Because history is fun and love is worth working for

Tag: prostitute

Vigilante among the Ton?

Every day in London’s streets, women of all ilk sell their bodies to earn enough to live and survive. Prostitution is no secret; it is a thriving business. Like all businesses, there are those who profit and those who toil. Equally so, every year in the glittering ballrooms of the marriage mart, young women are sold to the highest bidder for money and power. Here also, there are those who profit from the bodies and lives of their women.

So, it may come as no surprise that London has a new hero from this set. A vigilante who rescues young girls who have become tangled in the web of sex and excesses. She rescued a young girl from a prominent brothel run by Mrs. G two weeks ago. Brandishing her slim deadly blade, she snatched away the girl who had been sold to the brothel owner by her drunk of a father.

Then our vigilante struck again last weekend at an infamous bacchanal, which is thrown annually by Lord D. Yes, all the rumors you have heard are true. The party is as debauched as Lord D’s dark heart. Free-flowing wine and liquor, and anonymity provided by the masks fuel an atmosphere of immoral behavior. This night of excess was topped off by an auction, where the highest bidder would get to deflower a genuine virgin.

Don’t worry, dear reader, our vigilante swooped in and rescued the poor farm girl, stolen from her family by Mrs. G to serve as the virgin sacrifice. Yes, our vigilante is no ordinary woman. She is fearless, passionate, a LADY of great heart. I will wait alongside you, breathlessly, to see where she will strike next.

About the Book: Unmask My Heart

Caroline Langdon has gained a reputation for being unattainable; she has turned down twelve offers of marriage over the past four years. A traumatic incident from her past has convinced her she never wants to belong to any man. Her plan to live as a wealthy spinster is tested when she meets the enigmatic Lord Wrotham.

For his new assignment for the crown, Cage Morgan must slip into the one role he’s never wanted, his title as the Earl of Wrotham. Lady Caroline is in grave danger. His job is to watch over her and investigate which of her jilted suitors wants her dead. But keeping tabs on the clever and fiery lady will prove to be challenging. And ignoring the attraction that flares between them impossible.

Will a daring rescue and a fake engagement lead two guarded hearts to take a risk on a passionate love neither of them thought imaginable?

 Excerpt:

“You can never trust a newspaperman.” Cage commented.

“Well, in this case, because the editor is a woman, I thought I could.” Clearly a mistake. Of course, a woman whose paper survives on its gossip column would choose the most sensational bits. Caroline grudgingly admired the editor’s cleverness. She glanced down at the article in her hand. “She does paint a flattering picture of me. Fierce and passionate. I almost wish people knew she was talking about me.” She took another swallow of wine. “I am tired of everyone talking behind my back about being an ice queen. I’m not frigid,” she muttered.

“Who had the gall to say you were frigid?”

Caroline couldn’t believe she had said that out loud. Her cheeks warmed and not because of the wine. He was the one man who made her feel the opposite of frigid. He made her want things that she had given up ever feeling again. She set down her empty wine glass on the windowsill.

Cage took one finger and lifted her chin until her gaze met his. “You are the most passionate woman I have ever known. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a blind fool.” The heat in his eyes almost had her believing his statement. He lowered his mouth to hers, brushing her lips once, twice.

Caroline sighed at the pleasure of his kiss. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Nibbling at her bottom lip, he pulled her under his spell. She parted her lips to welcome his exploration. His tongue swept in to play with hers, slick and hot. She grabbed hold of the lapels of his jacket as the world around them melted away.

“Caroline, your fire consumes me.” He kissed across her cheek and up to her temple. “You haunt my nights. I want to discover every inch of you with my tongue, my lips. I want you to burn me alive.”

His words emboldened her. Caroline slid her hand into his hair and pulled his head back enough for their eyes to meet. “Show me.”

About the Author

From the time she read fairytales as a child, Karla Kratovil was hooked on stories that ended in Happily Ever After. Now as an author of sexy historical romance she gets to craft her own happy endings. Karla lives right on the edge of Northern Virginia’s wine country with her college sweetheart, two terrific teenagers, and two blond terriers. She is a Taurus. Like any good earth sign she loves good food, good wine, and getting her hands dirty growing things in her garden.

To keep in touch, sign up for her newsletter on her website – www.karlakratovil.com

Instagram- https://www.instagram.com/karla.kratovil

Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/karlakratovilauthor

Pinterest – https://www.pinterest.com/daylilymama

Twitter- https://www.twitter.com/karla_kratovil

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/…/show/19952463.Karla_Kratovil

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/karla-kratovil

 

 

 

 

Felicia: her thoughts as she contemplates retrieving her lost daughter

In Chapter 15, Anthony, Lord Kendall, calls upon Felicia to inform her that he believes her long-lost daughter may be at the Foundling Hospital. She and her maid Maris, a loyal friend from their days at the Pleasure House, reflect on the possibility that the much-anticipated reunion may take place that very day!

The Foundling Restored to Its Mother

Felicia [eyes glowing]: Oh Maris, can this really be happening? I’ve dreamed of this moment for ever, but always in the end believing it to be impossible. [Swallowing] If she had found a suitable home, where she would be nurtured and loved, I should, of course, have been glad for her and refrained from interfering. But I had to know!

Maris [tugging a brush through Felicia’s thick, curly locks]: ‘Twas ol’ Beazley that stole ‘er from ya, may she rot in ‘ell. And tol’ ya she was dead, besides. Witch!

Felicia [nostrils flaring]: I can’t tell you how that troubled my thoughts, dear Maris, worrying over in what manner such a woman might dispose of my child, and all of them so very disheartening.

Maris: As bad as that was, ’twas better than thinkin’ ‘er dead. Gave ya somethin’ ta live fer.

Felicia [clasping Maris’s hands in hers]: It did indeed. I shall always be grateful to you for reminding me of that fact at a time when the world was black and I had no hope.

Maris [tearfully]: No need, miss. ‘Twas out of selfishness, not wantin’ ta lose the only friend I had.

Felicia [turning and giving Maris a quick kiss on the cheek]: We have been through a lot together, have we not? I could not have made it through all those months at the whorehouse without you reminding me of my responsibility to my child. I should never have met and loved Charles, God rest his generous soul, and never have obtained the means to support myself respectably.

Maris [with a secret smile]: Or met Mr. Jamison, er, Lord Kendall ‘e is now, who seemed that eager ta find yer daughter fer ya, miss.

Felicia [flushing]: Don’t tease, Maris. There can be nothing between us. He is very kind, that is all.

Maris [snorting]: Kind? Kind, you say? Ye’ve called ‘im a jackass more ‘n once, and so ‘e was too!

Felicia [tugging at her neckline]: Yes, well, perhaps he was rather disagreeable in the beginning, but it had to be a bit of a shock to discover that his uncle left half of his fortune to his mistress. I’m inclined to forgive him for all that, especially now that he has sought to reunite me with my daughter. [Rises from the chair.] Cynthia. Oh Maris, she is three years old already and her name is Cynthia! How will I ever explain how I lost her?

Maris: Jis’ like that. She was lost and ya found ‘er.

Felicia: Or Anthony did. How can I ever thank him? [Maris chuckles.] No, no, not that way. Never again that way! I shall ever after be a respectable lady, for myself first, and also for my daughter. Cynthia. She shall have everything I can give her, that I never had myself.

Maris: A father?

Felicia [turning pale]: No, but a doting mother will surely be enough. We shall be very happy, just the two of us. And you, of course, Maris. We shall find a house in the country, near a village, with children and cows and fresh air.

Maris: And Anthony?

Felicia [folding her arms across her chest]: What about him? Anthony will go on with his life, take his seat in Parliament, marry some noble young lady with whom he will have a passel of children, and become a bastion of London society. He and I will never cross paths again. And that is the way it should be.

Maris: If you say so, miss.

Felicia: I do say so. [Looks toward the window.] Is that a carriage, Maris? Where is my bonnet? Oh Maris, I’m going to be a mother! Do you think she’ll like me? What if…? If she’s been abominably treated, I shall never forgive myself. Has Mrs. Grey finished preparing the nursery, do you think?

Find out what happens when Felicia and Anthony visit the Foundling Hospital in an attempt to retrieve her daughter in the next installment of Susana’s Resilience, on wattpad.

 

Resilience: Moving House and an Unexpected Visitor

After a flurry of activity, Felicia, her daughter, and Maris arrived at Brook Street on the appointed day. As the house was to be sold soon, only a handful of servants remained to wait on them, the others having found positions elsewhere. Having assumed a new identity, Felicia could not offer them positions in her new home and risk someone letting slip a hint of her scandalous past. Maris, however, shared a long history with her mistress, and her loyalty to Felicia was unquestionable.

***

Being required to assist in conveying the luggage, neither John, the coachman, nor Richards, the armed footman,  remarked the presence of the small tattered boy huddled behind the street lamp, his discerning eyes focused with interest on the new arrivals. This development would be worth a coin or two when relayed to the folks at the Pleasure House. He remained in his position until long after the coachman had driven the rig around the back to the stable area, observing that although no other activity appeared to be taking place there, the heavyset footman with a bulge in his pocket that could have been a pistol maintained constant vigilance over the house’s entrance from the parlor window, relaxing his duties only for a few minutes while he accepted a cup of tea from another servant. As darkness came and the house appeared to be settled for the night, the boy left his post, visions of jingling coins occupying his thoughts.

***

The next few days were busy ones indeed, as Felicia and the few remaining servants were engrossed in packing up the contents of the house to be either sold or conveyed to Weldon Park. Felicia had her hands full with Cynthia, as well, since it had been decided to leave the nursemaid behind and there were no servants to spare for minding the child. It was actually a blessing, she thought, as she finished doing up the buttons on the pretty pink frock and took a brush to her daughter’s unruly reddish blonde curls. There was far too much to do to allow for painful thoughts, such as bidding a final farewell to Charles and their life together, and also, she realized in surprise, disappointment that Anthony had failed to call on them since their arrival.

Nor had he been present at her meeting with the solicitor, who had discussed the sale of the house and presented her with several documents to sign, remarking that Lord Kendall had overseen the entire process personally, and that all that was necessary was Felicia’s approval.

Personally? thought Felicia. Not hardly, since she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since their arrival. Well, why should he, she argued with herself? He was a Lord of the Realm who—if the Pendergast chits were correct—was much too occupied in courting a wife to be bothered with one such as her. In any case, once wed, his wife would see to it that any friendship between them was severed, so it was well and good to put some distance between them now. Or so she told herself.

“Ouch!” complained Cynthia. “Mama, you’re hurting me!”

Instantly contrite, Felicia hugged her daughter. “I’m sorry, poppet. I’m hopeless with hair. But Maris is occupied with the linens at present, so you’ll have to make do with me instead. I shall try to be a bit more gentle.”

She had noticed before that Cynthia’s hair, although with a tinge of strawberry, was as lush and curly blonde as her own. Felicia had always struggled to keep hers tamed, and it seemed her daughter would be fated to do so as well. She did wonder where the red had come from, as Cynthia’s natural father had been very fair. But she had never seen his parents, or, for that matter, her own natural parents. No doubt some ancestor up the line had been red-headed.

As she turned her daughter loose in the nursery to play with her dolls, Felicia started down the stairs and halted suddenly when she saw a stranger on the landing, a middle-aged lady dressed in finery from head to toe, wearing a dashing pelisse of peacock blue, in the process of removing a stylish bonnet of matching hue, to reveal a head of abundant strawberry blonde locks that appeared to be an exact match to Cynthia’s.

A maid rushed in and took the new arrival’s hat and pelisse, apologizing when she saw Felicia. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hammond, but we’re so short-handed there weren’t nobody ter send fer ye ter say that Lady Middlemarch has come ter call.”

Lady Middlemarch looked up at Felicia with bright eyes that looked suspiciously like tears. “I’m sorry to have come at an inconvenient time, Mrs. Hammond. Perhaps I should come back at another time?”

“Oh no, of course not,” Felicia insisted. “Please come and sit in the parlor.” Turning to the maid, she asked, “Kate, do you think you could manage to bring us some tea?” At the maid’s curtsy of assent, she turned to her unexpected guest.

“I apologize that I am unable to offer you anything more, Lady Middlemarch, but as you see, we are in the process of packing up the house and we are in a state of upheaval at present.”

“Yes,” said the older woman, “I-I-I understand that you are removing to the country.” Her blatant stare unnerved Felicia.

As they sat facing one another, Felicia was struck by the woman’s resemblance to herself and her daughter: the thick, curly hair, the clear blue eyes, the pert nose, the pale skin. What could she think but that this elegant lady might be… no, of course not.

Breaking the silence, she began. “Lady Middlemarch…”

“Mrs. Hammond,” began the other woman at the same moment, wringing her hands nervously. “Mrs. Hammond, I think you must comprehend by our resemblance that I—” she paused, “—that I am your mother. Your natural mother, that is.” And then she broke down into uncontrollable weeping as an astonished Kate carried in the tea tray.

Resilience is the story of a prostitute and demimondaine who escapes to the peace and respectability of country life with her young daughter.

I wrote this story in 2010 during my “summer of practice retirement” where I wanted to prove to myself I could become a productive writer and not a coach potato. I got so into the story that I had dreams about it and got up at 4 a.m. (once school started) to write them down.

It’s been languishing in my pile of unfinished manuscripts, but I was just thinking the other day that it might be time to resurrect it. So that’s what I’m doing on Wattpad. You can read more here.

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén