Forsaking Hope (Fair Cyprians of London 2)

Felix had admired her from afar for years before he’d spoken to her.

Why had he waited so long? She was penniless while he was the catch of the neighbourhood. Perhaps it had been due to her manner; the way she’d treated all young men. As if they were nothing to her. And Felix’s pride as an untested youth was too fragile to bear rejection.

“Haven’t seen you gracing a den of vice like this in a while.” Wilfred Hunt’s face was flushed, and he slurred his words slightly. He clapped a hand on Felix’s shoulder in a gesture that was too familiar. Felix stepped away but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve had the devil’s own luck, I tell you.” Wilfred’s mouth turned down. “Still, although I could do with the blunt, it’d be dishonourable if I didn’t give this back to you.” He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and drew out a paper that looked familiar to Felix before it took on a whole other dimension.

“Your promissory note, I believe. From me.” Even as Wilfred said the words Felix was feeling for his own pocketbook, rifling through the notes inside while his gut churned in confusion. “I don’t understand. How did you get it?”

Hunt cleared his throat. “Sorry, old chap. Very embarrassing to admit, but I thought if I returned it to you in good time you’d not have had the matter investigated by the authorities.”

“The authorities? What are you talking about? Who took it?” He swung around as if he might see the guilty party in this very room.

“I’d rather not say.” Hunt looked sheepish. “Protective instincts and all that.”

“Annabelle?”

Hunt snorted. “Lord, do you think Annabelle would steal from you? Besides, when did you last see her? No, it wasn’t Annabelle, but as I’m a gentleman I’d rather not say. Suffice to admit it was a young lady who committed the bold felony out of a sense of misguided loyalty. Lord knows if it’s the full reason, but she said she was worried that my not being so plump in the pocket might mean I’d not favour her with a visit as I regularly do on a Thursday.”

He sniggered, and Felix drew himself up. No, Wilfred was lying. Miss Merriweather would never. He realised he was clenching his fists.

“Apparently, this last week she’s been lining her pretty little palms with ill-gotten gains from clients who for the most part wouldn’t notice the theft of a few guineas here or there.” A look of sorrow marred Wilfred’s soft features even more. “She visited me this afternoon at about six o’clock and handed it over. When I saw that the promissory note was the very one I’d made out to you last week, I knew here was at least one fleeced recipient to whom I could make amends.” He glanced at his shoes then up at Felix’s face. “Very embarrassing and all that, but now you’ve got back what you lost, I hope you’ll let the matter rest and say no more about it.”

Felix thrust out his hand and drew Hunt back roughly. “You are, of course, referring to Miss Merriweather. You know her as well as I. How can you pretend this is nothing?”

Hunt looked surprised. “Miss Merriweather? Surely not! I thought no one knew the sorry history of what she’s become.” He sent a furtive look over his shoulder. “Her sister is to wed Lord Hartley. You won’t say anything that would imperil Miss Charlotte’s future, would you?” He put his hand on Felix’s coat sleeve. “The girl is an innocent. She knows nothing of the vice into which her sister has fallen. Though couldn’t we all see—even before she was ten years old—that wild Miss Hope was destined for a fall.”

Wilfred looked deeply concerned now. “Miss Charlotte could not be more different from her sister. I beg of you, do not enlighten her. Miss Hope sent her father to an early grave by running off with one of the footmen, of all things, the night of the Hunt Ball. I happened upon her a year ago.” He dropped his voice which held a salacious edge as he murmured, “Her circumstances were…rather unexpected circumstances, I must say, and she appreciated the comfort of an old friend. But pray, have some concern for her mother and sister who know nothing of what she’s become.”

Felix stared with disgust at the hand still gripping the cloth of his coat.

The other young man, noticing, uncurled his fingers and rolled his shoulders. He smiled almost in sympathy. “And have some concern for Hope, I beg you. Despite her wild nature, she was deeply upset, her loyalties divided, she told me, when she realised that it was you for whom her services had been procured.”

“She told you this, did she?” Felix sounded sceptical but the truth was, he didn’t know what to think.

“Indeed. She told me she was in despair as to what to do, in view of the childhood friendship between you, but when she saw that the promissory note was from me and would leave me five hundred pounds further out of pocket, her loyalties came out on the side of the man who’s been a constant for the past year.” He looked smug. “You might say we’ve formed an intimacy that goes beyond the pleasures of the flesh.” Wilfred put out his hand and said as if suddenly wishing to reassure Felix, “Please don’t imagine I’m jealous. I don’t have exclusive rights. Miss Merriweather has hundreds of admirers, though, like all of her kind, she’d like to be set up with some exclusivity. Apparently, she’s hoping Lord Westfall will make such an offer.”

Felix found he was breathing very heavily through his nose. Around him, the room was a blur of excited activity, some fellows playing billiards, others cards, others smoking and drinking in small groups.

He’d never felt more alone as he became conscious of Wilfred’s promissory note in his palm while he watched the other man melt into the throng.

Chapter 10

Hope ran a trembling hand across her forehead as she made her way along the passage towards her room. Her gown of pink satin, trimmed with lace and ribbons, ordered by Madame Chambon but chosen by Hope, reminded her of the gown she’d worn at the Hunt Ball. The virginal debutante she’d been then h

ad turned many heads wearing the pretty dress Mama had reluctantly sanctioned.

Everything good about her life was concentrated upon that evening when she’d been a girl full of hope. Wearing pink.

Nevertheless, there were other details about that day and evening that were confusing and unsettling. Annabelle’s obvious dismay at seeing Felix go to Hope when she’d fallen from her horse was understandable. But why was it that Hope’s mama had not seemed happy that Hope was garnering so much attention? When Hope had danced with Mr Felix Durham for the second time, Mama had been waiting for her on the edge of the dance floor and had led Hope away before Felix could say even two words in parting. At the end of the evening, she’d bundled Hope into the family carriage so Hope couldn’t say a proper goodbye to Mr Durham or even tell him in so many words she longed to meet him at the church the following day. That, indeed, she would. He must have known her true feelings, surely?

Hope had always known Charlotte was the favourite, but Charlotte was only fourteen—far too young to look for a husband—so surely Mama should have been delighted to get Hope off her hands?

But that was all in the past. For a short while today, hope and happiness had lodged in Hope’s heart. Lying with Felix, the love in his eyes and the words he’d used to build up a shared future, had allowed her to believe there might be something more for her than the shell of existence offered by Madame Chambon.

But Wilfred was determined to destroy what little there was left of her dignity.

And what recourse was there? Alone in a world where a woman’s chastity counted for everything, Hope was irredeemable.