Page 5 of Against the Wind

Chapter 3

Abigail Darkin took a last look out the tall window at the green lawn, pleased with the recent additions to her property. The new pond surrounded by rosebushes gave a feeling of serenity to the sheltered environment of Willow House. Named for the weeping willow trees that wrapped around two sides of the elegant white manor like the arms of a welcoming lover, this had become more than her home. It was a refuge.

She remembered fondly the distant uncle who bequeathed her the house upon his death. It had been a great boon—and a surprise. She hadn’t known the uncle very well, and she’d just left her position as nanny to two young ladies now grown. Of course, she’d had only a little money and no idea how she would keep up such a wondrous residence; still, she had been happy to have it. Who could have foreseen that her soft heart and reputation for kindness would draw girls of the night to her, young beauties who wanted a safe place away from the bawdy houses of Covent Garden or worse? Willow House soon became known as the most elegant brothel in London, members of the ton and their wealthy friends its only clientele. Abby had standards after all.

“Miss Abby! There be a young woman to see ye. The lass seems very upset.”

Abby raised her head from the ledgers on her desk to find the young maid at the door, cheeks flushed and a distraught look upon her round face. It was only late afternoon, so the house was quiet. Clients did not arrive until evening, and those few who stayed the night were gone after breakfast.

Tucking a dark brown curl into the coil of hair at her nape, she set aside her business. “Relax, Emma. The house is not burning. Did she give her name?” Sometimes the young maid failed to remember her manners and was quick to overreact, though Abby had been schooling her to become a proper servant.

The maid shook her head, causing errant blonde curls to fall around her face. “No, ma’am. I did not think to ask her.” Sucking air through her teeth and wrinkling her forehead she added, “I suppose I should’ve, shouldn’t I? But she looked so pathetic, even frightened, and she seemed ta know ye.”

Used to seeing desperate girls on her doorstep who’d heard of her kindness, Abby was unsurprised. She tried to help all find legitimate work. Of course, the most beautiful, well-spoken and gracious were allowed to join those who lived and worked at Willow House, if such was their desire and there was an opening.

Casting a last glance at her unfinished ledgers, she sighed. “All right, Emma. Show her in.”

The girl arrived quite disheveled, with strands of dark flame-colored hair falling about her shoulders and cloak. Abby recognized her immediately. It had been years since she’d seen the young women whom she’d served as nanny, the girls she had raised as her own, but she would know Kit, Lady Katherine Endicott—no, now she was Lady Egerton—anywhere.

“My God, Katherine, what has happened to you?”

Katherine fell into her arms, sobbing. “Oh, Abby! Anne has died, and her husband, Lord Rutledge, he…he tried to rape me! It happened so suddenly I didn’t have time to plan where I’d go and then I thought of you.” Pleading blue eyes stared up at her. “May I stay the night, Abby? I’ve nowhere else to go given the…the circumstances.”

Abby stroked her hair and held the overwrought girl close, sad to find that she had lost one of the dear Endicott children and now the other was in dire need of help. “You were right to come to me, child. Of course you may stay the night, and longer if it will help. Did the man know you were coming here?” She was prepared should any unwanted guest seek entrance to her establishment, but she preferred to be warned.

Katherine’s face turned ashen, and her head jerked toward the door.

“What is wrong, child? Do you fear he followed you? My doorman will protect you. He’s a big fellow and can be quite fierce if need be.”

The young woman took a deep breath and let it out as if trying to calm herself, then turned and looked into Abby’s eyes. “No, Abby. I fear the man is dead. Rutledge lies bleeding and still. I…I think I’ve killed him.”

“Oh my,” Abby said, helping her frightened ward into a chair. “Come sit. There is nothing for it now. If you killed the man in defense of your honor, surely you will not be held responsible. But do not think of that.” She had her doubts about how the House of Lords would respond to the slaying of one of its own, but she would not share them. “I have a special room never used by our clients that you may have.”

Yes, she would help this child who sat sobbing before her, whose scrapes she had once tended, whose nightmares she had soothed. Anne and Kit had been the children of her heart, the children she never had.

She began to pace in front of the fireplace, followed by the eyes of the young woman as Katherine surveyed her surroundings for the first time. Abby wondered if the girl was noting the richness of the room, the polished cherry wood furniture and shelves full of classic books. Behind Abby, a fire crackled in the stone fireplace.

Abby’s gaze fell on the decanter of French brandy gracing a small table next to the brocade-covered chair where Kit sat in front of the desk. “Perhaps a drink might be appropriate just now, my child. Something to warm you?” She walked to the table and poured a generous helping.

“Is it true what I have heard, Abby?” Kit asked with faltering speech as her eyes drifted around the room. “Is Willow House a…a brothel?”

“Well, yes,” Abby conceded. The label, while accurate, still offended her. She handed the glass to Kit and admitted, “I didn’t start out to make it one. It just happened as the girls came to me. Though I helped some leave that life, others wanted to stay and pursue their former occupation. They are all quite lovely, and they will all be kind to you, Kit. Many have had hard beginnings and would well understand your tale of a man trying to force himself upon you. That is one reason they feel at home at Willow House. We entertain only gentlemen.”

Kit sat looking at her hands, cradling the glass of brandy in her lap, tears falling from her eyes. “I love you, you know that, Abby. If you have found peace in this place, I’ll not judge you or the girls.”

“You always did have a kind heart, Katherine. I see that has not changed.”

Kit looked up with reddened eyes. “Once I had such wonderful dreams, Abby. You remember. Dreams of a life with a husband to love me—and children. I’ve no dreams now.”

“Do not despair, child.” She patted the young woman’s back in sincere comfort as Kit sipped her drink. “Things will seem better in the morning. Emma will show you to your room, and while you are having a nice hot bath I will find something for you to wear. The girls here are all most elegantly attired and willing to share. Some hot food and a good night’s rest will put you to rights.”

“Oh, Abby, I don’t think I shall ever be right again. What can I do? Where am I to go?”

Abby thought for a moment. “I have a friend who places young women in the homes of the gentry…to act as servants, mostly, but in special cases, such as yours, as governesses and the like. She may be able to help you. As an earl’s daughter and a baron’s widow you should have a better future, but perhaps for now this will give you something to do. A place to find solace while we sort this out. I’ll give you her information when I bring you the gown.”

Martin raised the brass knocker, but before he let it drop the black door opened and a well-attired butler with gray hair inclined his head and accepted Martin’s hat.

“Good evening, sir. Please follow me. Miss Abby will see you in the parlor.”