Lily looked on as the three friends argued. When she’d shown up unexpectedly on the doorstep of Fanny’s London home two days ago, she had been welcomed without much protest once she explained about needing to escape Lord Claybourne’s unwanted attentions. An hour later she was settled here in the boardinghouse run by Fleur and Chantel.
To Lily’s surprise, the mansion was quite large and unexpectedly elegant. She’d been given her own bedchamber on the third floor and invited to use the owners’ private sitting room on the floor below, as well as the communal drawing room and the two small parlors on the main floor.
This afternoon the four of them had gathered in Fleur and Chantel’s private sitting room in order to discuss possible ways of earning enough money to repay the enormous gaming debt they owed.
Watching the women together, Lily had no trouble seeing the tremendous affection Fanny bore the aging courtesans. Reportedly they had taught Fanny everything they knew when she first entered the trade eight years ago, so she was determined to help them now.
Lily could also understand why the former Cyprians were once considered the toast of London. Though Fleur’s auburn locks were now unnaturally aided by henna dye, and Chantel’s blond tresses somewhat concealed the liberal strands of gray, they were still fascinating women, despite their faded beauty. Lily found them exceedingly warm and charming, although a trifle dreamy-eyed and scatterbrained. It seemed to her that they spent most of their time lamenting their lost allure and reminiscing about their bygone glory when they had reigned over the London demimonde.
In the past two days, Lily had heard countless stories about their long-ago conquests, as well as the details of how they had come to be in such dire straits now: They’d spent a disastrous night at the Faro tables at Mick O’Rourke’s gaming club and lost nearly forty thousand pounds.
Fanny, of course, had come to their rescue and paid off a quarter of the debt-ten thousand pounds, almost every penny she had saved-but they still owed the enormous sum of thirty thousand pounds. And they were exceedingly worried now, since O’Rourke was threatening to send them to prison.
He had offered to forgo the debt in exchange for Fanny’s exclusive services as his mistress, but she was loath to accept. Fanny had a history with O’Rourke, since he’d been one of her first patrons when she set out on her career as a courtesan. But even though they once were lovers and he had since made a vast fortune by pulling himself up from his harsh, low-class origins and making a success of his gaming club, he refused to show leniency toward her friends.
Which was an unforgivable sin, to Chantel’s mind. She had always viewed O’Rourke as uncouth and loutish, but now she considered him downright dastardly.
“I should think,” Chantel mused aloud, “that you could apply to one of your current protectors for the funds.”
Fanny shook her head. “Even if one of my gentlemen were inclined to such munificence-which I very much doubt-it would leave me uncomfortably obliged to him.”
Lily had heard Fanny’s rationale before this. She never allowed any of her patrons exclusive privileges, since she didn’t want anyone having such power over her; for if her lover abruptly decided to end their arrangement, he could cut her off without a penny and leave her scrambling for her livelihood.
Lily could sympathize with her friend, since she herself was adamant about never giving any man control over her own fate.
“There is another possibility, Fanny,” Fleur said, biting into a biscuit. “You could sell your memoirs.”
“No, that is not possible.”
“What memoirs?” Lily asked curiously.
Fanny gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I don’t even wish to discuss it.”
Fleur leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial tone to Lily, “A publisher has offered to pay dearly for Fanny’s memoirs if she will share titillating tales about her illustrious clientele.”
“We are not that desperate,” Fanny responded.
“I cannot fathom why you won’t at least consider it,” Chantel added plaintively.
“Because the sale would only cover part of your debt. More importantly, even if I wished to expose my former patrons in that distasteful way-which I do not-my memoirs would take time to write, and Mick has given us only one month, a concession he made very reluctantly after much pleading on my part, I might add.”
“But have you considered,” Fleur interjected, “how lucrative it could prove if you chose not to expose your lovers? There must be quite a few gentlemen who would pay handsomely to be left out of your recollections.”
Fanny’s gaze narrowed on the older courtesan. “You mean blackmail, do you, Fleur? That is totally out of the question. Not merely because it is unprincipled, but because I don’t want to make enemies of London’s elite set. Were I to do so, I could find it difficult to remain employed.”
Fleur offered a graceful shrug of her shoulders. “Well, I do not see how we are to come about if you insist on being so virtuous. Beggars cannot afford to be choosers, Fanny.”
“I am not reduced to begging yet,” she said tartly.
“It is a pity our boarders cannot help us,” Chantel lamented with a heavy sigh.
Fleur’s scoffing sound was very much like a snort. “Indeed. But they earn a pittance compared to what we once did.”
“Because they haven’t our former skills or our former beauty,” said Chantel.
“Or our refinement,” Fleur added sagely.
Chantel gave a sad nod.