“Where else will women discover the truth?” Esmeralda demanded, seeming to take umbrage. “It is imperative that we include all the information they desire and require. The entire point is that women should be informed about matters of intimacy. That is the reason they will want the book. This is why it will sell.”
Catherine frowned, knowing her father was conservative. “I cannot guarantee that it will be published in that case.”
“And there is the injustice of this world laid bare,” Esmeralda said. She pulled a small volume from her purse. Catherine was surprised that it was a bound copy of Childe Harold, a book she thought unlikely to lend much to the courtesan’s argument. “Look at that,” she challenged, handing the book to Catherine with an imperious air.
There was little to be done except open it as bidden.
But it was not the poem of Lord Byron inside the covers of the book. A different book had been crudely sewn into the hard case binding, a book much smaller and printed on inferior paper. It looked disreputable even before Catherine read the title: Harris’s List of Covent Garden Ladies.
“This is the reference available to men,” the courtesan said. “It was published from 1757 to 1795, a highly popular volume and one far more explicit than I would ever be. My descriptions would be poetic and tasteful.”
Eurydice, meanwhile, had seized the book from Catherine. “It includes names and addresses!” she whispered, clearly both scandalized and fascinated. She changed her tone to read aloud. “‘She has a wonderful art in raising up those of her male friends who are inclined to droop while in her enchanting company.’”
Catherine felt her eyes widen. “Oh!”
Esmeralda merely smiled, reminding her of a contented cat.
Eurydice read on. “‘She never wishes a gentleman to come a second time unless he proves himself to be a man of honour at the first visit; five pounds five shillings is the present this lady expects for the distribution of her private concerns.’” She looked up, her amazement clear.
“It’s a guide to courtesans,” Catherine guessed softly.
“With prices,” Eurydice added.
“With details.” Esmeralda reached over and turned the pages for the book, tapping one with a fingertip.
Eurydice obediently read. “‘She is celebrated for bush-fighting with a birchen rod, which she wields with dexterity to the uncommon gratification of many gentlemen who have occasion for this operation to rouse the Venus lurking in their veins.’”
“Birchen rods?” Catherine echoed.
“You see what an education can be found in such volumes.” The courtesan reached out and turned the pages again.
Eurydice read with even greater enthusiasm. “‘She is perfectly mistress of all her actions and can proceed regularly from the dart of the tongue, and the soft tickle of her hand, to the ecstatic squeeze of her thighs; the enchanting twine of her legs; the elaborate suction of her lower lips and the melting flood of delight with which she constantly bedews the mossy root of the tree of life and washes the testimonies of manhood…’” Eurydice fell silent in apparent astonishment.
“Goodness,” Catherine said again, feeling flustered.
Eurydice smiled wickedly. “The ecstatic squeeze of her thighs,” she repeated, then raised her brows.
Catherine had to avert her gaze for her cheeks were burning.
“We are at a disadvantage,” Esmeralda insisted. “There must be additions to our text before publication to right the balance.” She offered a sheaf of pages to Catherine. “Here are my current suggestions. Take that book also, to show your father that such details are not unprecedented.” She smiled again. “I suspect he knows as much, but he may insist otherwise to his daughter.”
Catherine could not imagine how she would even show the volume to him. Birchen rods! She busied herself in packing it all into a satchel she had brought in the expectation of new chapters from Esmeralda. It felt particularly heavy now.
“I want to read it all,” Eurydice said, perhaps predictably. “Both the other book and your additions.”
“I am certain you do,” Esmeralda purred.
“Let me talk to my father first,” Catherine said. “I will return the book to Miss Ballantyne afterward.”
“Then I will lend it to you,” Esmeralda promised Eurydice in a whisper. “Ask Sebastian about anything you do not understand. I recall that he was rather adventurous.”
“Oh! The fiend!” Eurydice did not look as appalled as she sounded.
In fact, she looked to be anticipating the discussion with her husband.
Countess and courtesan smiled at each other, then Esmeralda retreated to the other room, closing the door behind herself. Immediately, the scent of various perfumes crept beneath the door, a combination of musk and floral scents that was sufficient to make Catherine blink.
“The jasmine with vanilla,” Esmeralda informed the clerk who had apparently returned to that chamber. “It will suit admirably.”
