Second, because she had been gone more than an hour. She would have made it back in time.
If it weren't for the blasted fool who had dragged her into that alley. And if that weren't bad enough, she had lost the only thing she had gained from the adventure—her guilty pleasure.
A single, beautiful moment of possibility. Beaumont's fist came flying toward her. The punch struck her cheek with a crack.
Livia gasped as the force knocked her off her feet. She hit the floor hard, her palm scraping across the stone as she tried instinctively to catch herself.
"You useless wench!" Beaumont roared above her. "I shouldn't have paid more than a farthing for you!" Beaumont loomed over her, swaying slightly from drink and fury. "You wait until your breasts get bigger a bit more," he snarled, pointing a thick finger at her. "And you will earn every pound I spent on you."
Livia said nothing.
"Get out of my sight," he barked. "And go help the girls prepare for tonight."
Slowly, Livia pushed herself up from the floor. Her cheek throbbed fiercely, and when she touched it lightly she winced.
She wiped the tears from her eyes quickly with the back of her hand. Crying here only encouraged more cruelty.
Moving carefully, she slipped through the narrow doorway that led to the brothel rooms.
She reached for a broom resting against the wall and began sweeping the wooden floor.
Tears still stung her eyes, but she blinked them away stubbornly. The dust on the floor gave her a convenient excuse to wipe her face again.
Did her father know this would be her life before he sold her? Did he know that one day Beaumont would decide she was old enough, developed enough, profitable enough to move from servant to whore?
Or had he simply closed his eyes and taken the money? Another thought followed close behind it, one that hurt even more.
Did her mother know that leaving her only daughter in the hands of such a man before she died would turn out this way?
Her mother had believed she was doing the right thing. Livia tried to remember that. The woman had been ill, thin as parchment by the end.
"Your father will take care of you," she had whispered once.
Jane was the first to arrive in the main preparation room where the courtesans readied themselves for the evening. She stepped inside, tying the sash of her robe as she walked.
"Livia…" Jane said softly, crossing the room. "Nicholas hit you again?"
Livia nodded without looking up. Her cheek still throbbed, and she suspected the bruise would blossom into an impressive shade of purple by morning.
Jane crouched slightly to get a better look. "What did you do this time?" she asked.
"Nothing," Livia muttered. "He sent me to get fabrics and the trader didn't have it available."
Jane raised one eyebrow slowly. "Is that all?"
Livia hesitated. "I… took too long."
Jane nodded once. "There," she said. "That's it."
Livia stopped sweeping and looked up sharply. "It doesn't mean I deserve to be hit every time I breathe wrong," she snapped.
Jane sighed and dropped into the nearby chair, stretching her legs out in front of her.
"No," she said calmly. "But it is the life of a servant."
Her tone held the dull acceptance of someone who had already fought that battle and lost.
Livia returned to sweeping, though she now attacked the floor with slightly more enthusiasm than necessary.
"Pray that someone comes along and offers him dowry for you," she said. "Then you would probably live a better life."
"Probably?" Livia repeated.
Jane gave a small shrug. "Have you seen the men that come to this place?"
Livia had. Drunken merchants. Sailors with too much coin. Old men who smelled of garlic.
"Where else would you find anyone proper enough that could make you happy?" Jane added.
"In the market?" Livia said, offering the only other option she had recently discovered where one might meet men who were not drunk, leering, or attempting to haggle over a woman's dignity.
Jane's eyes narrowed instantly. "Livia Valenti…" Jane said slowly. "My word. Did you meet someone?"
"What? No!" Livia replied far too quickly.
Jane's grin spread. "You did."
"No!"
"You did."
"No!" Livia shouted, louder than intended.
Jane folded her arms with theatrical satisfaction. "You are a terrible liar."
Livia groaned softly and dropped the broom against the wall. "I did meet someone," she admitted.
Jane clapped her hands together in triumph. "Ah! I knew it!"
"But," Livia added quickly, holding up a finger, "he doesn't know who I am or where I am. I lied to him."
"Well that seems unnecessarily complicated. Now why would you do that, Livia?" Jane asked.
Livia hesitated. The explanation felt ridiculous even in her own mind. "He caught me stealing," she said finally.
"Oh, that would do it."
Livia folded her arms defensively. "It was a book."
"A book," Jane repeated.
"Poetry."
"You are the strangest servant in London. He let you go?" she asked.
"Yes. But Jane… you should have seen him."
Jane's eyebrow lifted. "Oh?"
"He had the most dreamy face," Livia continued. "He looked like he stepped out of one of Hans Holbein's portraits."
"Ah," Jane said with a teasing smile. "So handsome and dignified."
"Exactly."
"You do look smitten."
Livia straightened immediately. "I am not smitten. Too bad," she muttered. "I'll never see him again."
"And if you do?" she asked.
Livia shrugged. "I don't know." She considered it briefly. "Talk, perhaps?"
Jane nearly choked. "Talk?"
"Yes."
Jane shook her head with amused disbelief. "Livia," she said gently, "men do not want to talk. They want to feel pleasure."
"You mean like what you girls do here every night?" Livia asked.
"Yes," Jane said simply. "Exactly like that. So if you want to get out of this hell, Livia," Jane continued, lowering her voice slightly, "you need to quickly learn how to please a man enough to want to pay your dowry. Because if Nicholas finally decides it's time for you to join us," Jane added, "no one will want you anymore."