Evening shadows grew large on the street outside my door, and the candles had not yet arrived. I cursed myself for the ill-planning my staff and I had made, knowing very well my parties tended to run late. At best, our surplus afforded us two hours of lighted parley before our guests would be forced to squint through the dark or take their leave. Gratefully, the yule logs were plentiful.

While Tilda and the manservants carried out the finishing touches, Clara attended me in my dressing room. The gown I chose for the gala had been purchased from an importer of French fashion. Specifically, those dresses that had been tossed aside by members of the French court because Emperor Bonaparte forbade them to wear the same dress more than once. The French extravagance provided affordable luxury to some of Britain's elite, of which I considered myself a member. It only required a few alterations to hide the fact that my grand apparel had originated in the courts of the enemy.

"I hope I haven't taken the waist in too much," Clara grumbled as she adjusted my stay. "We don't want you with the vapors."

"Don't be silly, Clara. I have never experienced the vapors, and I don't intend to." I inhaled deeply and released a slow breath. "A wee less tension at the base, please."

With my tea cooling on the saucer, I sat before my looking glass while Clara arranged my hair. I had inherited a colour rarely seen on a modern woman; blonde with heavy highlights of red, although I preferred the term strawberry. While the origin of my parentage would always remain a mystery as far as I was concerned, I appreciated the few unique qualities my ancestry afforded me. My tutor and dear friend, Clementine, referred to these qualities as blessings, which made the circumstance of my non-traditional upbringing seem less disparaging.

As the first coach arrived, I seated myself in the sitting room to await my guests. The fireplace crackled with warmth, casting a sensual glow over the furniture, and I reached across the settee to adjust a vase so it might catch the reflection better. While it was improper to greet my own guests at the door, that did not mean I wasn't terribly intrigued by the practice, and I strained to hear the voices lilting in the foyer.

I recognized the high soprano of Clementine's grandniece, Elizabeth, and the alto most certainly belonged to my tutor. A moment later, Tilda waltzed into the room. "Mistress Clementine Price and her grandniece, Elizabeth Hall."

"Rose Hayes, you look younger each time I see you." Clementine glided smoothly into the room despite the fact she had reached age fifty-seven and suffered arthritic knees.

"You are a vision to aspire to, Clementine." I lifted from my seat to offer a friendly curtsy, inhaling the scent of rose that always accompanied her. The years had been good to my mentor, as had the many benefactors who still considered the retired courtesan their confidant. I had learned early on, there was a lot more to seducing a man than shapely legs and a full bosom.

When I caught Elizabeth staring, I turned to greet her as well. "I am so pleased you could attend this evening, Miss Elizabeth."

"As am I. You look like an angel, Mistress Hayes. I don't care what father says."

My brows lifted as curiosity caught me. Typically, I refrained from engaging in gossip. "Thank you for the lovely compliment. May I inquire what it is your father says?"

Elizabeth's face flushed a deep crimson, and she lifted a tentative gaze to her great aunt. "He says you serve the dark forces."

"Oh, well. If that's all." I chuckled, having heard worse insults at church. "I hope your father isn't too vexed by your presence here."

Elizabeth giggled behind a gloved hand. "Oh, he doesn't know. Mother and I told him I was attending a function at the Charities for the Poor."

I nodded at the girl, although I wanted to giggle too. "Well, you and I will have to attend an upcoming function there to make it credent."

"I would like that very much."

Tilda reappeared and announced the next set of guests, and I found myself quite occupied for the next quarter of an hour while my home filled with animated chatter. The parlor games commenced, the first being a spirited rendition of Ball of Wool. Clara and Douglas were determined to involve themselves in the frivolity, and both appeared reluctant to let the younger guests steal all the merriment.

I watched contentedly from a distance, making certain the punch bowl remained full and the candelabras stayed lit. Just after sending Tilda to the cellar to seek out a specific vintage of wine for one of the chaperones, the doorbell sounded, announcing a tardy arrival. When Tilda remained absent, I realized it would be imprudent to leave my guests waiting on the cold stoop. So, I excused myself to the foyer to handle the greeting personally.

A man dressed in his royal navy finery stood at the door with his young, female charge beside him. I recognized the girl from church, having enquired about her to Reverend Lawtey as I prepared my guest list. The girl's arms were crossed at her chest and her bright, blue eyes reflected both beauty and annoyance.

"Is this the home of Mistress Rosalind Hayes?" the man asked. His eyes shone with a similar brightness, albeit with more grey than blue, and with more mirth than annoyance.

"I am she. The maid is otherwise occupied with fetching wine. Please, come in."

The girl stepped confidently into the foyer. "Thank you, Mistress Hayes. My brother has utterly no concept of time, which reflects poorly on me. I have been ready for hours."

"I appreciate your attention to promptness. To whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?" I queried the girl, although I had a good idea who she was.

"I am Alice Ada Thompson. My father is Vice Admiral Willis Orville Thompson of the Royal Navy."

"Oh, yes. I do remember sending that invitation. However, your RSVP must have become lost in transit. We were not expecting you."

Alice cast her gaze to the floor, allowing her brother the opportunity to resume the conversation. "I am afraid the family has been otherwise occupied with the funeral of our mother. She passed a fortnight ago from smallpox. We do apologize for arriving unannounced."

I brought a gloved hand to my mouth to stifle a gasp. The death of a family member at any time was tragic, but at the holidays... "I was not aware. There was nothing printed in the paper of her passing."

"Our father wanted to keep it quiet and simple."

"Oh. Well, it is most regrettable. I offer my humblest sympathy."

"Thank you. The Admiral thought it was in Alice's best interest to attend a gala as a way to assuage her loss." Alice's brother offered his explanation as he blinked at the sitting room beyond the candlelit foyer. He, too, appeared to need the distraction, although the moment passed swiftly before he found himself again. "Please, excuse my rudeness. I am Captain Jules Everett Thompson."

I offered them both my warmest smile. "Well, Jules and Alice. You are very welcome to join us. The parlor games have only just started."

Back in the sitting room, Tilda poured wine into glasses, and Clara and Douglas finally relinquished the ball of wool to the young guests. Alice clapped her hands as she surveyed the scene.

"Oh, I adore this game. I am very good at blowing. And there's Effie. She looks to be waiting her turn." Alice glanced at Jules, and after receiving his nod, she bounded away. I turned to the captain to share my opinion with him.

"You have done a good thing attending your sister here. I expect it has been a terrible ordeal for her to lose her mother."

Jules stood like a soldier behind the settee, his hands at his back and his attention on the youths at play. "She has been extremely brave. I daresay, more so than our father. No amount of war can prepare a man for the loss of the woman he loves."

I observed the captain with curiosity. He spoke like a man older than his age, which I guessed to be less than thirty. Then I reminded myself that I had not yet reached thirty, and my experience belied my age in many respects. "I will send my regrets to your father."

"That is very gracious of you, but he will not read it. You would be wasting your time and coin."

"Oh, dear. Is there nothing that might cheer him?"

Jules turned his face to me, and I read the restraint in his eyes. But that wasn't all. I recognized those eyes. They belonged to the stranger I approached outside my home earlier. I was sure of it. "I doubt there is anything that will move him for some time."

Realizing I had gone well past politeness, I hurried to change the subject. "Given that you are an officer in the royal navy like your father, did you both engage in the same coalition?"

"We did." He appeared to hold his tongue, likely due to a natural instinct to believe women had no interest in wartime conflicts. But I was not most women.

"Let me guess. If your father is a vice admiral, he engaged in the first and second coalition prior to you joining. Then you served together in the third. Am I close?"

A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth as he appraised me. "You are. The admiral fought in the battle of Copenhagen, as well. Which, as everyone knows, resulted in a victory over the Danes. While I saw my first battle as a lieutenant at Trafalger."

"That offensive was said to have changed the course of the British conflict with France."

A second twitch. "Yes. It was a hard-won battle. We lost Admiral Lord Nelson before seeing victory. And Austerlitz put the French at the helm again."

"And what of Mister Madison's war? Have you been to America to fight there?"

"I have been to Boston, but I was called home when mother took ill." The captain kept his eyes focused ahead of him, and I realized we had segued back into uncomfortable waters.

A feminine squeal announced that a winner was due a prize, and I excused myself to congratulate the girl, who happened to be Clementine's grandniece. I offered her a decorative box with sheets of manuscript paper, knowing Elizabeth studied the pianoforte. With a wave of encouragement, I had the guests gather around me in a circle to explain what was coming next, a spirited game called If You Love Me Dearest, Smile. This had the girls wearing a healthy blush and the boys teasing one another without reserve.

Glancing at the diminishing candles in their holders, I prayed the light would last through the game as I made a circuit around the room, confirming that every guest's chaperone was well-tended. Then I returned to stand beside Jules. I felt a strange kinship to the Thompson siblings, although I never had the pleasure of knowing my own mother.

"Tell me, Mistress Hayes. What brought you into the role of courtesan? Or, should I ask who?" Jules's question came at me without warning, and I did my best not to appear put out. Most of my acquaintances skirted around the topic of my career, although many knew of it. 

This man, however, despite his obvious cultured breeding, did not appear abashed at broaching the delicate subject. And while his manner appeared stiff and serious, his eyes were lit with interest when I met them. This alone had me offering him an answer without questioning his motives.

"I started life as an orphan, and Mistress Price took me in at the age of nine." I nodded subtly at my tutor, who appeared completely at ease on the velvet chaise cradling a glass of wine and giggling at the youngsters. "She taught me how to read and how to correspond with her benefactors. She made sure I stayed up to date on current events and had me entertain her guests in the parlor with poetry and song. I met nobility, businessmen, and members of parliament; some of whom became my benefactors when Clementine retired."

He nodded as if I were reciting a script from a play he'd seen a hundred times. "The Duke of Norfolk being the most notable. I'm surprised the old goat can still get it up."

I had just begun to sip from my glass of wine when Jules made his comment, and I coughed as I held the teetering red liquid away from my dress. I was beginning to question this man's cultured breeding. Of course, he had spent a goodly amount of time on a ship surrounded by men of all breeds. Still, did he believe my sensibilities were less refined than any other modern woman?

During the time it took me to regain my composure, the captain found himself. "My apologies. I meant no disrespect. I suppose I am still trying to understand why a woman with such rapier wit and comely features would not choose patrons closer to her age and physical virtue."

I blinked at him as I tried to decide whether or not he was serious. He seemed quite so. "By your way of thinking, I could ask why you chose to fight a hard-won battle that resulted in the loss of an admiral and nobleman rather than something with less bloodshed."

A spasm tugged his mouth upward, although he seemed determined not to allow it. "You make a sound argument, Mistress Hayes."

"Please, Captain. You may call me Rose. And while we are being forthright, might I inquire what you were doing outside my home earlier this evening? That was you on the walk dressed in the navy peacoat, was it not?"

He glanced at his boots, giving away his guilt. "I was merely taking stock of your residence. I wanted to be sure I would be bringing Alice to the home of some repute."

"And you believed a perusal of the exterior might tell you all you needed to know? The drapes are always pulled if there is something of import to see inside."

He lifted his gaze. And while I expected to find agitation there, I saw conviction instead. "Let's just say I saw everything I needed to know when you approached me on the walk."

At that moment, the shadows in the room grew long, and I realized all but one candle had burned to their wicks. The youths remained engaged in their game, too intent to notice. Or, perhaps, to make more fun of it. The chaperones, however, appeared wary of the fading light. I summoned Jasper from where he stoked the fire, and he hurried to join me and Captain Thompson to discuss how we might remedy things.

"I'm afraid I may roast the young folk like chestnuts if we build the fire too high," Jasper explained as he wiped his soot-stained hands on his trousers.

"I suppose I could give up the candles in my room to extend the festivities," I offered. There was no need explaining how adept I was at disrobing in the dark.

"Have you no means of lighting by gas lamp?" the captain asked. "They're quite safe. We have used them in our home for more than a year now."

Jasper snapped his fingers. "We do have that lamp from your Mister Morrisey. A coal gas lamp he called it."

"That's just what you need," said the captain. "Did he supply you with proper fuel?"

"I can't be sure, but I'll check. What would this fuel look like?"

"Why don't you show me the lamp. There may be fuel already in it."

Jasper glanced at me for how to proceed, and I waved both men off. I had a room full of guests, and a stub of a candle for light. Any moment, the youths would be at the mercy of their own instincts, and I couldn't say how keen they were at navigating a home they had never visited. I entered the lively circle, bringing the chatter to an end as I prepared to address the room. And that's precisely when the flame of the last candle wavered and hissed out.

A murmur or feminine giggles and masculine chuckles filled the sitting room as the burning yule logs attempted to do the job of candles, bathing the party guests in a warm, orange glow. It was quite the ethereal scene. But the chaperones were less impressed by the ambiance. So, before they could voice their complaints, I settled the youths with a breathy hush and began to recite a story.

"When I was nine years old, I ran away from the orphan asylum for the twelfth time. It was Christmastime, so I knew the staff would not come looking for me. They were too busy accepting donations and attending to the other hundred children who needed looking after."

Everyone appeared to hold their breath as I paused to measure my audience. The crackling of firewood was the only thing to interrupt the reverence, which told me I had chosen the proper story. I had learned to recount them with great skill, something I credited to my tutor, and I exchanged a gratified smile with Clementine before proceeding.

"I discovered early on that I could earn a fair amount of coin during the Christmas holiday because folks were a bit more kindly and generous to beggar children. I was determined to save enough to get me out of the asylum for good. On that particular Christmas, I earned nearly three pence, which I attributed to my comely features and above average intellect. The problem came when I decided to find my way back with my tidy sum.

"Without realizing it, I had wandered well outside the familiar boundaries of the asylum and got myself properly lost. The streets had emptied, and the night turned dark as printer's ink. Even the folks I passed appeared as large, looming silhouettes, cloaked in soot-stained coats and wearing tired circles beneath their eyes. I knew that when people were cold and hungry for long periods, they weren't always thinking straight and would do things they wouldn't otherwise."

I paused again, surveying the faces of my guests. While some appeared to recognize the meaning of my words, others looked as if I were speaking gibberish, so detached from common life were they. It was those I felt most compelled to reach.

"I spent the entire night wandering the streets to stay awake, fearing sleep would welcome the unwanted grope of a stranger, or that I might wake with my head bashed in and my coin gone." A few gasps escaped my female guests, but I didn't tarry. "Yet, what I remember most about that night was the darkness and how vulnerable it made me feel. When morning broke, I was able to find my way back to the orphan asylum. From that point on, I hated it a wee bit less. Do you know why?"

"You could hide from the strangers?" a bright-cheeked girl offered.

"You had a warm breakfast waiting?" said a tousled-haired boy beside her.

I smiled, cheered by their thoughtful answers. "Those are both good reasons. But, for a nine-year-old girl who realized she was terrified of the dark, it was the knowledge that the rooms of the asylum would always be lit, and she could see who was coming toward her. She could see their eyes and the turn of their lips, and she would know whether they were friend or foe."

"Is that why you do so much charity work?" Elizabeth asked, throwing a swift glance at Clementine.

"I really couldn't say," I told her. "I had no other experience to guide me. Much of what I know now was shared with me by my tutor."

I, too, met Clementine's gaze just as a boy spoke up. "Mother only let me attend this evening because of your charity work." Once the words were out of his mouth, he seemed to find his manners. But not before his chaperone, an elderly maidservant with a severe posture, shook her head in disapproval.

I hurried to explain. "My experience as an orphan taught me many things. Not the least of which is that, through no fault of their own, those who live with privilege cannot help but feel detached from the darkness outside their doors. This keeps many of them from their greater purpose. Which, by my way of thinking, is to serve others in whatever capacity they feel compelled."

A light arose from the corner of the room, and I noticed Jasper and Captain Thompson standing there. The gas lamp Mister Morrisey had kindly donated to the household had been lit with the stub of a candle Jasper held in his hand. Moving forward, he spoke to the group of youths as he set the lamp on the dining table, illuminating the plentiful bounty before them.

"I have known a fair few females during my nearly fifty years living, and Mistress Hayes has the biggest heart of them all."

I couldn't stop the blush that heated my cheeks as I shooed Jasper away playfully. Then I welcomed everyone to partake of the food my staff had prepared for them. During the feast, I spoke with the chaperone whose charge had made the comment about my charity work. I wanted to be sure the woman knew I appreciated his honesty and that I encouraged all manner of conversation, not just those that abided societal standards.

After refreshments were merrily consumed, my young guests played one more parlor game, taking advantage of the gas lamp's illumination, before everyone said their goodbyes. When it came time for the captain and his bright-eyed sister to depart, Jules dallied in the empty foyer to offer another apology.

"I am sorry for my forward questioning, Mistress Hayes. I admit, I have never been in the company of a courtesan before, and I pledge to treat any others I meet as if they are nobility."

I refrained from telling him that not all courtesans deserved such treatment, refusing to speak ill of any person. Even that witch, Harriett Middlestone, who insisted on hosting her party the same night as mine. "Apology accepted. And no harm done, Captain Thompson. I very much enjoyed our conversation."

Without reserve, he allowed a smile. "As did I."

~  Friday Jan 1, 1813  ~

The following morning, the daily paper sat on the breakfast table beside my plate, but I enjoyed my oats without looking at it. I didn't want my meal to be ruined. The fact that my staff had been unusually quiet made the situation that much worse, but I knew they would refrain from commenting unless I asked. I hated that I let the gossips affect me despite my attempts to the contrary.

The situation deteriorated when Jasper found me later in the hall. I had determined long ago that he rarely held his tongue. "So, I expect you've seen the paper? Not all bad, wouldn't you say, Mistress?"

"Oh, Jasper. I have not looked at the paper. I have not had the heart to. But now you must tell me what it said."

"Alright, then. Seems Mistress Middlestone was reported to host twenty and three guests. And there were no challenges with candles. But, according to an anonymous tip from one of your guests, your gala provided the young folks with honest and...er...reflective engagement, impressing just as many chaperones. And there was mention of the quick thinking of your thoughtful staff, who employed a splendid gas lamp in lieu of candles, allowing the evening to progress without hindrance."

I knew, without question, the anonymous tip had come from my tutor, and I thanked Jasper for his solicitous retelling. Entering the parlor, I opened the writing desk and sat down, still ignoring the paper that had been left on the settee. Then I proceeded to write out thank you notes to all my party guests and their chaperones. Immediately following, I penned a gracious thanks to Mister Morrisey, explaining how his gas lamp had saved the evening.

After hearing a knock at the door, Tilda entered the parlor holding a large parcel. "Our candles have been delivered, Mistress Hayes. Master Tom was very apologetic and eager to explain that his employer had run out to accommodate an oddly large order from the Middlestone house. He included an additional dozen without any charge to make up for our trouble."

"Is that so?" I quirked an eyebrow as Tilda struggled to keep the parcel upright in her arms.

"Aye, Mistress. Seems it weren't so bad to run out."

"It seems so. And the word you're looking for is wasn't, not weren't."

"Thank you. I'll not forget."

Tilda left the room, and feeling quite gratified, I decided to read the paper, propping myself against the arm of the settee and reading through the local events section. Jasper had been correct. It was more complimentary than I had expected, and I couldn't help picturing Mistress Middlestone's sour face at learning of my success.

It wasn't until I turned to the sporting news that I found the announcement of a boxing match to take place the next evening. It seemed the reigning champion would be facing off with an adversary inexperienced in the ring; a naval officer just returned from the war – pugilist newcomer Captain Jules Everett Thompson.

Oh, for pity's sake. 

What was Captain Thompson thinking battling a prize fighter? Was it pride? Was it ego? Did his family need the coin? I had heard officers in the royal navy earned upwards of three hundred pounds yearly. Had his mother's funeral put them in arrears? While I did not frequent boxing matches, having attended none to date, I had been invited to said matches by the Duke of Norfolk on several occasions.

Knowing the duke was still in town, I expected he had tickets to the event, and I wrote out a missive to make him aware of my interest. Then I tasked Douglas with delivering it personally. It was only after I had sent Douglas on his way that I questioned the true motive for my actions. Was I concerned for the welfare of my new acquaintance and the impact this fight might have on his family? Or was it something else? Something more personal?

When the duke's robust acceptance returned not an hour later, I put aside my search for motives and set about to learn all I could of the brutal sport of boxing.