Any innocent soul under the impression that the Rook Street Convent was a place of prayer and purity would have had been disabused by their first glimpse of the abbess.
"They calls me Mother Margaret," she'd cooed at them in her husky croak of a voice. "Come in, come in at once."
Probably the woman had been beautiful once, but now that beauty had gone to seed. Her skin was pitted and coarse, caked with heavy rouge. Her eyes, shadowed with paint, were hard and calculating as they roved over the superfine coats and polished boots of the gentlemen who had come to call. When she curtsied low, curves once voluptuous, now plump, spilled out of the bodice of a velvet gown, that like its wearer, was worse for hard usage. The burgundy fabric was worn so nearly bald in places and blotched with dark stains.
Cheap perfume wafted up from the woman so strongly that Seto's eyes watered, but he suspected it was better than the alternative. The yellow smile she favored her wealthy visitors with only widened, revealing gaps and rotten places, as they explained why they had come.
"Of course, I've got lots of girls," she simpered, "but I can see that only the best will do for you gentlemen. Let me bring down a few of the likely 'uns."
Devlin was grinning as the woman scuttled off into the back recesses of her grimy house. Seto's expression was grim. What awful specimen of humanity would Devlin saddle him with? He shuddered to think.
Not for the first time since they had left the house, Seto considered whether this wager with Devlin might not be the most idiotic thing he had ever done. Did he really think he could take a creature well on her way to becoming what "Mother Margaret" was and make her the equal of any lady in a ballroom?
As if sensing his thoughts, Devlin glanced in his direction. "Thinking better of our little bet?"
"Not in the slightest." He favored the duke with a look of supreme boredom. "Merely wondering if this diversion will last the Season, or whether you will concede so early I will be forced to find other pursuits."
Devlin laughed. "Is London so utterly devoid of entertainment, then? To hear you tell it, it sounds as though you would rather be rusticating on your estates."
Seto made no reply. Well did he remember when he and Devlin had been young bucks together, new to their titles and the freedom of no one holding their purse strings. They'd cut a swath through the gaming hells and bordellos, sampling every wild pleasure that came into their heads and every bottle that came into their hands. But he had put those days behind him in favor of the responsibilities his estates—and his younger brother—demanded of him. Now, the wild nights they'd spent felt as hollow as the bottles they'd emptied. Without those pursuits, however, the endless tedium of high society was suffocating.
Wasn't that what had driven him here?
As if on cue, "Mother Margaret" reappeared in the doorway, a handful of young women trailing her. None of them could even be halfway out of their twenties, surely, but rough living had already left indelible marks. The red swelling around the first girl's nose and cheeks might not have raised any eyebrows on a middle-aged marquis too fond of brandy, but the tell-tale sign of alcoholism could not escape notice on a supposedly innocent debutante. The second, while possessed of a staggering figure and a swirl of hair so blonde it was nearly white, also had a haze of yellow about the eyes, and there was something sickly about her languid grace. That left the third girl, the youngest by the look of her, and the only one who was not smiling.
He moved closer to study her better, but she did not look up at him. He frowned. He was used to bold stares or seductive glances from members of her profession. Young misses might keep their gazes lowered or smile up at a gentleman shyly through their lashes, but this was not that, either. An unsettling indifference was on her face, and her eyes did not even stray his way.
It was like he wasn't even there.
A scowl hardened his features. He was the Earl of Kaiba. He was not a person to be ignored—least of all by this nobody of a prostitute! He drew himself up to his full, imposing height and glowered down at her, but she did not even appear to notice.
He was just on the verge of speaking and demanding that the girl treat him with the respect to which he was due, when Devlin spoke instead. "She'll do, I think." He nodded at the girl Seto was fixing with his most lordly glare. "Any objections, Kaiba?"
His jaw worked. He couldn't possibly complain she was ignoring him now. It would be utterly beneath him. Instead, trading his glower for a look of indifference, he scrutinized the girl. She was unnaturally pale, but unlike her companions, there were no marks of disease or harsh circumstances on her face. Her hair was auburn, pinned up in a braided bun. Loose tendrils framed a heart-shaped face still surprisingly fresh and innocent. Her eyes were wide and hazel—and still did not even stray in his direction.
Mother Margaret twisted her hands. "I do hopes you gentlemen will find our Serenity all that you want." She threw an anxious look in Seto's direction. "The Duke explained to me all your particular requirements, and while I do think Serenity might suit you nicely, perhaps I should warn you—"
"Warn me?" The girl could not be dangerous, surely. Did she carry a disease after all? He could see no sign of it… "Is she ill?"
"Oh, no, Serenity is quite healthy," the woman hastened to assure him. "She has a hardy constitution, she does."
"Is she an imbecile, then?" Was that why she was still standing there, motionless, as others talked about her.
"No, no your lordship. Nothing like that. W-why, you might even say she's quite a bright one."
Seto would keep his own counsel when it came to intelligence and not depend too much on the recommendation of a woman like Mother Margaret. Still, at least Devlin was not trying to saddle him with an idiot.
"She's a sweet one, our Serenity. And quiet. Unassuming-like." There was a hopeful tone to Mother Margaret's voice. "Easy to get along with, she is."
A sweet, quiet, unassuming streetwalker? He raised his eyebrows. Such traits hardly seemed desirable in her profession. No wonder the abbess seemed eager to be rid of her. Still, they would suit his purposes, and if the other girls—the other best candidates she had, no doubt—were anything to go by, he could not afford to be any choosier.
His eyes lingered on the girl. Compared to the other girls, bright in paint and plumage, she was a drab little thing. Her slender figure was hidden under a surprisingly demure—if not particularly clean—day dress that might once have been blue, but now seemed to be an indeterminate shade of grey. It draped and bunched oddly, as if it were a larger woman's castoff, but could not completely hide the surprisingly generous swell of breasts and hips beneath. She was passably pretty, he supposed, and with a little cleaning up and a new wardrobe, he thought she would pass muster.
"Any objections?" Devlin repeated.
Scowling, Seto pulled his eyes from the girl to meet his laughing green ones. "I'm satisfied."
Mother Margaret moved towards the girls, sending the first two away, and speaking quietly to—Devil take it, what was her name? Serena? "Now, there's nothing to fret about, see? The Duke's going to set you up nice and proper in his own house—or is it his lordship?" She glanced between the duke and the earl, a pucker of confusion marking her brow. "Are you planning to share?"
The girl gasped, stumbling backwards, even as "NO!" came flying out of the mouths of both men.
"I'm afraid you have badly misunderstood the situation, madame," Seto said stiffly. Devlin, on the other hand, seemed to be trying not to laugh. "We intend to offer Miss…"
"Wheeler," Mother Margaret supplied.
"Miss Wheeler a position in the home of His Grace's aunt." Seto nodded in the still-grinning duke's direction.
"What sort of position?" It was the first time Seto had heard the girl speak, and he was struck by the quiet clarity of the words. Her voice was soft, but had none of the harsh consonants and rough accent of the abbess' speech.
He turned his gaze upon her, but though she finally faced him, her eyes did not quite meet his. "We will discuss the details in private, but you would serve as a… as a companion of sorts to His Grace's cousin."
Her expression did not smooth. If anything, the pucker in her brow only deepened. "His cousin?"
"A young lady making her come out," Seto clarified.
This intelligence ought to, if anything, caused more confusion, since this could hardly be a usual request for this sort of establishment. However, the girl seemed to relax, at least a little, although the tension did not quite leave her shoulders.
"But I don't understand," the girl said. "What assistance could I offer a young lady of quality?"
"We'll discuss the details later," Seto repeated with a quelling frown that seemed to leave no impression at all on the girl. "There are any number of things, I suppose." He cast about his mind for a suggestion. "Shop for ribbons? Fetch her shawl?" Those were jobs for a maid, he realized with a grimace. Devil take it. "Embroidery," he amended. "You might help with that." What the devil did young ladies even do with their day? "Or perhaps you might read to her in the afternoons."
"Read to her?" the girl squeaked.
Seto's stomach plunged. The girl was illiterate. But then, what had he expected? Blast this pig-headed wager of his. He ought to be shot before touching that brandy again. "That is, if you ever learned to read, I suppose," he drawled coldly.
"I have learned to read," protested the girl in such a soft tone that even the scuffing of a boot across the floor could have drowned it out. "But…"
Mother Margaret cleared her throat and interrupted. "I may as well tell you now, so there'll be no misunderstanding. Our Serenity here is blind."