed in the finest silks, ones meant to show off your body. The patrons will expect nothing less of you. Come, step out of the tub so that I may see the body I wish to purchase. Entice me, girl, or I shall cast you back out into the elements with nary on your body except that which God has endowed you.”

Again, the terror I kept at bay by a tenuous thread comes back, infusing me with desperation. I can’t mess this up. I can’t have her toss me out. Willing myself to step out of the tub, I cast a haughty eye on the man in the room.

“Is he the one to determine if I’m fit or not?”

Lips sliding into an easy smile, the woman looks me up and down. “He is not the madame of this house. I am.”

Coldness fills my body as I stare at the formidable woman, the name from earlier flitting through my mind. “Madame Douler? That is, Madame… Pain?” I whisper the last word, the question slipping out in a reverent breath.

“That’s right. Jeremy said you spoke French.” Her lips thin for a moment before she barks an order at me, the words foreign to my ear for a moment before my brain translates them.

Breath stills in my chest as I hold up my arms, waiting for her to dry me off. Good thing I applied myself to my studies. Granted, it’s the owner of a brothel enjoying my hard work instead of the Ton as I’m flitted about from ball to ball.

She glances at me, pausing as she holds the linens up. There’s a twinkle in her eyes, one of knowing. Could she possibly recognize me? But that’s a ridiculous notion.

Since I never had a coming out, there’s only the slightest possibility that she recognizes me. But then, perhaps I smell enough like my family? I resist the urge to slide my hand up to my throat, settling for a slight twitching before I get myself back under control.

My mother made it no secret that my father slipped away most nights, bemoaning the fact that she never bore him sons. Perhaps he found his way here. It’s no far stretch of the imagination that this madame met his acquaintance and now knows I’m from an upper-class family.

My heart pounds behind my breastbone as we stare each other down. The letter made it perfectly clear I was to tell no one who I was or why I ran. My family would suffer from any lapse of judgment or loosening of my tongue.

And so I stand there, water sluicing down my body as I wait for this Madame Pain to pass judgment. To think that she holds my future in her hands and could end me with just a word.

But she remains silent. If she does indeed recognize me, she makes no mention of it. Grateful, I nearly sag in relief. It’s by sheer will that I stand there and allow her to towel me down.

Not even my lady’s maid accosted me in such a manner. She would merely hold out the linens and help me wrap them before leaving. But Madame Douler holds no such propriety.

Her hands skim my body as she runs the fabric over my skin. Hardly any place is left untouched. My cheeks grow warm as she pulls back, leaving me naked once more in front of them.

“Go have Jeremy fetch the crimson and gold gown. I do believe this little strumpet will look most fetching in it.” She waits for him to leave before casting her watchful eye on me once more. “If you are going to work as one of my girls, I will know everything about you. Where was your place of employment before this?”

“I-” Faltering, I look at the ground, unsure of what to say.

I have no knowledge of what happens at places such as these and certainly no locations I can conjure to mind. Wracking my brain, I dissect every word spoken between my parents, hoping to glean something that could help me.

“The Gilded Garden,” I finally blurt out, praying that perhaps my father visited there for acts other than looking at flowers.

It must be, though, for I recall in vivid detail begging Mama to let me see the gardens. At the time, her expression and sharp words made no sense to me. They pierced my heart, forcing me to sob until she held me. Tears streamed down her cheeks as well, coating the top of my head.

My younger, far more naïve self, thought she felt wretched for the tone she took with me. Now, looking upon it with the veil lifted from my eyes, she more than likely was crying because her heart was breaking. There was no way for them to be a love match if my father was about seeking the attention of ones in a brothel.