"That would be implying I know this place and I do not- this or a Charlie." The quick British words came quicker from behind. "You will know someone who does when you see her. Good day."
It had been a terrible idea taking this job but few artist would- they paid extra as well. She continued past the loud sounds and perfume. Stuart, why did this seem familiar?
A lass with a sharp tongue. He seemed to draw them for some reason. But even at her words, Jamie could not help the glance over her and what she happened to be wearing. She was right. She did NOT look anything like the other girls in this place.
[b "I can assure you that was not my intent. All I was asking was if you had seen him. I was supposed to meet him here and was asking if he was here."] Came the heagily laced Scottish accent as he spoke.
"I'm sorry, are you implying that I look like I work at this rutting place?" Ainsley looked at him like him like he grew another head. Thick Scottish accent and red hair, a highlander. Tall and thick as a tree.
If she was a cat she would have bristled up nicely.
Why they had to meet in this place was beyond him. Of course it was easy to hide and just claim they were here for business. But it was not the sort of thing or place that the Scotsmen favoured. Not at all his scenary. He had been in France a few months and working to gain support for the prince and his cause.
It was aa he was walking down a dimly lit hall and towards the unfortunately familiar room did Jamie brush past a young woman. One who did not look like the rest. And for some reason he thought to ask her where the prince might be.
[b "Excuse me...have you seen Charles?"] He had stopoed beside her, though it was apparent she had paid him no mind.
"I am sorry about the dim room. Prince Charles Stuart is in the salon," the red haired woman said putting the Francs into her hand. "Fifty more cards by next week, Mademoiselle Williams."
"Son of the Pretender?" Ainsley asked with her eyebrows raised. "Naturally."
There was the sound of a bed banging in the background and moans. She fought one herself. Pocketing the money she turned around.
Other women had wigs and pale faces while she had her hair in a bun with pieces sticking out and a sunburn on her neck. Wearing pale blue muslin with little hoops. She ignored the tall man walking down the hallway that looked lost and uncomfortable.
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