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“There is something else you should understand, Miss Bennet, and it may astonish you. These motherly little slaps I am dealing out to you are nothing. You are now my property to dispose of as I wish. You are to obey me and to obey my clients regardless of the request, and you are to do so with a smile and, as I have said, every appearance of enjoyment. If you do so, I will try to eliminate the less genteel men who partake of our services, the ones who like to include a bit of violence as part of their pleasure. But make no mistake. Just imagine your lovely, fair skin being torn apart by an implement usually reserved for carriage horses. I’m sure you remember sharing your quarters with Miss Arabella Grant.

Such has been her fate. She is far, far too disfigured now to be of interest to any gentleman.

We had hoped that she could earn a living working around Covent Garden.

But she has developed a fever.” The woman shook her head sadly.

“Girls who attract that sort of attention often end up in the Thames. That could be your fate as well, and nothing would please Lady Catherine more.”

Elizabeth looked up in time to see Wickham lick his lips. A wave of nausea threatened to overcome her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, let us talk of business. There will be a lucrative fee for that precious virginity we were discussing earlier. That will be divided between us. We will retain seventy percent for our efforts in facilitating the introduction, while you will receive thirty percent. Hopefully you will cement a long-term friendship with the gentleman, whoever he may be, for which he will pay handsomely. The same arrangement will be in effect—seventy for us, thirty for you. Any gifts of jewels, furs, or other similar articles are yours to keep, and you are well advised to do so. You will be paying us for room, board, maid service, and so on, and those fees will be deducted from your percentage.” She consulted a sheet of paper.

“At present you owe us a total of eight hundred pounds. That includes your transportation to London, your room and board, your maid service, and the gowns that were procured for you yesterday. You will not begin to see your percentage until that debt has been paid in full.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The only thing left to cover is what you may expect tonight. You are to be completely ready at seven o’clock.

Wear the red gown this evening. Have your maid do something about those pale cheeks.

You look like a ghost.” She reached over to the table next to her and picked up a box.

“These are pearls--earrings and necklace. You are to wear them this evening. Do not attempt to run away and try to sell or pawn them. They are glass. Very good glass, but glass, nevertheless. Here, take them. Your trumpery topaz cross is being held as surety.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You will be assigned to one of the other girls who will look after you. You are not to speak unless spoken to. You are not to become involved in any conversations with any of the gentlemen in the club with the exception of common civilities such as ‘Good evening, sir.’ Do not go upstairs. Do not allow anyone to touch you. At least four gentlemen will be watching you with an eye to purchasing your services. If one of them is the successful bidder tonight, you will be prepared. Otherwise, you will return to your room when you are told to do so. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Elizabeth’s heart was beating so loudly in her chest that she was certain it was audible. She prayed for the interview to be over.

“You may go. Remember each and every thing I have told you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Elizabeth turned.

“Miss Bennet! Do you not curtsey when you leave a room?”

Elizabeth turned again, curtsied, said “Yes, ma’am,” turned again, and walked out. She could feel Wickham’s eyes on her, and it made her feel unclean.

The little ormolu clock in her room said one when Elizabeth reached the relative sanctuary of her room.

She was in a state of near-exhaustion and numbing fear.

Ruth, perhaps anticipating this, had turned down the covers of her bed and laid out a comfortable nightgown.

Wordlessly, she helped Elizabeth undress and change, then led her to the dressing-table where she had laid out a tray with hot consommé, a savory turnover, and—a thing that tore at Elizabeth’s heart—a glass of milk.

“Eat a little, Miss Bennet, and then sleep. I will make sure you are awake in plenty of time.”

Elizabeth complied, and when she had finished the last of her milk, Ruth moved the tray aside, took the pins from Elizabeth’s hair, and gently brushed it out. “Now rest,” she said, taking the tray and closing the door behind her.

Elizabeth got into bed, ignoring the dull ache in her temples.

Coming as it had on the heels of Mrs. Oliver’s horrifying story, and her startling announcement about the ownership of this place, the interview with Madame Charpentier had been a genuine ordeal.

She longed for her sisters, her parents.

She longed for Darcy’s strong arms. She reminded herself that she was probably safe for this evening as her fee was being negotiated.

She considered trying to find a way to put a period to her existence but decided against it for the time being.

Where there is life, there is hope, she reminded herself, and that option could always be considered later.

She committed her family, herself, and her beloved Fitzwilliam to the protection of the Almighty, and with that prayer she fell asleep.