Read The School for Brides Online
Authors: Cheryl Ann Smith
The School for Brides (2 page)
“Merchandise?” Eva asked.
The perfect heart-shaped face turned sober as Rose seemed to reach for the correct way to express her ideas. She finally nodded her head. “Miss Eva, a fellow always wants a taste of what he’s purchasing before he proposes a contract.”
Rose’s bright blue eyes were remarkably innocent for a girl who’d spent the last four years of her life servicing an elderly duke. A loose curl settled over her right eye, making her look much younger than twenty-one. However, it was her frankness when speaking of her sexual experiences that gave her a decidedly less-than-innocent air.
Pauline, a buxom twenty-six-year-old blonde in yellow, nodded, nibbling on a knuckle. “A man will pay a higher price if he likes what he sees beneath a corset and drawers. Plump breasts and a nicely rounded bottom are most favored among the gentry.”
The comment was so matter-of-fact it took Eva a blink for her spine to catch up with her ears and draw her back from her moments of inattentiveness. She straightened one vertebra at a time, exasperated that a woman had to care what any man, or men, thought about her figure. If a lady wanted to eat so many pastries that her bottom grew as wide as the Thames, she should be able to do so without the judgment of the male species.
“Except for Lord Fitz,” Rose interjected with a knowing glance at Pauline before Eva could respond. The two friends nodded their heads in unison, setting their curls to bobbing. Rose put an open hand to the side of her mouth and lowered her tone to a loud whisper. “I hear he likes his mistresses to look and dress like footmen—”
“Let’s move along, ladies,” Eva interjected sternly. From deep within, and past the beginning of a headache, she hung on to a tiny thread of patience. All she wanted to do was pull the nearest pillow over her head to shut out the light and the world.
Running this school, as she called it, was never easy. Nor was it simple to turn her courtesans into proper ladies and match them with husbands.
However, the importance of saving young women from lives of servitude on their backs, with pompous lords riding them like grunting, sweaty jockeys, was the foremost reason for her to get out of bed every day and make the journey across town to Cheapside.
Each well-made match produced a rush of relief that there would be one woman less to end up broken-spirited and left to live in poverty and quiet desperation, once the line of rich and lecherous patrons dried up.
Any bedding these five courtesans would indulge in from this moment forward would follow a wedding in front of a vicar and with papers signed to legalize the union. That she’d make sure of.
Though her temples pulsed, she would get through this introduction to the rules, send the women off to contemplate the lesson, then rush home to put a cool compress on her head and take a long nap between soft sheets.
“A man should choose you as his partner based on your intelligence, your disposition, and the joy you bring to his life. Not, Pauline, what you have beneath your corset. So, that said, you shall never again, for any reason, wear fabrics thin enough to see through outside your marital bed.” Eva scanned the room and was satisfied all the women were now decently covered. “Advertising one’s wares to the masses is no longer permitted if you intend to change your circumstances and find a respectable mate.”
Audible groans and hushed whispers again sounded from around the modest yet tasteful blue room. Change did not come easily for her courtesans. However, Eva was confident that by the end of the month all her charges would step forward to meet the challenge she set forth: to make her, and themselves, proud.
“Trust me, ladies. You will have no difficulty finding a husband once I am finished with your instruction,” Eva said. “And he will care more about the strength of your character than the circumference of your breasts.”
Pauline knitted her hands in her lap and screwed up her face. Several emotions played across her delicate features.
Eva watched as a measure of understanding dawned in the young woman and the start of a new way of thinking passed through Pauline’s pretty hazel eyes. Satisfaction filled Eva’s heart; one enlightened courtesan and four to go.
The five women were of different ages, were from varied backgrounds, and had varied educations. They were all brightly wrapped from head to slippered toes in a selection of red, pink, blue, orange, and yellow feathers and bows, like exotic hens preening as they sought a cock with whom to mate.
Eva squelched a frown as she contemplated each in turn, perched together on the pair of rose-patterned settees. There was no dull mouse in the lot.
The women had been instructed to wear simple, unadorned clothing this morning. Perhaps next time she should be more specific about the cut and color of the gown. If this was the best each could come up with, a day of shopping was clearly in order.
Truthfully, catching the attention of a breathing, wealthy male had been their life’s work up to this moment. And the second requirement was likely more important than the first.
“But His Grace says a woman is judged by her beauty and figure,” Rose said innocently as she smoothed out her skirts. “And education is wasted on a woman. As long as she knows how to please a man and walk upright, she needs no further instruction.”
Eva scowled. “His Grace needs to be horsewhipped. Walk upright and service men, indeed! Next time the old buzzard visits, Rose, jerk his cane away from him and beat him senseless with it.”
Rose’s eyes widened, then the corners of her mouth twitched in response to the peals of laughter of the other girls. A spark of mischief lit her face. Clearly this courtesan did not share the view of her ancient patron. “I think I shall do just that. It would do the wretch a wealth of good, and his wife and daughters would certainly be grateful.”
While Eva sat shamefaced over her outburst about the arrogance of noblemen, the other women voiced various treacherous ways to make the old duke suffer for the crime of ignorance.
“Let us turn that stallion into a gelding,” said Abigail softly as her cheeks pinkened beneath wisps of brown hair that framed her round face. She was twenty-four and had been a year into her career as a courtesan, since her father, a tenant farmer, died in a fight over ownership of a flock of sheep. Only her beauty and some education had kept her from selling her wares on the docks.
“Stallion?” Rose said with a laugh and pressed her fingertips to her mouth. Her eyes flashed. “A suckling colt has more vigor with a mare.”
The jesting continued until all but the stern-faced Sophie were happily satisfied the duke had been verbally battered to a pulp. Though Eva suspected this particular gaggle of young women could try the patience of even the most stoic magistrate seated on a high court, she found she enjoyed their company. With all the darkness that marked her days, laughter and silliness were a welcome diversion. She even managed a smile at the image of the old duke slathered in pudding and covered with duck feathers.
Still, she had lessons to complete, and now was not the time to socialize if she were to keep on schedule. “As enjoyable as it would be to geld the duke, we are fresh out of rusty medical instruments to do the deed.” She waited a moment until she had their full attention. “Now, let us continue. I have matched former courtesans with husbands for three years, and I understand how difficult it is to give up your seductive ways. Yet, none of you were chained up and dragged here to sit through my teachings, and each of you is permitted to leave any time you choose. Harold informed you before he brought you here that the school is entirely voluntary. As you saw when you entered through the front door of this town house, the solid oak panel does not have metal bars.”
A secret network operated by word of mouth had brought each woman willingly to Eva’s door. Since most of the courtesans had worked from the time they were young, this made her efforts challenging. They’d been taught early that earls, dukes, and barons cared less about what lay above the neckline than what treasures could be found below. It was her job to change their perception of life and themselves. They had value beyond their bodies, and by the end of the month all five would know just how high their worth was.
“Henceforth, the only time any of you will show any private parts to a man is on your wedding night and beyond. Your pasts are almost behind you now, and a new life dawns. If you follow a few simple rules, you’ll be ready to wed before the month is out.”
Unfortunately, the task was never quite so easy. Especially for those like Sophie, who’d worked as a courtesan for twelve years, since the tender age of seventeen, when her parents died and left her penniless.
Older women like Sophie and Yvette had played the coquette for so long they used seduction and their beauty to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. It was difficult to break free of such a past and accept the idea that life held other possibilities. But Eva enjoyed a good challenge and her rate of successful matches was high.
“A gentleman does not need to see your parts exposed in order to make a proposal. A marriage proposal.” She leveled a glare on each woman in turn and pursed her lips. “If any one of you does not see your future as a proper wife and mother, Harold will bring the coach around. I will not waste my time and your monies on a futile endeavor.”
The courtesans peered at each other and then back to her. All shook their heads in unison. Two blondes, two brunettes, and Rose the redhead. All highly paid in their previous profession. Some wanted children, some wanted a home of their own, and some just wanted one man in her bed to love. Whatever their reasons, Eva would find them their perfect mate.
“Excellent. Let us get started.” Eva walked over to the bookcase and pulled a thick volume off the shelf. The women watched, openly curious, as she returned and settled into a high-backed chair.
“From this moment onward, you will not use vulgar terms for genitalia, breasts, or sexual positions as topics of conversation in polite company. You will stick to topics such as the weather, or Parliament, or current fashion. I care not which, as long as it isn’t immediately followed by a man shoving his hand down your corset.”
Several snickers followed, then faded quickly when Eva failed to join in. “You will learn deportment and manners and clever ways to begin a conversation, and all of you will learn to carry yourselves with the grace of a duchess.”
Eva turned the book to show its gilded black cover. The women stared as if the words were written in Latin. Though only shy Abigail couldn’t read well, five puzzled faces gazed at the large gold-inlaid word at the top of the cover.
Husbands.
Eva’s eyes softened and she nodded. “I promise a husband is now within reach for each of you.”
“I do so want a husband,” Abigail said, sighing.
Eva smiled at the beautiful girl. “Then a husband you shall have, Abigail.”
If not for the limited number of positions for which women could seek employment in this society, and the beauty of her charges limiting the chances of finding work in any household where a husband resided, she wouldn’t have needed to use her matchmaking talents to this end.
Eva herself had no interest in marriage and considered the institution dreadfully archaic. But her ladies really had no other choices. So marriage it was for her courtesans.
“Inside this book are information and sketches of men seeking wives; they have no compunction about your lack of virginity.” Eva opened to a page and turned the book so the girls could see the first face. “I asked each man to answer some questions. I wrote down the questions, and their responses, here.” She pointed to the page opposite the sketch. “I’ve verified the information myself, so each of you will know exactly what kind of man you are choosing and what he expects of his wife. When a man is matched, we remove him from the book so there will not be any confusion.”
She flipped to a page where the sketched face was blacked out. She’d kept his page in the book for an example to show the sort of man she would not tolerate. “Men who abuse women are immediately refused, as are men with drinking or gambling problems. These are respectable men who want a respectable wife.”
“But why would they want to wed one of us?” Yvette, a twenty-six-year-old brunette with tired brown eyes, crossed her arms over a sizable bosom and frowned. She’d had eight lovers during her six years as a courtesan, and her unhappiness with her lot showed in the hard lines on her face. She would be the most difficult to place without substantial effort on Eva’s part. “What is wrong with them? Hideous scars? Rotten teeth? A missing limb?”
“Yes.” Pauline nodded, and the yellow feather in her upswept hair fluttered along the side of her round face. “Men do not marry women like us unless there is something awful they are hiding. I want a husband, but could not abide a twisted troll with claw hands pawing at my soft parts.”
Eva’s shoulder blades tightened. Odd, women who willingly bedded the highest bidder had lofty standards when it came time to choose a mate.
She grimaced. The itchy gown was making her irritable. Of course she should have a pleasing mate.
“I assure you there isn’t a single troll in this book, but neither are there dukes or earls or kings.” Blunt honesty sometimes was exactly what these women required. If they expected to someday be addressed as “Lady” anything, they’d be sorely disappointed. “Men of stature require a virginal wife of impeccable birth to wed.”
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