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visited the Harrington town house. The man apparently preferred fresh air, and the company ofsheep, to the entertainments of society. How would she have known him?
    “Yes, a fact of which you were unaware.” Eva poured the tea. “Now let us get started, shall we?” She talked about the school; Sophie, who helped run the school; the courtesans; and what was expected of Brenna. Brenna sipped the sweetened tea and felt some tension leave her. Eva was not at fault for her predicament. Brenna would not cause her any worry.
    It was a viscount with unshaven cheeks and muddy boots who should be worried.
    Deep inside the darkest part of her, she felt the desire for revenge grow for the man who’d stuck his nose in her affairs and locked her up here, almost as if he’d personally dragged her to this school himself.
    Someday, somewhere, their paths would cross again, and she’d make him rue the moment he’d decided to chase down her coach.

Chapter Three

    H elen, Iris, Alice, and Lucy. The four courtesans were gathered in the parlor, practicing stitchery, each with histories as varied as their appearances and backgrounds, all living in the courtesan school, trying to become wives. Ironic, Brenna thought, considering that her own desire was
not
to fall into that trap herself.
    Though Brenna was new to the household, she’d managed to put together enough snippets of information about the women in a few hours to get a clearer picture of each.
    Helen was the oldest, thirty, with dark hair shot through with threads of gray, and a trim figure. She was stoic, slow to smile, and preferred to keep her own company.
    Iris was as lively as Helen was sober. She was twenty-three, blond, diminutive, and well read. So well read, in fact, she could chatter endlessly about any topic.
    Alice was also blond, twenty-five, but was tall and plump. She enjoyed mothering the women like a hen with chicks.
    And finally, there was Lucy. Lucy was the youngest, at twenty-one. Her hair was a medium brown, and her hazel eyes flashed mischief. Brenna suspected Lucy was the closest to her in temperament. If she ever wanted to make a nighttime raid to the pantry, Lucy would likely join in the fun.
    “I cannot do this,” Alice said, and plucked out her latest stitch. “I am hopeless with a needle.”
    “That is why you became a courtesan,” Lucy teased, looking at her own project with a critical eye. “You’d make a horrible seamstress.”
    Alice shot Lucy a withering glare. “What, then, is your excuse, Lucy? You are excellent with a needle.”
    Lucy shrugged. “Misbehavior. I was a wicked child and never outgrew it,” she said, with a wink. “Besides, if I had to spend my life making and mending clothing, I’d probably throw myself on my scissors and end it all.”
    “Oh, dear,” Iris interjected. “I suppose being a courtesan is preferable to death by scissors.”
    Brenna bit her lip. These courtesans were a lively lot. Had she not known their history, and had the conversation not been about their scandalous former profession, this little group would resemble any other afternoon tea.
    “Excellent point,” Brenna said. She looked down at her own pitiful attempt to sew a straight line. “Some women are not suited for domestic pursuits.”
    Lucy smiled, and the women went back to work.
    Unable to concentrate on her own stitches, Brenna watched them work on their needlepoint, while Sophie, a former courtesan herself, came in and out of the room, giving instructions and setting up the dining room for the next lesson.
    Looking at the properly dressed and subdued young woman, it was almost impossible to believe she was seated amid courtesans. She wasn’t certain what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this. They all looked downright, dare she say it, ordinary.
    After several more attempts to correct her mistakes, Alice finally asked Sophie for help.
    “If you hold the needle thus, it makes a straighter stitch.” Sophie adjusted the needle, and