A Regency era courtesan gives up her empire for love and discovers how binding her connections truly are to the noblemen she used to serve.
*****
In the sequel to Courte...
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By the time the Surety reached Captain Thompson's vessel, the horizon had almost swallowed the sun. It took nearly two hours to bring the ship within range without causing the Pelican to list sideways from the Surety's powerful wake, so the ship's crew was forced to carry out rescue maneuvers by the light of the moon.
To keep from worrying myself silly, I focused on my work, although my thoughts were on how I might learn the names of the injured soldiers when they were ferried over from the battle-torn flagship. I would have to do this without drawing attention to the fact that I was concerned for one soldier in particular. Somehow, I needed to get myself into the infirmary.
Based on the gossip circulating below deck, the Pelican had been rendered unfit for service, and steps were being taken to escort the ship back to the Port of London. Some even speculated it might not make the long journey home, having lost all but one sail with multiple breaches to the hull from cannon fire.
My gut seized every time I imagined the scene; men racing around the deck, dodging bullets as they defended their ship from the enemy. It felt surreal when compared to the pampered life I had become accustomed to.
"Ye daydreamin' over there?" Gunther's bellow shook me from my thoughts, and I looked up from the steaming tub of lye where I had been stirring a pot of towels well past the recommended time.
"No... Well, maybe a wee bit." I hurried to transfer the towels into a tub of boiling water, coughing on the fumes as they billowed upward.
"That's dangerous business. Ye gotta keep yer wits round this lye. Tis powerful poison."
He grabbed a stick and helped me with my chores. We worked silently, rinsing the towels and getting them hung on the line. When the work was done, I sat in the single chair provided to our small staff of four and stretched out my legs. Gunther went about stoking the furnace for the next batch, eyeballing me over his shoulder.
"What's on yer mind, Rosie? Ye worried about them fellows they're bringin' on board?"
"I suppose that's it. I hadn't expected to feel this helpless."
"We're doin' these men a great service. If it weren't for clean linens, they'd be sufferin' from sepsis. Infection can kill a man as easy as a bullet."
I smiled at his back. His simplicity made him charming. "You're right. I'm behaving poorly. I apologize."
"Aw, no need to..."
"Boy, am I glad I found you here!" Bernice arrived in a flurry, sliding through the door on her heels. When she looked at me, my heart sank. The only time she needed me was to do something unpleasant, like telling a boy she wouldn't sleep with him until he bathed. "I need your help, Rose."
Of course, you do.
"What is it, Bernice?" I didn't move a muscle as she eyed the chair. She had been running, that much was clear, but my charity wore thin when it came to my two female laundry mates. They were lazy and selfish.
