“Madame Aphrodite isn’t bad,” Lil tried to comfort her. “Courtesans are different. I can’t explain it properly, miss. You should ask her.”
“I don’t think so.” Francesca smiled a strained smile. Her head was aching. It seemed ironic that the two people she had vowed never to allow back into her life, Sebastian Thorne and Aphrodite, were now the two people she was reliant upon. And one of them in particular seemed to be occupying her sleeping mind as well as her waking thoughts.
“Miss?” Lil was waiting for instructions.
“Rosie needs to be taken care of, Lil, and there’s nowhere else until Vivianna comes back. Nowhere else safe,” she amended. She glanced over at the child and smiled. Rosie was playing with some finger puppets Lil had made for her out of scraps of cloth, and as she bent over them, giving them voices, her fair hair curling about her, she seemed like any other little girl.
“She’ll be fine,” Lil murmured, following the direction of her gaze. “Rosie’s like us, miss. She’s a survivor.”
Sebastian squinted as the morning sun shone brightly into his eyes. He had been loitering across the square for an hour now, and he expected any moment to be apprehended and moved on. This was not the sort of area where he could watch a house unobserved, but there were only he and Martin, and he’d sent Martin to Mallory Street. After last night it was best not to take any chances; Sebastian might be recognized, but Martin’s face was new.
Last night he’d been furious with Francesca. When he’d imagined them meeting again it certainly hadn’t been in those circumstances. But there had been enjoyable moments—the challenge of losing his pursuers through the back streets and alleys of London, and the expression on Francesca’s face as the cab took her away. Without realizing it, she had told him much about her feelings for him.
She was headstrong and impulsive, and even as he felt a kinship with her, she terrified him. He never knew what she was going to do next. When he finally fell into his bed early this morning, instead of sinking into oblivion, he’d found himself tossing and turning, unable to get to sleep for thinking of her. It was her fault. If he spent much more time in her company he’d be gray-haired and stooped like an old man.
His mouth twitched, and he found himself smiling. The thing was, gray or not, he knew it would be worth it.
The sound of a carriage brought his head up again, and he watched as it came to a halt in front of the Tremaine house. Sebastian straightened, instantly alert. Francesca, dressed in another of her unflattering ragbag dresses, this time teamed with an appalling bonnet, exited via the front door. She was holding little Rosie’s hand tightly in hers, and the maid, Lil, was following closely behind. Together the three of them climbed into the carriage and were driven smartly away.
Sebastian sauntered across the street to the young crossing sweeper, whose palm he had greased earlier.
“They’re off to Aphrodite’s Club, sir,” the boy said with a proud grin.
Sebastian nodded and paid him the second installment of the amount they had agreed on.
He was puzzled. Aphrodite had told him that she and Francesca did not get on. What had occurred to send the woman of his dreams hurrying to her courtesan mother?
She was in danger, he knew that. Whatever threat she was already under due to her birth had been increased when she stole Rosie. Mrs. Slater and Jed would be looking for her, and if they didn’t know who had taken their property yet, they soon would. It was too late to stop the game. The cards had already been shuffled and dealt.
Sebastian just hoped his hand was the winning one.
Aphrodite dipped her pen in the ink pot and began to write. It had been a long time since she had written in her diary. She’d been busy, she’d told herself whenever she thought of doing so, but she knew that wasn’t the real truth. The fact was, she’d resisted telling the end of her story because it wasn’t finished yet. There was so much more to know, and until she sought the services of Mr. Thorne she’d thought she never would know.
But now she must make a start, for Francesca’s sake. She’d given her other daughters the opportunity to read about their fathers and the circumstances leading up to their births. She hoped that one day Francesca, too, would wish to know her beginnings—even if she refused to have anything to do with her mother right now.
“My love?”
Aphrodite looked up with a smile. Jemmy Dobson was leaning against the door, smiling back. “How long have you been standing there?”
Dobson moved toward her with his soldier’s stride. “I enjoy watching you. You’re a beautiful woman.”
“Ever the sweet talker, Jemmy? You do not change.”
“I hope not. Not where you’re concerned.”
Her eyes grew dark. “Perhaps we should go upstairs. Talk about these matters in bed, oui?”
“Ah, if only.” He sighed. “But you have a visitor, my love.”
“Another one of those tedious tradesmen? Maeve can deal with him.”
“It’s your daughter.”
Aphrodite frowned. “But…my daughters are away.”
“But this is your other daughter. Francesca.”
Aphrodite took an uneven breath. Carefully she laid down her pen and closed the red, leather-bound book. Francesca? How strange. It was as if it was meant to be. Was she finally to be given the chance to mend the rift with her youngest and most difficult daughter?