“Please send him in.”
Olivia nudged Carenza, who opened her inkwell and dipped her pen in expectantly.
A blond man, whom she immediately recognized as Jeremy Calloway, the younger son of an impoverished but politically powerful earl, came striding into the room and bowed extravagantly.
“Ladies.” His smile was condescending. “Which one of you is in need of my … attentions?”
“That is not something you need to know at this point, sir.” Olivia answered him with a fake-sounding French accent. “We are here on behalf of our client. She will decide which candidate she favors at the appropriate time.”
“Ah! French, is she? That would explain a lot.” He gave them a lascivious wink. “Well known for their enthusiasm in that area.”
Carenza pressed a gloved finger to her brow. She already had a headache, and it was still early.
“What makes you believe you are the ideal candidate for this role?” Olivia inquired.
Carenza wanted to laugh, because Olivia sounded like she was interviewing him for the role of secretary and not a lover.
“I’m young, fit, and lauded for my exploits between the sheets.” He pointed at his groin. “Ask any of the whores at Madame DeVane’s. They’ll tell you how good I am at pleasuring the ladies.”
Olivia looked down at her notes. “If you frequently consort with prostitutes, sir, have you ever contacted the pox?”
“How dare you!” Calloway’s mouth dropped open, and his face turned an alarming shade of puce. “Has someone been gossiping about me?”
“You do understand that my mistress would require you to visit a doctor of her own choosing to establish the veracity of your claim to be pox-free, sir?” Olivia continued.
“I will do no such thing!” Calloway blustered. “Good day to you both!” He left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Olivia scratched a line through his name. “He definitely has the pox.”
Carenza nodded.
Bernadette returned. “Do you want the next one, ma’am?”
“Yes, please.” Olivia smiled encouragingly at Carenza. “There can’t be anyone worse than that, can there?”
There was.
In quick succession, they dealt with a pastor who loudly lectured them about immorality and the certainty that they were destined for hell, a callow youth who’d written a poem for his mystery lady and simply wanted to read it aloud, and an elderly gentleman who was so drunk he could barely stand, let alone state his case.
Carenza’s headache intensified. “Olivia, this is madness.”
“I’m quite enjoying it.” Olivia grinned at her. “It’s like watching a terrible pantomime at the theater.”
“It’s certainly a farce,” Carenza agreed.
“Let’s see one more gentleman, and then we’ll pause to reconsider our tactics,” Olivia suggested.
“Fine.” Carenza lowered her veil.
“This is the last one, ma’am,” Bernadette announced from the door. “The others seem to have left.”
“Thank God,” Carenza murmured, and Olivia elbowed her in the side.
A tall, well-dressed man came into the room and bowed low. Upon straightening, he dropped his breeches to reveal himself in all his glory. He pointed at his erect member and smiled proudly at them.
Carenza felt a giggle well up in her throat. When Olivia started shaking beside her, she wasn’t sure how either of them would find the ability to speak.
“Very nice, sir,” Olivia said in a stifled voice. “Perhaps you might give us your name?”
