The Girl in the Brothel Ch. 05

Thara was delighted to discover, upon her awakening the next morning, the smell of breakfast greeting her nose. She hurriedly dressed, wrapping her bandeau about her breasts and slipping into the blue silk dress George had selected for her from Lark's bureau. It was a mite too small in the hips and chest, but it would have to do. Thara looked at her reflection in the mirror and thought she stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a dress for a fair, genteel young woman, of which Thara felt she was neither. She resolved to find herself a good set of trousers, or at the very least, a linen skirt and shirtwaist.

George met her in the foyer and took her to the garden room where breakfast was being served. The little dog, whose name was Puff, wagged its tail when it saw Thara enter, and came forward from its spot by Elles's feet to lick her fingers.

Lark, who was sitting on one of the white wicker chairs, wrinkled her nose. She cast a haughty eye over her blue silk and ignored Thara completely, picking up her knife to butter her toast.

Elles was taking coffee at the head of the glass table, a newspaper spread out before her. At George's introduction, she gestured for Thara to sit and help herself. It appeared they had been there for some time, and Thara hoped they had not continued to linger on her account.

She didn't think she could ever get tired of the sheer amount of food on the table. She had not grown up poor, but she most certainly had not grown up with the abundance of—well, everything that she had seen thus far at Mereguilde. If her mama was as rich as Elles said, why didn't she spend any of her money? Thara believed she would have enjoyed having hot water pipes in the house, and a cook to prepare such delicious meals. She didn't care for the dresses or the snooty upper crusters like Lark—those things she was perfectly happy to leave behind. But everything else wasn't so bad.

She dug in to her breakfast with gusto, helping herself to a second serving of bacon and eggs. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lark staring at her, open-mouthed in abject horror. Well, where Thara came from, it wasn't a crime to put your elbows on the table (despite what her mama said), and it certainly wasn't a crime to eat your bacon or sausages without cutting them up into bite-sized pieces.

Lark cleared her throat loudly. Elles remained blissfully ignorant, so absorbed was she in the headlines splashed across the front of the Times. "Mother." Lark's blonde ringlets quivering in annoyance.

Elles flicked her eyes in the direction of her daughter, and, seeing the source of Lark's consternation, said, "Now, darling, I thought we discussed this last night."

Lark pursed her lips, her eyes darkening in protest. "I don't see why she can get away with everything and I can't."

"I'm not getting away with anything," Thara said, around a mouthful of egg. The girl was mad. Stark, raving mad.

"She's wearing my clothes, has no table manners, and you heard the way she spoke to me yesterday, Mother," Lark seethed. "I don't care that her whole family died, it's not fair!" with that, she lurched up from her seat and flew from the room.

Elles sighed, pinching the skin between her eyebrows.

"I'm sorry," Thara said immediately once Lark had gone. She felt awful at creating such tension in the house. "I know my presence here is taxing on her." She gestured to her dress. "It would probably be best, I think, if I had my own wardrobe." It was a good start, anyway.

"Of course, without a question," Elles said firmly. "We can do that after breakfast. But first, we need to go over the stipulations of your parents' will." She neatly folded the newspaper and found an unoccupied spot on the table for it. "Since the executor, Mr. Washburn, will not be back in town for another few months, I think it is a good idea to at least tell you the highlights. As I said yesterday, Mr. Washburn's missive was brief, so I apologize if I speak generally on some matters. Seeing as how you will be with us for the indeterminate future, I didn't think you should have to wait so many months until his return."

Thara felt her chest constrict. She had never known her parents to be formal, but there were, apparently, a lot of things she did not know about them, her mama in particular, so she had to stop being so suspicious of everything that came her way regarding them. Elles had, after all, shown her the photos and all those papers bearing her mother's signature. She could recognize her mama's florid scrawl anywhere, having been schooled by her in letters and sums since she was five. Still, the whole business about a mysterious will and inheritance made her nervous. It was just all too much, in too little time.

"As you are the sole surviving heir to your mother's fortune," Elles was saying, "everything will be transferred to your name. Your mother's estate has been in contact with me to take care of the details. You should be able to begin drawing from it immediately. I will take you to the bank later today to introduce you, if that's all right." She paused. "Now, there is the matter of your future."

Thara, who had been finishing up the last bit of toast, sensed the hesitancy in the older woman's voice, and cast wary eyes in her direction. Swallowing, she turned her full attention toward Elles, who looked very serious. Oh, bollocks, Thara thought. "My future?" she repeated curiously. "What of it?" The last several days had been such a whirlwind of changes that she had not even stopped to think about what her wardship under Mrs. Mereguilde might mean going forward. Indeed, if the past year and a half had taught Thara anything, it was not to think too much about the future, because it only caused immense worry.

"Well," Elles began slowly, "your mother had specific stipulations for you, should you come into my care."

"Stipulations?" There was a horrible sensation in the pit of Thara's very full stomach. "What do you mean?"

"We both agreed that you should have a stake in the company, now that you are on your own. If you choose, I will mentor you to take on a leadership role within Lidelle."

Thara stared at her, hardly able to believe her ears. "I would live here, and work for Lidelle?"

"If you wish."

This is my chance to start over, Thara thought dazedly. To be involved in an enterprise that her mama had been so passionate about. It was an opportunity for change, and it would keep her family alive in her heart. I won't have to scrub floors or wash laundry. No more beatings for silly mistakes, darning sheets until the early hours of the morning or washing pots and pans until her hands were rubbed raw. She could be a working woman, in an office, with a desk. No more running. "I would like that very much." Thara's throat constricted. "She really wanted that for me?"

Elles nodded, giving her a small smile. "Your mother may have left the company, but her children are always welcome back. That was something we had agreed upon a long time ago. You will, however..." and here Elles's voice quavered just slightly, "...have to marry."

"Marry?" Thara visibly recoiled in shock. She could feel all the blood drain from her face. Surely that was a mistake.

Elles frowned. "Well...yes. You will be taking over my role as CEO, Thara. You will, of course, have to be married. Business women are not afforded the same level of legitimacy as their male peers." She took the coffee pot and refilled her cup, looking for all the world like she had eaten something sour. "Unmarried businesswomen in our industry fare even worse, unfortunately. If you want to join Lidelle Shipping Co., you must put its needs first. Sometimes that means making difficult decisions."

"Difficult decisions...like marriage." Thara frowned. There was no way her mama had agreed to this. It was very unlike her.

Elles shifted in her wicker chair, the sunlight glinting off her spectacles. "Your mother and I had very bold ideas about the role of women in business when we first started, and in our own way we have succeeded in subverting the norm. But the institutions that govern us have not changed. It is still very much a man's world out there." The atmosphere in the room had become chilly. "If you want to take over my role as CEO, Thara, you will have to be married."

"You—you want me to be the CEO of Lidelle Shipping?" Thara looked at her in horror. "I don't know the first thing about managing a company, Mrs. Mereguilde!"

Elles smiled. "You wouldn't be given the role right away," she assured Thara. "I would mentor you, of course. Until you step into the position, your husband is more than capable to taking over in your stead."

"My husband?" Thara repeated slowly. More than capable? How on earth could Elles know that? "Excuse me, Mrs. Mereguilde, but do you mean to tell me this is an arranged marriage? That I am, as we speak, engaged to be married?" Elles hesitated, seeing the look of horror on Thara's face. That pause was enough for Thara to draw her own conclusions. "Even if I wanted to be the CEO of Lidelle," Thara said, her voice trembling, "I wouldn't accept the offer if an arranged marriage is the condition for the position." She silently retracted her earlier wishes for a cook and hot water pipes. "Perhaps my mother believed she was doing what was best, but for the past year, I have carved my own way in the world. I won't say it was easy, or that I preferred it, but I at least had the freedom to choose, and I would rather die before I allowed myself to be chained to a husband who will take my money and my stake in the company, and relegate me to a life of domesticity."

Elles was looking at her with a rather shocked expression. "Well," the woman said disappointedly when Thara had finished, "I expected some amount of surprise, but certainly not that reaction."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Mereguilde, for disappointing you, but I think I'll take my inheritance and go back to Wrethby Creek."

"This isn't a decision to be made lightly, Thara." Elles looked unhappy. "Please take some time to consider the offer. Do you really want to turn your back on your mother's legacy? You could do so much good here."

Thara chewed her bottom lip, thinking. Elles was right, of course. She had lost her family, but here was something tangible, something real that her mama had built, and wanted to give to her. Could she really leave it behind? "Maybe I can work as a manager, or a secretary, so I don't have to marry anyone." But she knew it was a foolish thought. She already detested the thought of marrying this fiancé of hers, but she hated knowing her mama's company would be run by a stranger even more. At least she would know her husband, maybe even have some measure of control still, if she was lucky. Would you be happy with that? She didn't think so.

"What about your son?" Thara's eyes narrowed. "Surely, he should be first in line for the job of CEO, not me?" Not me or my blasted future husband, she wanted to add.

Elles gave her a funny smile, like she had been caught telling a bad joke. "Ardon oversees a very important department within the company. The relationships he has cultivated for us over the years means he is too valuable to transition over." She shrugged. "It's unfortunate. You were the preferred choice in this situation." The only choice, Thara realized, that her mother and Elles had wanted. This was what her mother had chosen in to do in order to provide for her, in order to take care of her, long after she was gone. Bloody hell. So, this was what obligation felt like. Thara realized she didn't want anyone else to control the company either.

"You don't need to decide now." Elles's voice broke the stillness in the room. "You can think about it and give Mr. Washburn your decision when he returns."

Thara didn't say anything, only fidgeted with her napkin. She finally set it on the table by her plate and turned to look at Elles. "Who is he, Mrs. Mereguilde?" Her voice was surprisingly calm. "Who is my future husband?"

Elles's eyes were washed over with relief, and something else. Worry, perhaps? "I'm afraid Mr. Washburn has all the papers. He only gave me the briefest of outlines until his return, so you will have to wait. I'm sorry."

Thara only nodded, but she couldn't help think that Elles didn't look sorry. She didn't look sorry one bit.

***

Evening.

Ardon made his way out of the library in darkness, attentive to any sound that might indicate someone's presence in the hall, but it was empty, the guests already convened in the parlor to await dinner. He went quickly to his room and closed the door, allowing himself a minute of rest before slowly changing into dinner clothes. George had laid out his dinner jacket and pants on the bed, complete with a double-breasted burgundy waistcoat and matching necktie, perhaps anticipating that he might forgo all etiquette and arrive to meals—as he always did when his mother and sister were not present at Mereguilde—wearing whatever he happened to have on.

At the moment, what he happened to have on would probably cause a mild uproar, particularly with his sister, who died of embarrassment every time he took her to Howl's Park without wearing his top hat. It was past seven. With luck, he would make it before George called them all in to dine. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his waistcoat. Why did they have to be so small? Didn't they know that not all men were blessed with slim fingers?

Once appropriately dressed, he hurried down the hall, ignoring the dull ache in his ribs from the scuffle in the forest earlier that morning, and the fact that he was damn tired. He had arrived in the city at noon, but spent most of the day at Lidelle headquarters taking care of the stack of business and legal correspondence that had piled up on his desk while he had been traveling.

Elles was president and owner of Lidelle Shipping Co, but Ardon oversaw the company's smuggling operations. For heading a clandestine branch of the company, he had been surprised by the volume of mail that had been waiting for him. It appeared that his mother had decided to shift even more of her responsibilities onto him...but couldn't it have waited another week?

George was hovering by the foot of the stairs waiting for him, but still within easy earshot of the parlor in case he was needed. "What took you so long?" his butler asked. It was very un-butler-like of him to address the master of the house that way. But then again, he often assisted Ardon in illegal activities now and again, and that alone afforded a certain amount of familiarity after a while. Ardon didn't care much for convention anyhow.

"I had an inexcusable amount of mail at the office," Ardon grumbled, tugging at his necktie. He glanced toward the parlor. "Have they been waiting long?"

"Yes." George's eyes roved over Ardon's attire critically, pausing at his necktie, which was flat and sporting a crease or two. "I shall announce dinner, if you don't mind."

There was a peal of laughter from the room as they approached. Ardon could only guess that it came from his cousin Horace's wife, the stage actress Regina Pruitt. He had only met her twice, at their wedding five years ago and two months later when their families attended the Royal Regatta on the Dene. He had heard of her frequently since, Lark being a passionate patron of the arts. As an actress, Regina was well known within theatre circles, mostly for her stunning portrayal of the grieving Lady Salem from Wickson's The Enchanted Garden. As a wife, she was well known for her excursions to Madam Bouillier's on King Street, emerging with parcels of brightly colored silks, taffeta and ribbons. She possessed one of the most envied trousseaus in the Capital, and had been listed as among the Top 5 Most Exceptional Women of Egan Couture the year prior. Ardon only knew about this through his sister, who, in addition to her love of theatre, was also subscribed to all of the ladies' fashion magazines.

Ardon thought about all of this as he waited impatiently outside the door to the parlor. His stomach was growling something awful, and he couldn't wait to get his hands on the mutton he'd spied resting on the kitchen block.

Elles was the first to emerge with Lark's hand firmly tucked in her elbow. She swept by her son with a backwards tilt of her head, indicating that he should escort Thara to dinner instead. Elles and Lark were followed at once by his cousin, a tall man with brilliant red hair and hazel eyes.

"Took you long enough, Ardon," Horace said, though not in an unfriendly tone. "I was beginning to think you didn't like me." For a willowy man, he had a surprisingly deep voice.

"I don't like you," Ardon said, dead-pan. "I only agreed to your staying here because of your beautiful wife." He cast the woman beside Horace a grin, which she returned, her laugh genuine. "It's good of you to visit, Cousin." Ardon pulled Horace into a hug. "Regina, it is a pleasure to meet again." He brought the marchioness's gloved hand up for a kiss.

Regina was a vibrant representation of the Aldochorian theatre in all its glory: the dress she wore was a brilliant magenta silk with puffed plum velvet sleeves and a train bearing a stylistic design of orange blossom branches extending artfully up the skirt and onto the bodice. She, like her husband, sported auburn curls, though hers were more subdued. She frequently hid them under wigs while on stage, since heroines were often blonde, ebony or brunette beauties, and she couldn't be bothered to dye her hair for convenience.

"Ardon, you look as handsome as ever." Regina snapped the fan she had been holding closed. "We are indebted to your hospitality. Horace was dreading staying in the capitol for work, you know how he likes the fresher air outside the city. She turned to her husband with a mock pout. "I am forced to make such sacrifices for his happiness." Here was her flair for the dramatic. Mereguilde Manor was hardly considered a country house. It was still within the city limits, in a section of Aldochor zoned for residential neighborhoods and parks.

Ardon barely suppressed a smile, knowing that while she might play to a city-bred girl, Horace had confided she was a better marksman than himself with a Showman. Looks were deceiving. Actress, indeed. The Redsbys headed for the dining room.

Thara. There she was, just now getting up from the couch, and wearing a champagne silk gown with dark brown trim and a vee-necked bodice. She looked somehow wrong in it, though. It fit her in all the right places, exposing a modest amount of collarbone and the delicate blades of her shoulders, but she didn't look quite right. Then he realized—she was wearing a corset. Of course, he should have noticed. Her waist, the shape of which had already been perfect to begin with, had been coaxed into the narrowed funneled look that was the current fashion with women. She was trying to hide how uncomfortable she was, he could see that. How had his mother coerced her into even wearing this? As she approached, he held out his arm, gesturing for her to tuck her hand in his.

"You look well, Ms. Newtane," Ardon said as they trailed behind the others.

"I feel like I'm being punished," was her terse reply. She wobbled a little on a heel and righted herself. "I hate all these stupid dresses, why is there so much of it?"

"Is this one of my sister's creations?" he asked, casting a glance at the silk ribbon tied to her shoulder.

Thara shook her head emphatically, and he noticed that her hair was done up in fetching curls. "We went out after breakfast," she said, sounding unhappy. "Your mother took me to the bank and then the seamstress. They had some ready-made things, which they tailored to fit, and I had to pick out other dresses to be made."