“I was curious to know about that mistress of his. I thought that, if she was the Duchess of Norfolk, then your father’s problems would be more difficult to solve. It was for a good cause. Although I wouldn’t mind knowing a juicy piece of gossip about the duchess. It would be useful.”
She was curious despite herself. “What did you find out?”
“He visited Chelsea more often in the past weeks, a seedy area, which was disappointing. I don’t think his mistress is the duchess.” Jane closed the door. “He visits a disorderly house. He is a regular customer of the place.”
“Oh.” Words failed her.
She didn’t know what was worse, a mistress or a disorderly house. No, surely a disorderly house was worse. Tristan’s past was full of hardship. He should know that the girls working in a house of ill repute were desperate, starving, and forced to do things they didn’t want to.
Jane put a hand on her shoulder. “Just one word. Syphilis. And the clap. So more than one word. My point is, stay away from him. Also, it seems he avoids Dr. O’Neil, likely because he doesn’t want anyone to know he contracted a nasty disease.”
She wrung her hands. “Jane, I have a confession to make, too.”
That night,sleep eluded Effie. She’d agreed to have a tumble—more than one—with a man who frequented a disorderly house regularly. Ethical matter aside, she didn’t want to get any contagious disease. On top of that, Jane’s reaction to her confession had been discouraging. Her friend had pointed out the consequences of nasty rumours about Effie’s closeness to the marquess, picturing an apocalyptic future that had terrified her.
The next morning, her appetite vanished.
She was alone, twirling her spoon in her cup of tea in the dining room, ignoring the slices of bread, porridge, and kippers. Papa was already in his study, working with Lowe. Dr. O’Neil’s recommendations to rest had fallen on deaf ears.
She sipped her tea, but her stomach closed at the sight of the porridge. She couldn’t withdraw her proposal, could she? Tristan would start attacking her family again. But she was going to lose her virginity—likely affecting her future chances of a good match—and she didn’t want to get the clap as well.
Voices and footsteps came from the hallway in a worrying repeat of yesterday. She perked up. What now?
Papa opened the door, an astonished look on his tired face. “He stopped.”
“What?” She shot up, heart pounding in her throat.
“Montcrest stopped attacking my company and even reversed some of his financial moves. That gives me hope.”
Tristan had kept his word. She had no choice but to go through with her deal.
“How? Why?” Papa ran a shivering hand through his hair. “I don’t understand.”
“He isn’t as heartless as you think.” Although she wasn’t sure he would have stopped without her intervention.
He hugged her, laughing in relief. “I can’t believe it. I thought he was going to destroy me. Maybe you’re right about him.”
“But you must promise me you’ll rest and follow Dr. O’Neil’s instructions religiously.”
“Yes, yes.” He laughed again, and she would love to laugh with him, but while the news made her happy, anxiety formed a tight knot in her belly.
If she had to be completely honest, she found Tristan attractive, and he was clever and charming when he wanted to be. But she’d agreed to be his mistress under duress. Not exactly the romantic story she hoped for.
Too late now. The deal had been done.
