Liz Carlyle

A Woman of Virtue

Pocket Books/Simon and Schuster, 2001.

Much later, in the falling February dusk, Henrietta Healy pulled her thick wool cloak a little closer and stared across the grass of Regent's Park as a slender canal boat slipped quietly past. Devoid of cargo, it skimmed high in the water, floating back down to Limehouse for reloading...The wind shifted then, teasing at the scarf about her throat, and sending a visible shiver down her spine. "Etta, you are cold," said Cecilia fretfully as they strolled, their cloak hems catching on the stiff winter grass. "How thoughtless I am. Should we go in? I daresay you'll want to be off to your aunt's soon"

Cecilia, Countess of Walrafen, in 1824 'newly possessed of a most fashionable villa in Park Crescent,' has involved herself in charity work. Walking in the Park with her maid, she is ruminating on a recent death in childbirth at the mission she has helped establish.

Slowly, Cecilia resumed walking, turning away from the towpath to cross the wide expanse of grass which lay between the canal and her front door. "Tell me, Etta, how in God's name does it happen?" Equivocally, Etta shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Wrong time o' the month, and the poor goose forgot her sponges, most likely." Cecilia looked at her strangely. "Her what?" Across the grass, two dapper young gentlemen were approaching, their tall beaver hats nearly touching as they bent low in conversation. Ignoring them, Cecilia turned to Etta. She was stunned to see the maid blushing...The approaching men were much closer now, but in her discomfiture, Etta apparently did not see them. "Gawd, m'lady!" she squawked, "Sponges! To keep from 'aving a child." On the path ahead, one of the young men burst into a giggle, but struggled valiantly to conceal it behind an elegant kidskin glove