A Chance of Love Read online

  A CHANCE OF LOVE

  A SWEET HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  EMILY MURDOCH

  To Becky Rogers, Roo, Kanga, Rebecca Kramer.

  What are the chances?

  And Joshua. Always.

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter One

  Historical Note

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This Sweet Grove series would not exist without the genius that is Melissa Storm. Part writer, part genius, part unicorn, part mother, and part friend. I am not the only author who is indebted to her.

  Huge thanks must go to my family, especially my parents Mary and Gordon, and my brother Haydon. They never stopped believing in me, and I’ve been able to take this chance due to their support.

  To the one who gave me such a love of words: thank you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The night was hot, and sticky, and yet Katherine Morrison’s work was not complete.

  “Just five minutes,” she pleaded through the half open door as she struggled to re-tie her corset in the sweltering heat. Her fingers fumbled as her eyes dragged themselves open, heavy with tiredness. “Five minutes, Madam, is all I need and I shall be quite suitable for another . . . guest.”

  Corset finally tied, she sat up straight on the large double bed occupying the majority of the room, and her sweeping gaze took in the shoes untidily piled along one wall, the countless shawls hung over a chair in the far corner, and the five dollars her previous guest had left on the dressing table.

  A whole dollar over her asking price, and Madam Nancy had not seen it yet. What were the chances? Katherine tiptoed across the room, expecting her last gentleman of the night at any moment, and slipped the extra dollar into a secret compartment behind the looking glass. You never know when you are going to need an extra dollar.

  The movement drew her attention to the reflection, and she winced. The last five years had certainly not been kind to her; there were lines where laughter used to be, and the borrowed finery adorning her neck covered more than one bruise. Her lips curled downwards where they once sprung up into joy easily, and there was a darkness, a sadness furrowing her forehead.

  “He will be with you directly!”

  The voice didn’t seem to emanate from anywhere, but Katherine knew Madam Nancy was hollering at the bottom of the staircase. The old rickety house she made her place of business was three floors high, and the room allotted to Katherine was at the very top.

  Katherine swallowed. She was sore from the night’s activities, and the last thing she wanted was another client. Surely she had earned peace and quiet?

  “But five minutes rest, and I shall be ready.”

  She should have expected the response from Madam Nancy, but Katherine had hoped – but not a chance. The loud footsteps echoed throughout the place, and instinctively she returned to the bed, placing herself on it with as much decorum as she could muster before the door was flung open.

  “You are ready when I say you are ready,” spat the overweight Madam. “I did not take you in for nothing, my girl; you are here to work, not to lie about like a lady of leisure.”

  Katherine swallowed, and then raised herself as though she had the importance she was attempting to portray. “I understand, Madam Nancy. I merely wished to undertake a short toilette, to ensure I was perfect for my next gentleman.”

  The two women stared at each other; one, over fifty, sweltering unpleasantly in the heat of the night, dressed in the fashions of the 1820s with a slight rip along one sleeve; the other, vacating her teenage years and dressed in the most opulent of the modern 1840s fashions, silks and ruffles and pearls.

  If anyone had been viewing this exchange, they would have guessed instantly which way the force of the argument would go, and they would have been correct.

  “Very well.” Madam Nancy spoke curtly, but inclined her head as she dropped in a half curtsey. “I shall give you fifteen minutes – no more, mind. He is already downstairs, and he has asked for my best. Count yourself lucky you have remained the best on my books, despite that you have been here for three years. It is not 1838 no more, my girl. You may find that in 1841, you find yourself out of a situation.”

  Skirts rustled as she tried to sweep out of the room dramatically, but she caught sight of the money on the dressing table, and scooped up four of the dollars.

  “And be nice to him,” she added as she slammed the door behind her.

  Katherine stared. Be nice to him? She was about to bare her body, bare her very soul to him, and her Madam advised her to ‘be nice’?

  Shame, a common emotion for Katherine Morrison, flooded through her, and the heat of the night seemed to return with full force. To think she had come to this; a prostitute in a Madam’s house, scrabbling to save five or six dollars a day when her board cost her that much – and for what? Where did she think she could go?

  And yet time had been afforded her now, and she took it. When your time, your body can belong to a man, any man who has four dollars, you start to appreciate the time you have alone.

  The dressing table had a small basin with a ewer beside it, and Katherine sank into the chair before it and dipped the waiting sponge into the water. It held the cool of the night, and pressing it to her temples brought such calming relief, a smile nearly surfaced.

  This was not the life she had imagined. A sad smile crept over her face as the memory of Mr Gilman swam through her mind. Goodness, but life could have been different if . . .

  Unbidden, she flinched. Well, it was no matter. When an elopement ends badly, there is but one occupation for a fallen woman. Now she was too ashamed to return to her family, and too destitute to avoid the work that shamed her.

  Oh, but she hated herself – hated what she had become. This was not the life she had been raised to, and her older sister no doubt had long moved on, making an excellent marriage herself. Sometimes, in the darkest of nights when a man had just left her with insults on his tongue and a raised fist, she thought about Elizabeth; she was probably living in San Antonio, with their grandparents. When Kitty Morrison wasn’t praying to God to deliver her, she was praying for the sister who seemed thousands of miles away. But though she placed her faith in the Lord, why would He save her from her own mistakes?

  Footsteps. They were heavy, heavier than Madam Nancy’s. He was ready for her, and she had no choice but to accept him into her room, her arms, and her bed.

  Lord God, deliver me.

  * * *

  Thomas Bryant swallowed, and the world before him spun slightly until he placed a hand to the wall. Then it righted itself.

  The wall was brick, red and rough, and it grounded him. He had not expected the long walk across Nacogdoches to feel – well, this long. But then, a lonely walk always feels twice as long, and he was more lonely than all the creatures on God’s Earth.

  An elderly couple passed him in a carriage, and though he tried to incline his head to them, as soon as his forehead dipped the world started to dance again, and so he desisted. Not that they had seemed to notice, anyway. His clothes, passingly respectable but with a little too much dirt ground in than was acceptable; his hair, a little too long to be a gentleman’s; and his face, pale despite the sunlight. Dawn had come, and it was a new day, and he hated it.

  No. Hate was perhaps too strong a word. At least for this. As Thomas willed each foot to move before the other in an attempt to reach his sordid destination, he corrected himself sile
ntly. He didn’t hate the day; he hated himself.

  The finery he had dressed himself in, the airs he had given himself when he had first moved to Nacogdoches – they seemed foolish now, and not even the letter burning a hole in his pocket was enough for him to return. What could he say to them, after all he had done? How could he possibly make amends?

  A lady was coming towards him on the sidewalk, and he stopped, rather than accidentally fall into her. She glanced at him, and then sped up.

  Thomas sighed bitterly and could not help but give a wry laugh. There had been a time when a woman such as she – any woman – would have slowed to see him better, and smiled coyly out of the corner of her eye, and perhaps dropped a handkerchief before him so he could retrieve it and present it to her.

  No more. Now he was alone in the world, and he felt it with such strength, it was an ache in his chest.

  Which was why, on the first day of June the Lord’s year of 1841, he had made a decision. It was not one he was proud of, but then Thomas Bryant had so little to be proud of that he barely knew what the feeling was. He was alone in the world, unredeemable, and tainted by his own choices. He could sink no further, and so he may as well give in to the last temptation that he had never allowed himself to linger on.

  He was going to find himself a woman.

  Now, like the other gentleman of the town, he knew Madam Nancy’s was the best place to go to, and as he was going to destroy his soul, he may as well do it properly.

  This side of Nacogdoches was unknown to him but by reputation, and as his gaze slid across the pawnbrokers, saloons, and gambling bars, he could see why. The Thomas Bryant of old would never have come here – but that man was dead, and the one who walked in his place saw no reason to avoid it.

  A door swung open to his left, and he stumbled as a woman, barely dressed and carrying a bottle of what appeared to be rum, laughed.

  “Alright, deary? Looking for fun?”

  Thomas blanched. It was as though simply by wishing it, a woman had been placed before him.

  “No,” he said hurriedly, his deep voice making her stare in surprise. “Thank you.”

  Her gaze darted up and down him, and a dirty smile rose across her lips. “Suit yourself. Might find it heals whatever ails you.”

  She tripped back through the door from whence she had come. Thomas colored and continued on his way. It was surely a coincidence. After all, he was in the right district for just such a woman.

  Madam Nancy’s was a street over and the door had a gentleman outside it, dressed smartly in a dark suit. He nodded to him.

  “Sir.”

  Thomas nodded back and tried to act nonchalantly. And failed. “I am going in, if you do not mind. For a moment. Not for long.”

  The gentleman grinned, and Thomas took a step back when he saw a full set of gold teeth glinting at him. “Tis not for me to judge, young sir, but I warrant you would hope it will last more than a moment!”

  For the second time in five minutes, a rush of heat moved to Thomas’ face. Ignoring the man completely, he pushed open the door and found himself in a hallway filled with incense, the windows covered with red and purple silken shawls.

  The heady intoxication made his thoughts swim.

  “Good morning, young sir.” A voice came out of the darkness, and a person accompanied it: Madam Nancy herself. He recognized the heavily made up face and the feathered hair from the saloon.

  Thomas bowed. “Good morning.”

  “And how may we be of service this fine day?” The woman smiled at him, but it was a wooden one, artfully practiced and thrown on as an old shawl would be, whenever one had visitors.

  “Service. Service?” For some reason, despite feeling certain of his actions not an hour before, Thomas hesitated. Was this a good idea? There was still a way back, at this moment, but proceed much further and he would be committed far beyond what a noble man would be.

  Madam Nancy took pity on him. “Our best young lady is four dollars, sir, and although it may seem steep, you will not find yourself disappointed.

  Thomas hesitated, heart thumping, palms sweating, but the loneliness had not dissipated on his walk across town. He needed someone. Someone to hold him. Someone to be with him. Someone to make sure he was not the only man alive in the world.

  And the decision was made.

  Fingers scrabbled into his pockets and found four silver dollars. He offered them wordlessly to her, but she shook her head with a smile.

  “Oh, sir, such things should not come between friends. You leave it on the side once you are done; Miss Katherine will show you. Up all the stairs, and on the right.”

  Madam Nancy bustled away, and Thomas placed the money back into his pocket. This was it, then. He had not imagined it would be . . . well, simple.

  The steps seemed to go on forever, and when he swallowed, there did not seem to be enough saliva in his throat. Eventually the door presented itself. A moment, a mere moment was sufficient to regain his breath, and then he opened it.

  She was absolutely beautiful. For a moment, Thomas had to stand in the doorway and blink a few times to ensure the miracle before him was not a mirage. Petite with rounding curves that made him hot, dark curls pinned with pearls, and a soft and nervous smile that forced his heart to pound ever faster, she was entirely perfect. Regal. Majestic.

  “Good morning, sir,” spoke her voice, and it was musical, and gentle, and the stars were crowding in on his eyes, and the world was dancing once more, and all he had to do was take three steps, maybe four, and he could console himself for the first time in a woman’s arms . . .

  The loud slump that Thomas’ body made as he collapsed shook the room.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Katherine blinked.

  It did not seem to change the general layout of the room. And why would it, she scolded herself. Your eyes have never deceived you before – there is, without doubt, a man collapsed on your floor.

  The sound of his falling had echoed to such a degree she had been sure Madam Nancy would hurtle up the stairs to enquire about the noise, but there was no such rush. Katherine stood in silence and in solitude as she stared at the man.

  He was handsome. His complexion was probably a little grayer than normal, and there was a line of sweat across his forehead that was undoubtedly connected to his swoon, but there was no denying he was a dashing gentleman. Long hair, trimmed beard, strong jawline, and – from what she could tell of the disheveled pile of masculinity – tall.

  Katherine took a step gingerly towards him. A floorboard creaked and she hesitated, but he made no movement. She had never had a customer collapse before her; Molly-Ann had mentioned particularly elderly men were not always strong enough to continue, but they usually gave up and paid her.

  This was different.

  This man did not appear to be tired, but ill. There was a pallor in his face Katherine did not like, and the angle of his shoulder looked most uncomfortable.

  She wavered for one moment, and then her natural instincts took over. In one swift movement, she closed the door and then reached over to grab the ewer and basin from the dressing table. Dropping to the floor beside him, she pulled at his limbs gently to pull him flat on his back, with no more awkward angles. Then she dipped the sponge into the filled basin, squeezed it out, allowing the droplets of water to fall back into the ewer, and softly dabbed at his forehead, removing the sweat from his brow.

  Katherine tried not to pay too close attention to the man who was mere minutes ago attempting to purchase her body without a second thought. Such were men, she reminded herself. Such were all men whom she had known for the last three years, and this one was no different.

  Although, as she wiped his hands, trying to cool him from the unnatural sweltering she could feel on his skin, there had been a moment as he had opened the door. Just a moment. He had looked at her with such a fierce intensity that, had he remained conscious, she would have been forced to ask him why.

  His bre
athing, shallow and rapid, seemed to deepen and become more regular as the minutes passed, Katherine’s gentle hands washing away the grime of the street and the sweat of his body.

  And to think this was her life now. Instead of the marital bed she had expected, there was nothing but the whore’s bed, ready to accept any man for the asking of it – or not man at all, if he had not stomach enough to reach it. Shame flooded through her thoughts once more.

  And then heavy steps startled her into looking at the clock hanging over her doorway. It had been almost thirty minutes – thirty minutes! She had barely noticed the time go, but Madam Nancy was evidently keeping a close watch on her most popular woman. She wanted this man out, and perhaps, another man in.

  Katherine’s heart started to race. How was she to explain this: an unconscious man lying on her floor? Of course, and a bitter smile appeared slowly, it would have been a much more difficult task for a lady with a reputation. As she had none . . .

  The door slammed open, ricocheting off the wall and causing a little of the plaster above the door to crack.

  “Is he still here?” Madam Nancy spat.

  Kneeling on the floor, Katherine nodded serenely. “My gentle sir preferred to . . . visit me on the floor, and after such a romp, I must admit, I felt tired myself. A short slumber, and he shall be on his way again.”

  Madam Nancy curled up her nose. “A short slumber?”

  Katherine raised a delicate, elegant finger to her lips and silently ‘shushed’ her Madam.

  An eyebrow was raised, but she seemed to allow it. After all, Katherine knew there were many gentlemen who attended Madam Nancy’s ladies who had much stranger requests.