No, it wasn’tmenthat she wanted. It was one man, one who would love and protect her in spite of her past, one who could initiate her into the profane, earthly delights that Madeline had described. At the thought, Diana smiled wryly, knowing what a romantic fool she was. It was a sign of how much she had healed that she dared to dream again.
Her cloak billowed out behind her, the heavy fabric snapping from the force of the gusting wind. She felt almost as if she could spread out her arms and soar far to the south, to the city that was the bright, corrupt heart of Britain. As always, the wind was shredding and dispersing her doubts and confusions, and she gloried in its cleansing strength.
When a drift of cloud darkened the moon, Diana began the long trek back to the cottage. Even in the dark she knew her way across the trackless heights as well as any native Yorkshire woman, though she had been raised far from these moors.
The greatest danger in becoming a courtesan was the risk that her choice might damage Geoffrey, since to leave him behind was out of the question. She would have to separate the two sides of her life in London, but London would expand his horizons as much as her own.
The drifting clouds unveiled the moon again as Diana neared Cleveden Tarn, a darkly shining circle of water. Level earth ran up to the edge, as if the tarn was a mirror that some goddess had dropped in the coarse grasses. Impetuously she knelt by the edge and stared into the moon-silvered waters.
Though better educated than most women, Diana had always been driven by emotion and intuition rather than logic. Logic whispered to stay here, where it was safe, but intuition called her to leave, to brave the dangerous, mysterious world that Madeline had revealed to her. The world where a beautiful woman might have power.
As she gazed into the dark water, calm certainty flowed through her, dissolving doubts. It was not chance that had brought Madeline into her life. The older woman was not only a friend but also an essential link to the future. Somewhere there was a man who was Diana’s destiny, connected to her by a thread of undeniable fate, a man whom she would find only if she dared the unthinkable.
Caught in the spell of the full moon, she whispered, “Great goddess, will you show my lover’s face to me?”
Then she laughed at her own foolishness. That she, who had been raised in a far-too-godly home, should indulge in superstitious nonsense!
Her laughter died. As clearly as if words had been spoken, Diana sensed that it was better not to know what fate held for her. If she knew the shape of the future, she might turn away from it. She must go blindly, trusting that her intuition and the hard-won faith that guided her life would carry her through.
Diana stood and slowly retraced her steps to the cottage, pulling her cloak tight around her slim body. The years of life in the safe shallows were over. Ahead of her lay her destiny, and that destiny was love.
Chapter Three
Diana’s hands were not quite steady as she applied her cosmetics. Madeline had spent many hours training her to be as subtly provocative as possible and Diana could almost do it with her eyes closed. But this time the makeup was in earnest. Tonight they were going to an informal gathering at the home of Harriette Wilson, queen of the London demireps, and for the first time Diana would be offering herself in the market.
Laying down the hare’s foot she used to add subtle color to cheeks paled by nerves, Diana studied her reflection in the mirror. The image that faced her was that of a sophisticated, worldly female whose heart-shaped face and delicate features were too flawless to be real. It was not the face of the young woman who had lived on the moors and baked bread and played with her son in the mud of a streambed.
Half a year had passed since she had hesitantly broken the news to her friends that she intended to go to London and become a courtesan. Not surprisingly, that simple statement had provoked a storm of protest.
Whatwassurprising was that Edith, the very picture of rural conservatism, had supported Diana’s goal, pragmatically saying that the plan had much to commend it. The real opposition came from Madeline, who had lived the life of a demirep without regret or apology.
It was one matter to sell oneself when there was no choice. Quite another to do so voluntarily. Maddy had mustered every available argument, pointing out that they were not in financial need, asking how Geoffrey would be affected, warning that Diana did not realize what she was getting into. Diana had conceded all her friend’s points, her voice faltering when they discussed Geoffrey, but had refused to change her mind.
In the end, Madeline had thrown up her hands in defeat and promised to help Diana in any way she could. Without her aid, her endless lessons about men, society, and how to be alluring, Diana could never have come so far. While it remained to be seen whether she would be a success at her new trade, the fraudulent image in the mirror was a good beginning.
The low-cut blue silk dress Diana wore was the exact lapis lazuli shade of her eyes, and her glowing chestnut hair was piled on her head in richly tousled curls before cascading down her back. Not accidentally, the style implied that her thick tresses would fall around her bare shoulders with unrestrained abandon if a man touched them.
As she made a minor adjustment to her hair, a soft knock announced Madeline’s entrance. Since coming to London, the older woman had dyed the gray out of her brunette hair, and in the candlelight it was impossible to believe that she was more than thirty years old. Tonight Maddy was stunning in a burgundy red dress, ready for her role as guide and guard.
Once she had agreed to support her young friend’s ambitions, she had shared everything with her adopted family: her income, the fashionable Mayfair house where they lived, her knowledge of London and its ways. She had located the small school where Geoffrey was flourishing, and she had introduced Diana to her friend Harriette Wilson, an introduction which had resulted in tonight’s invitation.
Diana turned with a smile, grateful to be distracted from her anxiety. Rising from her chair, she slowly turned around for her friend’s inspection, her chin lifted to an angle that conveyed pride without haughtiness. Like every other aspect of her appearance, that angle had been carefully learned.
Madeline studied her, then nodded approval. “Perfect. You have hit the exact balance between the lady and the wanton.”
Diana’s smile was crooked. “In spite of all your thorough and embarrassing lessons on what gentlemen expect of mistresses, I feel more like a lamb pretending to be a lioness.”
“We don’t have to go tonight if you don’t want to,” Madeline said gravely.
“But I do want to, Maddy,” Diana answered, her soft voice resolute. “Of course I’m nervous, but I’m eager, too. Tonight I will enter a world that would otherwise be closed to me. Perhaps I won’t like it and tomorrow morning I will be ready to return to Yorkshire. Then you can say, ‘I told you so,’ and I will nod in meek agreement as I embroider by the fire.”
The older woman laughed with loving exasperation as she surveyed her protégée. The girl had never looked lovelier. Though she was twenty-four, older than most aspiring courtesans, she retained the dewy freshness of a seventeen-year-old. At first Diana had found the crowds and clamor frightening after the Yorkshire moors, but after three months in London she had a superb wardrobe and a sense of ease in the bustling metropolis.
Madeline shook her head in admiration. If she knew anything about men, they would be clustered around the girl tonight like bees around a honeypot. Perhaps Diana would dislike the sensation enough to retreat before it was too late. “You’ll do, my dear,” she said judiciously. “You’ll do very well indeed.”
* * *
Harriette Wilson’s home was filled with men of the utmost respectability, and women with no respectability at all. All of the males present were rich or titled or fashionable, often all three, while the females were the crème de la crème of the demireps. Harriette herself waved casually as Diana and Madeline entered, then turned back to her court. Unlike most of the courtesan breed, “The Little Fellow” was confident enough of her own charms that even Diana’s stunning beauty did not make her resentful.
