Page 14 of Only Pleasure Will Do

“Sixteen.” She sighed and twined her fingers tighter. “My father had begun to talk of taking me to London for a Season when I turned eighteen, and I was excited beyond belief, even though it was almost two years away.” She stilled her fingers by fisting her hands, so hard the bones of her knuckles threatened to tear through the skin. “And then quite suddenly, he died.”

She stole a glance at Sir Reginald, but his face had gone stony, his lips thinned to a crisp line. He glanced at her and his eyes, while still kind, held no inkling of surprise. Perhaps her story was not uncommon, then. She’d always thought it so. Shaking off the grief that still touched her heart whenever she thought of her father’s death, she continued.

“I was never told what he died of. He simply went to bed one night and did not wake up.”

She’d been devastated, sobbing uncontrollably for days, refusing all food, no matter how Cook tried to tempt her. All she’d wanted was to die alongside the most beloved companion she’d ever known.

“As I was not a son, the estate went to a distant relative who might well have taken me in, had my father not made a very important stipulation in his will.”

Sir Reginald shifted on the bed, as if bracing for the revelation.

“He entrusted my guardianship to his long-time friend and his wife.” Amorina paused, gathering the will to push through. The man and his name were beyond odious. “I don’t know if you know him. Sir Peter and Lady Finch.”

The cool gray eyes staring straight at her darkened as though a sudden squall had raged into a quiet sea. “Sir Peter Finch was a familiar of your father’s?”

“They met at university and became the best of friends. I have no idea how, since two more widely different men could not be found. Over the years, Sir Peter had visited my father, who’d spoken of him to me with fondness and great respect. Because I was in the schoolroom, I never met him until after my father’s death, when he and Lady Finch came to take me to their house in London.”

A deep scowl worked its way down Matthews’s nose, until his brow must ache with the strain. He shot up off the bed, striding to the far side of the room and back again, his hands working feverishly at his sides, as if he wished to throttle someone. “I have been acquainted with Sir Peter and Lady Finch for some time. You need hardly continue your tale, Madam Vestry. I’m certain I can guess the facts.”

“But confession is for the benefit of the sinner, Sir Reginald, not the priest.” Wearily, she went to him, her feet leaden and dragging in the dusty earthen floor, and took his arm. “You promised you would hear me.”

The piercing eyes held her gaze for a moment, turning her insides warm, then he lifted her hand from his arm and kissed the back of it. “And I will do so, my dear.” He led her back to the bed, and they settled on it again in their same places, although he did not relinquish her hand. “Please continue.”

“I hadn’t been in the house a month before Sir Peter found his way to my bed late one night.” She looked away from Matthews. No matter how many times she told herself Sir Peter had greater strength than she, that there was nothing she could’ve done to stop him that night and later, the shame of that wretched scene beat down upon her like a black mantle from which she could never escape. Heat crept into her cheeks and she fought to keep her emotions distant, as she’d done for so long now. “He told me he had the keeping of me now and that it was therefore only right that I submit to his desires.”

“I am so sorry.” Matthews patted her hand then rubbed it gently.

His gentle ministrations soothed her, and her face cooled. Lord, she had not blushed in years. Why do so at such a time? Oh, but she knew very well why. She slipped her hand from his. “I know I could have done nothing to stop him.” Finding Sir Reginald’s gaze, she stared at him earnestly. “But deep down, still I blame myself. For simply lying there.” She fisted her hands at her sides, the nails digging into her palms. “Crying quietly as he stripped my innocence away.”

“Shh.” Sir Reginald put his arm around her shoulders, drew her head down upon his chest. “You could have done nothing that would’ve changed what happened that night one iota. To have resisted him might’ve made him angry and given him cause to hurt you even worse.”

“You are likely right. And that is what I’ve tried to persuade myself.” Brushing at a tear that had found its way onto her cheek, Amorina shrugged herself from under his arm and sat up.

Oh yes, she’d tried such persuasions since that night, but never found herself quite convinced. No matter how often she’d tried to assure herself it had not been her fault, she still blamed herself for what had happened. Had she dressed more dowdily, or smiled less frequently, would he never have come to her? What if she’d fought harder or screamed aloud? Might things then have turned out differently?

“Did you tell Lady Finch what had happened?”

Amorina gave a grim chuckle. “The very first thing the next morning. I found her in the morning room and gave her a halting description of what had occurred. She fixed me with a caustic eye and all the strength ran out of my legs. She drew herself up and said that I should not tell such lies about the good Christian people who’d taken me in.” Amorina could hear the nasal tone, see the pinched nose as Lady Finch waved a teacup in one hand. “She said if I tried to spread such filth about her husband, I’d find myself out on the street with nothing to my name but the clothes I stood up in.”

“Christian charity indeed.” Matthews grunted, his scowl now making the crinkles around his eyes look menacing. “I’ll lay a wager that night was not the only time Sir Peter forced his attentions upon you.”

“Oh, no. He came to my bed quite regularly after that. I simply lay there and endured.” It now gave her a measure of cold comfort to think Sir Peter had no skills as a lover. He’d tried to make her want him, make her encourage him to come to her, and had bragged continually about his sexual prowess with other women, although from her position now as madam of the House of Pleasure, she knew without a doubt his physical abilities were far less than adequate. “Within two months, I was with child.”

“How did he take the news?”

“Not well at all, although I wonder how he thought to avoid it without taking at least minimal precautions.” Precautions she now insisted upon at the House of Pleasure for all her girls. “He accused me of lying with some fictitious gentleman—as though I’d seen any man other than him—and tried to turn me out of the house.”

Matthew clenched his jaw until it creaked. “I trust you found a way to avoid that?”

“I did. I threatened to go not only to his wife, but to walk to the house of every acquaintance he had and tell them what had happened.” Amorina smiled at that memory. “The shock on his face was truly comical. He could’ve been a model for one of the satires Mr. Hogarth paints, a skinny man with his mouth open wide, crying copiously because he has been thwarted.”

A grin shot across Sir Reginald’s face at the reference, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “A very apt threat, for many of his so-called friends would’ve known the truth of your allegations. Finch never took care to hide his excesses. Apparently, you were not the first innocent he abused.” He continued to hold her hand, making her confession even more difficult. “What was the outcome? He didn’t dare turn you out then?”

“No, but I proposed a compromise. I agreed to stay silent if he would allow me to go to two of my father’s old servants, who’d retired when the new baron took over the residence. I would stay with them until the child was born then Sir Peter would give me the inheritance my father had left me and with that I would open a dressmaker’s shop to support myself and the child. And to this he agreed.”

“But?”

“But once the baby was born, a girl I named Pearl,” Amorina couldn’t help smiling as she said the name, “he reneged on the promise.” Foaming with outrage every time she thought of Finch’s treachery, Amorina frowned, her body tensing. “Unbeknownst to anyone, Sir Peter owned a part interest in a small, ill-maintained brothel in Covent Garden. He took the money from my inheritance and bought out the other partner’s shares then announced to me that this enterprise was my inheritance and that it would make a sight more money than any dressmaker’s shop, if I cared to run it. If not, I could starve in the streets.”

Matthew’s looked as though he’d swallowed something nasty. “And you were how old when he did this?”

“Barely seventeen.” She spread her fingers wide then slowly bunched them into fists. The indignities Sir Peter had forced upon her would have broken anyone less determined to survive. “I had no idea what to do, certainly no knowledge of running a brothel. But I had to make a living, find a way to keep Pearl with the old servant couple and out of London. As part of my upbringing, of course, I’d been trained in household management, so I started there. I talked to the few girls who were still working there, and they were quite forthcoming with their information about the business. Then I made the acquaintance of several of the other women who ran such establishments and gained valuable insights from them. Most important of all, I vowed no one would ever know that I was Aimee Forrester. I would not have my father’s name, nor my daughter’s life, ruined by what I was forced to become.” She stared fiercely at Sir Reginald. “So I created Amorina Vestry, a woman as cold as ice and hard as bricks to run the House of Pleasure, as I rechristened the establishment. I hired hardened men who would do whatever it took to keep order. I changed the décor of the place to make it not only more elegant, but more titillating to the men who frequented it.”

“I can vouch for it, Madam Vestry, you did an excellent job at that.” Matthews’s lips had firmed, a rueful cast to his mouth.

Amorina smiled. “I recall you fondling my sofa when we first met. It has been a favorite piece of many of the gentlemen who’ve come through my doors.”

“No doubt.” A faint tinge of pink brushed Sir Reginald’s cheeks. “I congratulate you. You’ve managed to turn adversity into triumph, although in our present predicament you may not feel that triumph in the least. I believe I can, however, give you some news that will comfort you despite the circumstances.”

“What is that, Sir Reginald?”

“Sir Peter Finch is dead.”