The Girl in the Brothel Ch. 03

They were greeted at the door by a butler dressed smartly in a double-breasted black waistcoat and salt-and-pepper trousers. His light brown hair was combed back and he bore a thin trace of a mustache under his nose. He looked utterly relieved to see Ardon.

"Mr. Mereguilde," the butler said as they entered, their footsteps echoing loudly on the black and white marbled foyer, "Your early return is fortuitous. I'm afraid—" the butler's eyes finally landed on Thara. He exchanged a look with Ardon.

"Yes, this is the girl," was all Ardon said, which very obviously signaled to Thara that the entire household had been prepared for her arrival. "Is anyone up yet, George?"

"Your mother is in the morning room," George said, politely returning his attention back to Ardon. "Would you like me to let her know you've arrived?"

"No, that's not necessary. I will see to that in a moment."

George took a step forward. "Sir, some business associates are waiting for you in your study."

Ardon visibly bristled. "At this hour? What do they want? Nevermind, I'll go to them now. Can you see that Ms. Newtane is given some food? I won't be gone long." And without a backward glance at Thara he left, his large frame striding out of sight down a corridor.

George coughed and Thara jumped, wrenching her gaze away from Ardon's retreating back. "May I take your cloak, miss?" He eyed the hem, which was stained with dirt and trailing on the marble floor.

Thara hesitated. How was she going to explain the nightgown? "I think I would rather keep it on," she said, blushing.

"I'm afraid I insist," he apologized. "The mud will stain the carpets."

Thara closed her eyes in resolution and handed off the cloak. The butler was paid very well, and didn't bat an eyelash.

George laid out a mouth-watering spread for Thara in the dining room: toast with butter and jam, soft boiled eggs, sausages, cut fruit, and a wedge of cheese were arranged at one end of the table, along with a pot of coffee.

Thara was mid-way through her meal when she heard a young woman say loudly from the kitchen, "Marguerite, why are all the breakfast things still out? Is someone here?"

"The master has returned with his ward, Miss," came the faint reply.

Thara got up and crept toward the doors leading into the kitchen, wanting to hear more.

"She's not his ward, she's Mother's ward, and I don't think she needs so much food. A pot of coffee and some toast with fruit should have been acceptable."

"I'm sorry, Miss, I was instructed to prepare everything," the other woman said, not sounding intimidated in the least.

Thara nudged the door open a crack and saw a girl, perhaps around her own age, standing across from the cook. She wore a pale yellow dress with white sleeves and flower lacing at the hem. A straw hat dangled from one elbow. In her hands was a basket bearing vegetables, which she dropped onto the counter with no amount of grace.

"Here are your blasted tomatoes," the girl said to the cook, before turning to exit the kitchen. Thara had expected her to exit through the hallway entrance, so she was surprised when the girl instead came toward the doors leading to the dining room.

Thara jumped backwards but still managed to get hit. The girl let out a small shriek, her eyes round and staring.

"I'm sorry," Thara said, her nose smarting. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Who are you?" the blonde demanded, her accusing eyes taking in Thara's slippered feet and the dreadful nightgown. She looked at the spread on the table and the empty seat before it, before looking again at Thara. "Is this a joke?"

"That's her, Miss, your mother's ward," Marguerite said helpfully from behind the young woman. She shrugged at Thara and disappeared back into the kitchen.

"She looks like a common urchin," the girl said, to no one in particular. She fixed her blue eyes on Thara, and asked, rather nastily, "Well? Why aren't you dressed?"

Thara pursed her lips at the way the girl emphasized the word, disliking her instantly. "I am dressed," she said, unable to keep the ice from her tone. Well, just barely. "I would be wearing more clothes if your brother hadn't kidnapped me from my room in the middle of the night!"

The girl recoiled in disgust. "I don't believe this," she muttered, pushing past Thara and into the hall. "Mother!" she yelled as she walked as she crossed the foyer, her motions jerky.

Thara ran after her, her temper flaring. It felt good to be angry. It was much better than feeling sorry for herself. As she followed the girl, who she deduced at this point to be Ardon's sister, she couldn't help but think it was a shame that such a lovely dress should be worn by a such a villainous individual.

The blonde entered a room filled with potted plants. There was a writing desk in one corner with a woman behind it. She had silver-flecked brown hair arranged in a messy bun, with strands falling down around her face, and a set of wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. A black and white dog lay curled at her feet, dozing.

The woman looked up calmly as the girl charged in, Thara coming in after her, and George the butler immediately in their wake, apologizing profusely for not announcing them.

"It's all right, George, you know we're not very fussy about those things," the woman said, setting down her pen. "Lark, are you being rude to our guest?"

"She's not our guest, it's clear she came in right off the street!" the blonde said, pointing. "It's offensive!"

"I didn't come in off the street! I didn't have a choice!" Thara growled, matching the girl's anger with her own. "Believe me, this is not the first thing I would choose to wear when meeting strangers!"

The girl seemed not to hear her, continuing, "Ardon had Marguerite prepare an entire breakfast for her just now! Seven plates!" It was five plates, not including the small dishes for the butter and jam, but Thara wasn't going to correct her.

"Seeing as how this is his house and his staff, I don't see what the problem is," the woman said. "You will apologize to the young lady immediately."

"But Mother, did you hear what she—"

"Now, Lark."

The blonde turned a brilliant shade of red but did not argue further with her mother. She slowly turned to face Thara, her hands fisted in her skirt. "I apologize for being rude." Her voice was surprisingly even. "And I'm sorry for any offense taken regarding your manner of dress." She indicated toward Thara's person.

"It's okay," Thara said stiffly, then added, "I'm sorry for yelling at you."

The blonde left, her back stiff as a post, yellow skirts flouncing.

The woman got up from behind the table. "I apologize for my daughter's behavior. She is upset to be away from our house in the city. I am Elles Mereguilde. My son, Ardon, is the one who brought you here." She removed the glasses from her nose and let them fall to the breast of her white button-down blouse, which was neatly tucked into a light brown floor-length skirt.

"I'm Thara Newtane," Thara said, meeting Elles in the middle of the room. "But you seem to know that already." They shook hands.

"I was a good friend of your mother's, as I'm sure Ardon told you," Elles said. She gestured to two couches and they sat down opposite each other. "I'm so sorry to hear about your family's passing. Please accept my condolences." Thara nodded, a lump in her throat, surprised to see that Elles looked just as upset as she did. "Did your mother ever talk about me?"

Thara shook her head. "I only know that she grew up in Aldochor City and left after she married Papa." Why hadn't her mama told her anything? Thara felt a small pang of betrayal.

"I suppose I'm not surprised," Elles said, sitting back against the cushions. She folded her hands in her lap. "We started a shipping company together, but parted ways once she was engaged to be married. Our company had grown considerably and she wanted a simpler life."

Thara was startled. "My mama started a shipping company with you? Did my papa know about it?" She couldn't believe it. Her mother had always been intelligent. She had insisted on teaching her children how to read, write and do sums. But never in all her life did Thara think her mother used to be a businesswoman in the capital of Eganick Kingdom!

"Yes, he did," Elles said carefully. "But they both wanted room for a growing family, and city life did not provide for that, so they left. I was sorry to see them go." Elles retrieved a folder from her desk and handed it to Thara. "I made this for you to look over when you arrived. The company is Lidelle Shipping. We co-founded it together after university."

There was a photograph inside the front pocket of Elles and her mother standing outside a warehouse with the words LIDELLE SHIPPING CO. over the doors. They wore slim trousers and work shirts rolled up at the sleeves. Her mother's hair was cut in a bob. It looked nice on her, Thara thought. Tears welled up in her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and looked through the rest of the folder. Letters and contracts, all signed with her mother's familiar signature, and stamped with the company letterhead, and more photos. She didn't recognize any of the people except for Elles. Had her mother really wanted a simpler life? She looked so happy in the pictures.

"This is a lot to take in."

Elles sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. The gesture startled Thara. She couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged her. The thought made her cry even harder. Elles gave her a tissue. "We corresponded through letters after she left. In fact, we spoke quite often in the year leading up to her death." She looked upset. "Thara, I'm sorry it took so long to find you. When your mother passed away there was no one to bring word back to us. I sent a courier when your mother never responded to my letters, and when we learned the truth, you had been gone from Wrethby Creek for a year already, with no leads. I can't imagine what you've been through."

Thara was silent for a long moment before speaking, reliving her years bouncing from employ to employ, sleeping on hard pallets or dirt floor, sometimes under a roof, sometimes beneath a tree. Always worried about her next meal, about how tattered her clothes would be by the end of the next day. "Now that you've found me," Thara said emptily, "am I supposed to live with you?" The thought was strange and more than a little bit scary.

Elles's hand pressed firmly into her shoulder, almost protectively. "Well...yes. In the case of your parents' death, their will specified that I was to be guardian to their children. In your case, you are a grown woman of twenty-four, but unmarried, so still under guardianship."

Thara frowned. "They had a will?"

Elles nodded, scooting back to get a better look at Thara. "They drew one up many years ago. Your mother came up to see me after your father's death a year before she passed, to discuss some of the more pertinent details. I've been in touch with the executor about it. He is on travel but as soon as he returns we will sit down with him and get things ironed out."

Thara flipped open the folder to stare again at her mother's youthful countenance, as though to reassure herself it really was her mother in the photos. "What is there to iron out? We don't have property other than the house."

Elles smiled and her shoulders relaxed. "You have an inheritance, Thara. Your mother may have left the company, but she didn't leave you with nothing. She has an account that has continued to collect a portion of Lidelle's profits."

"What?" Thara shrieked, her hands flying to her mouth.

"She's an heiress, yet I find her employed in a brothel in a backwoods marsh town," drawled a now too-familiar voice by the door. "I see you two have met."

Elles did not miss the way Thara's eyes narrowed upon hearing her son's voice. "Ardon," she greeted him warmly with a kiss on the cheek. "Did you see your associates out? I would have spoken to them on your behalf but they insisted." She shook her head and murmured to Thara, "Some men still aren't comfortable with women in business. It's a shame." But she didn't seem too bothered.

Well, I probably wouldn't be bothered either if I could afford this house, Thara thought, looking down at the plush rug beneath her feet. It bore an image of a lush, fruited clearing in a forest. There was a hunter hiding in the bushes to the side, and a boar drinking from the spring in the center.

Elles cleared her throat. "What was this about a brothel?" She only now seemed to realize Thara was wearing a night gown.

"I was not a prostitute," Thara said automatically, unable to resist Ardon's baiting. "I was an errand girl. Must we continue to beat this dead horse?" She glared at him standing in the doorway, his eyes measuring her up. "I hope your friends think you're funny, because I don't."

As soon as the words left her lips, she realized that she knew absolutely nothing about Ardon. Did he have friends? Why, he must. He might even be married—a house like this had to have a lady to look after it. The thought made her sick. What kind of man would go to a brothel and pay for a night with...well, she supposed he hadn't intended to sleep with her, in the end. But he had definitely tried to seduce her for sport, then goaded her on the train about kneeing him in the privates—and the morning after, the way he'd looked at her bare legs...it was just infuriating!

"How kind of you to express concern for my friends. The horse thanks you, too." He didn't look ruffled in the least by her barb. Thara acknowledged that it hadn't been a good retort, and resolved to do better next time.

"Ardon, don't jest," Elles said to her son. "Now, what is it you came to tell me?"

"I need to leave shortly on business, Mother. One of the larger accounts. It will take one night, maybe two." Ardon's eyes slid down to Thara's slippered feet. It was a lazy sort of lingering gaze that made Thara feel as though he were somehow undressing her with his eyes.

"The Grisholm shipments?" Elles asked. Her eyes were sharp on his. "Make sure to take care, they are fragile." At his nod, she continued. "The Redsbys are coming tomorrow night. Will you be home in time for dinner?"

Ardon winced. "I'll try. I'm not sure how long it may take, but I'll try to be home, if not for dinner, than before they retire."

He gave his mother another kiss, nodded in Thara's direction, and left.

"I apologize for my son," Elles said, giving Thara a tired smile. "He likes to tease and sometimes it goes too far." She fingered the delicate gold chain on which her spectacles hung.

"He's quite insufferable," Thara agreed.

"I need to get back to my letters," Elles said, resettling her glasses on her nose. She wasn't one to mince words, but Thara liked that about her. "We still need to discuss the outlines of your mother's will. The executor gave me a briefing until he returned. Perhaps we can do that tomorrow? In the meantime I'll see if we can find you something suitable to wear and get you settled in a room." She rang a silver bell on the writing desk.

The dog, which had been snoozing beneath the table this whole time, woke up with a shake of its head to stare at its mistress. It let out a woof and trotted over to sniff Thara's feet. She bent down to stroke its soft fur. They had a dog once, a red hound named Muffin. She had passed away when Thara was eight, and she missed having a furry creature around. Perhaps there was a silver lining to her new home after all.

"George, please take Thara to the guest room and find her something to wear until we can take her to the tailor. Maybe something from Lark's closet."

Thara groaned inwardly. Maybe not.