Free A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man by Susan Donovan, Celeste Bradley

“Loathsome, indeed.” Her irony was not lost on me, even in my distracted state.
    My chin rose defiantly. “I know he is considered a handsome catch, but he does not love me. He doesn’t even know me. He likes my face and my lineage—”
    The Swan’s gaze roved over me. “I daresay that is not all he likes,” she murmured.
    I dismissed that notion with a toss of my head. “I do not wish to be some lord’s plaything against my will, nor even his lady wife. I wish to live in my own way, to reside where I choose, to eat and drink and sleep where I choose!”
    I heard another carriage roll to a stop before the shop. The Swan straightened. The cool distance returned to her expression. “While I might sympathize with your situation, I cannot help you. I should not even be speaking to a girl such as you!”
    I shook my head. “I care nothing for my reputation,” I cried.
    The Swan flicked a glance toward the shop door. “I, however, care a great deal for mine. It would not do for the mamas of Society to suspect me of luring their daughters from their virtue.”
    I looked away, near tears. “I have no mama,” I said. “I have only the keepers of the keys to my prison.”
    The young man, apparently having expected the carriage, strode through the room toward the door. The Swan moved as if to turn away from me before the new customer could enter. I clutched at her hand once more, for I truly had nothing to lose. Flagrant coercion seemed like the tiniest of sins.
    “Please! You must help me! I have nowhere else to turn!”
    “Let me go!” She tugged at her hand and glanced worriedly at the door.
    “No! Let them see!” I was not my mother’s daughter for nothing. “What will they think when I fall at your feet and beg at your hem?”
    She paled. “You wouldn’t!”
    I bent my knees, prepared to wail away.
    “Very well!” The Swan pulled away violently. “You may come to me tomorrow morning, early. You must come before the rest of Society begins to make calls.” She took a calling card from her reticule and handed it to me.
    “Thank you! Oh, thank you, Swan!” I wanted to embrace her, but feared alienating her entirely. I settled for smiling and, I confess, jumping up and down a bit.
    Her eyes narrowed. “This is not agreement. This is merely permission to begin a discussion.” She pressed her lips together. “Although I suspect I shall regret conceding even that much.”
    I nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes. Thank you!” With that, I let her slip away and allowed the handsome young man to show me from the shop. I left with my chin high, my heart flying.
    I had won the first round. Everyone knew that the first round was the most important.
    Except, of course, for the last.

 
    Six
    The Seven Delights of the Courtesan
    The freedom to dance
    To make music
    To compose poetry
    To paint
    To contemplate literature
    To converse
    To perform
    To delight oneself with one’s own mind and soul.
    Were it not for Sylla’s discretion and heretofore unbeknownst talent for deceit, I should never have been able to make my way to the Mayfair home of the Swan without my aunt’s interference. Aunt Beryl had decided that it was high time for me to begin planning my triumphant wedding celebration. I demurred, but she would not listen. On my prompting, it was Sylla who begged that I should be permitted to accompany her to visit the house of Baroness G ____ , who kept a cousin of Sylla’s as one of her many maids.
    Aunt Beryl immediately turned about and insisted that I wear my best day gown and take the carriage for our excursion, and to leave my calling card, though we visited a lowly maid, and most important of all, to be sure to drop the news of my impending marriage in the hearing of the baroness’s butler.
    I murmured my assent and slipped away before she could offer any further advice. Sylla and I giggled as we jolted away in the glossy but ill-hung carriage, giddy with our brief taste of freedom.
    Someday soon, I hoped,