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“Yet you still don’t wish to marry.”
“And share my mind and body with someone who pairs with me only for my money or family name?” Clara gave a tiny shrug. “Perhaps I ought to, but not yet. At least now, the property I inherited from Violet is my own. My brother is generous to me. I’ve found a noble purpose with our LLS. As soon as I marry, my property won’t be my own, and surely no husband would tolerate my work with the LLS.”
“Perhaps he wouldn’t have to know the details. Only that you spend time on a charitable endeavor?”
“True, a husband would likely have no interest in how I spend my time. But to expect it never to come to light that I finance Violet House—a place dedicated to providing respite and acceptance to fallen women, with no attempt to redeem their virtue or rehabilitate? No. And if I married, my husband would control my funds.”
Stella nodded. “I do understand.” She looked at Clara, as if seeing her for the first time. “I hadn’t the slightest notion you felt you were missing anything. Youareone of them.” Stella’s gaze indicated the aristocracy around them, daintily taking in tea or treats. “If you marry, you may lose the LLS, but you could find new friends. You already have some among your kind.”
“I have as many as I wish. And I’ve mentioned before, whatever my brother’s title, my family remains punished by society. That’s partly a blessing. I’m one of them”—she looked around discreetly—“but not truly.” She sighed. “When we first became acquainted, never could I have fathomed we would sit here and discuss this. Or that I could disappoint you so.”
If Clara’s shift in mood from curiosity and enthusiasm to something darker surprised Stella, she didn’t display it.
“And whatarewe discussing, Clara? The exotic destination of Sultan Hammam? The progress we’ve made with treatments for Violet House residents? Or my abilities in the realm of negotiating with men to advantage?”
Stella had spoken without bite, but Clara treaded carefully. There was no one she could be so candid with, yet much remained unsaid.
“All of those, Stella.” Her eyes had the faraway look of a person visiting the past. “When we met, I don’t think either of us could have known what the future held. I still hoped to find a cure for Violet, or at least some relief. Every physician, apothecary, and charlatan was another hope dashed.”
“We might not have known it then, especially through the disappointments, but every scrap and bit of knowledge we gained, we apply now to the LLS.”
Clara appreciated Stella’s point—and her olive branch.
It simply wasn’t the day to open the subject of Stella’s profession. Her avoidance of Stella’s other life wasn’t solely because of the taboo.
It was fear. Even hearing anecdotes of a life more freely led would make it impossible to carry on her daily existence with a modicum of contentment. She craved leave to experience real life—at least extracts of it.
The LLS was as important to Clara’s well-being as it was to the women they supported. The rest of her time was occupied with the ritualized existence of a lady of her class—wardrobe changes, household supervision, calling and receiving, and practicing her piano.
She felt most alive through the LLS.
Yet nothing quite quelled her pining. Suppressed in a corner of her mind was a desire to know more of the world.
Not just simply to know—but toknow.
Swallowing the last of her tea cake, she plastered on a smile and hoped that her friend would continue their truce. “Stella, which of our tenants at Violet House should go to the baths first?”
Nothing changed in Stella’s beautiful countenance. Her controlled exhale before answering was the only hint that Clara’s return to a safe topic registered.
Clara listened to her opinion about the Turkish bath visit, but the cake in her stomach turned sour.
She’d hurt her friend.
Her friend, the blonde angel, who sat across from her with impeccable posture, spoke in cultured tones, and dressed in demure, fashionable gowns.
Her friend, who’d cared fiercely for her older sister until her death, and now dedicated herself to helping the women of Violet House.
Her friend, who by trade was a highly paid prostitute.
Her friend, who, in Clara’s imagination, knew a world of sublime sensuality that was far beyond her reach.
