wouldn’t owe him anything.
“O’ course, maybe you’re thinking of taking up another role,” Lily said with a shrewd wink. “Mrs. Preston, perhaps? A good-lookin’ bloke, that and with more than two coppers to rub together in his pocket, I’ll warrant.”
“No, Lily,” she said with firmness. “Mr. Preston is certainly a fine diversion, but I don’t intend to marry again. Ever. Men make women ...”
“Happy?” Lily offered.
“Weak,” Julianne corrected. And she would never be weak again if she could help it.
Contemplating weakness brought something Jacob had said during their first conversation bubbling to the front of her mind. She leaned forward and lowered her voice, lest she be overheard.
“Lily, do you remember when you told me about going to the Hell Fire Club?”
Lily laughed, a rough cawing sound. “I’m not likely to forget it, am I? Lord, that takes me back. Did I tell you the honorable Charles Fox was there? Fancied me, he did. You should have seen ’im when he—”
“Never mind about that,” Julianne interrupted. The couple at the next table had cut their eyes toward Lily for the third time. Julianne continued in a whisper and hoped her friend would reciprocate. It would be too embarrassing to be asked to leave this establishment because Lily had no sense of propriety. “What I want to know is if there are any clubs of that ilk still about in London?”
Lily’s gray brow arched. “The Hell Fire’s gone, o’ course, but there are rumblings of another,” she said softly. “I just hears snatches, you understand. They wouldn’t take an old crone like me in, that’s for sure.”
“What do you hear?”
“Well, the Hell Fire Club was mostly about folk doing what came naturally. Oh, a few were unnatural too, I suppose, but it were all about having a rip snorting time. And there was always a few who fancied a good paddling, which I guess don’t do a body harm if everyone’s agreeable to it. But one of the girls in the chorus—Mina Pitt, it were—she went to this new club and she told me ...” Lily’s voice dropped to such a low whisper Julianne had to lean forward to catch her words. “Well, the further you get into it, the more it’s about whips and chains and some sort of religious mumbo-jumbo instead of a bit of harmless swiving. Not my cup of chocolate, that’s for sure, but it takes all sorts, they do say.”
Lily tipped up her cup and drained it to the flaky dregs.
“But trust me, you don’t want anything to do with this new bunch, dearie,” she said, swiping her mouth on her sleeve. “After she went to this new club a second time, Mina didn’t come back to the theatre. I never saw her again.”
Julianne left a generous tip at the coffeehouse to cover the spoon that Lily absconded with, and returned to the Golden Cockerel. She’d allowed herself plenty of time to dress and prepare for Lord Digory’s soirée. The inn would provide a lady’s maid to assist her for a price, so she’d arranged for one. Since the bodice of her new gown fit like a second skin, she couldn’t lace herself tightly enough to fit into it without assistance.
She’d chosen the Golden Cockerel for its extra amenities and reputation as a haunt of the Upper Crust. After that horrible piece in the London Crier , she realized she needn’t have bothered. They’d never accept her no matter where she stayed or what she did.
Since she’d lived hand to mouth a time or two, Julianne knew what it was to squeeze a copper till it squealed. The extravagance of such a high-toned hotel now chafed her thrifty soul. Especially since it meant she’d had to pawn the lovely little ruby ring Algernon had given her in order to pay the bill.
When she entered the opulent lobby, she was surprised to find Jacob there. He was ensconced in one of the wing chairs by the common room’s fireplace. His long legs crossed, he was sipping tea and, much to her chagrin, reading the latest edition of the
“O’ course, maybe you’re thinking of taking up another role,” Lily said with a shrewd wink. “Mrs. Preston, perhaps? A good-lookin’ bloke, that and with more than two coppers to rub together in his pocket, I’ll warrant.”
“No, Lily,” she said with firmness. “Mr. Preston is certainly a fine diversion, but I don’t intend to marry again. Ever. Men make women ...”
“Happy?” Lily offered.
“Weak,” Julianne corrected. And she would never be weak again if she could help it.
Contemplating weakness brought something Jacob had said during their first conversation bubbling to the front of her mind. She leaned forward and lowered her voice, lest she be overheard.
“Lily, do you remember when you told me about going to the Hell Fire Club?”
Lily laughed, a rough cawing sound. “I’m not likely to forget it, am I? Lord, that takes me back. Did I tell you the honorable Charles Fox was there? Fancied me, he did. You should have seen ’im when he—”
“Never mind about that,” Julianne interrupted. The couple at the next table had cut their eyes toward Lily for the third time. Julianne continued in a whisper and hoped her friend would reciprocate. It would be too embarrassing to be asked to leave this establishment because Lily had no sense of propriety. “What I want to know is if there are any clubs of that ilk still about in London?”
Lily’s gray brow arched. “The Hell Fire’s gone, o’ course, but there are rumblings of another,” she said softly. “I just hears snatches, you understand. They wouldn’t take an old crone like me in, that’s for sure.”
“What do you hear?”
“Well, the Hell Fire Club was mostly about folk doing what came naturally. Oh, a few were unnatural too, I suppose, but it were all about having a rip snorting time. And there was always a few who fancied a good paddling, which I guess don’t do a body harm if everyone’s agreeable to it. But one of the girls in the chorus—Mina Pitt, it were—she went to this new club and she told me ...” Lily’s voice dropped to such a low whisper Julianne had to lean forward to catch her words. “Well, the further you get into it, the more it’s about whips and chains and some sort of religious mumbo-jumbo instead of a bit of harmless swiving. Not my cup of chocolate, that’s for sure, but it takes all sorts, they do say.”
Lily tipped up her cup and drained it to the flaky dregs.
“But trust me, you don’t want anything to do with this new bunch, dearie,” she said, swiping her mouth on her sleeve. “After she went to this new club a second time, Mina didn’t come back to the theatre. I never saw her again.”
Julianne left a generous tip at the coffeehouse to cover the spoon that Lily absconded with, and returned to the Golden Cockerel. She’d allowed herself plenty of time to dress and prepare for Lord Digory’s soirée. The inn would provide a lady’s maid to assist her for a price, so she’d arranged for one. Since the bodice of her new gown fit like a second skin, she couldn’t lace herself tightly enough to fit into it without assistance.
She’d chosen the Golden Cockerel for its extra amenities and reputation as a haunt of the Upper Crust. After that horrible piece in the London Crier , she realized she needn’t have bothered. They’d never accept her no matter where she stayed or what she did.
Since she’d lived hand to mouth a time or two, Julianne knew what it was to squeeze a copper till it squealed. The extravagance of such a high-toned hotel now chafed her thrifty soul. Especially since it meant she’d had to pawn the lovely little ruby ring Algernon had given her in order to pay the bill.
When she entered the opulent lobby, she was surprised to find Jacob there. He was ensconced in one of the wing chairs by the common room’s fireplace. His long legs crossed, he was sipping tea and, much to her chagrin, reading the latest edition of the