"And made them earn their keep by prostituting themselves."
"That's the way of the world," Theodora reminded him. "Don't throw stones at me for profiting from it. I offer women an alternative, and believe me, Lord Shepherdston, it's a much better alternative than working as governesses, companions, or housekeepers, where they're paid twelve pounds or less a year and subject to having attentions forced on them several times a week by the gentleman of the house or his sons or his friends. And subject to being immediately dismissed without references when they begin breeding. My girls make ten times that amount because I allow them to keep the gifts and pocket money the gentlemen give them. As long as they follow the rules, they have a home here for as long as they want one and they're free to leave whenever they choose. They receive medical attention when they require it, and when accidents occur, I arrange homes for their children."
"If life here is so good and everyone has chosen this way of life, why do you need to solicit new women?"
"Because girls find protectors. Because they leave to set up competing establishments and take time off to deliver accidents." She met Jarrod's stern gaze. "And because there are always gentlemen like your friend, Lord Mayhew, who demand red-haired virgins."
Jarrod ignored the madam's snide remark about Lord Mayhew and got to the heart of the matter. "How do you recruit them?"
"You know how," she retorted. "I send the cards."
"How do you know where to send your little calling cards?"
"That's none of your business, Lord Shepherdston."
"It became my business when someone left your calling card on the floor of my study."
"Who left the card on your floor?" she demanded.
"That's none of your business, Madam Theodora." He threw her words back at her. "But you will tell me how it arrived in that someone's possession."
She shrugged her shoulders in a blase gesture, designed to capture a man's attention. "It's no great secret," she said. "I read the obituaries, Lord Shepherdston."
"The obituaries?" He said the word as if he'd never heard it before.
"Yes," she confirmed. "I subscribe to a number of newspapers and journals and take special note of the death notices — especially the notices of clergymen with daughters. And I listen to the gossip around me. When I hear of young women who have no place to go, I send a note and a calling card. I don't try to persuade them to come, I simply provide an option."
"And you tell them what's expected of them when they knock on your front door and present the calling card you sent them." Jarrod's drawl was razor sharp.
"Of course not," she protested. "I give them time to settle into the routine of the house before I introduce the subject of what's expected of them."
"How long?" Jarrod demanded.
"Long enough," she evaded.
"How long?"
"A fortnight."
"A fortnight?" Jarrod was aghast. "You give them a fortnight to adjust to losing their virginity?" He looked at Theodora with new eyes, then turned and reached for the doorknob. "May God forgive you," he said softly.
"I don't need God's forgiveness," Theodora snapped. "He needs mine."
Jarrod turned in the doorway. "Then I pray you both get what you need."
"What about you, Lord Shepherdston?" she demanded. "What do you need?"
"A breath of fresh air," he retorted. "And I've been told that the best place to find that in Miss Jones's Home for Displaced Women is the Green Salon."
"You won't find anything in the Green Salon that you can't have right here," she promised.
"I'll find my friend, Lord Mayhew. You see, he didn't come here to recruit innocent bed partners. He came here because I asked him to prevent other men from doing so."
"Why?"
"Because it seems I've suddenly developed a taste for saving red-haired innocents."
* * * * *