“Thank you, Nell,” Silence said. Eating breakfast with a baby in one’s lap could be a very messy task—as she’d found out in the last months.
“You’re welcome, ma’am. And you”—Nell bent and mock-scowled into the baby’s eyes—“careful with that great big spoon.”
Mary Darling laughed up into Nell’s face, splattering porridge down the front of her chemise. Silence sighed and wiped at the spill, taking a spoonful of porridge herself. Breakfast was almost over, and if she didn’t eat now, she’d not have another chance until luncheon.
Hurriedly, she ate the thick porridge, taking sips of the hot tea that Nell thrust in front of her. In between her own bites, she fed spoonfuls to Mary Darling, keeping both the hot teacup and the tempting bowl of porridge out of the baby’s reach. Mary Darling was old enough to feed herself with her spoon, but the result tended to be incredibly messy.
Around them the children ate cheerfully, aided by Nell and the other maidservant, Alice. The home also employed a manservant, Tommy, who helped with the heavier tasks and ran errands.
Nell suddenly clapped her hands. “Time to clean up, children. We have a busy day ahead of us, for we have a very important visitor coming today.”
Silence nearly choked on her last spoonful of porridge. Oh, dear Lord! She’d completely forgotten. Lady Hero was to tour the home today—and not only was Lady Hero their patroness, but she was also the daughter of a duke. Silence pushed her bowl away, feeling slightly queasy. Would she ever be comfortable in her position as manageress of the home?
HERO STEPPED GINGERLY from her carriage that afternoon—gingerly because she’d learned very quickly to watch where she placed her feet in the St. Giles streets. To the side, a man lay in the gutter. Hero made a wide circle around him, her nose wrinkling as she caught the stink of gin. Here was yet another victim of that terrible drink, sadly not that uncommon a sight. What misery would be relieved in London if only gin could be eradicated!
Once past the drunkard, Hero made her way down a little lane to where the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children was housed temporarily in a rather ramshackle building. Hero sighed silently. As the patroness of the home, she felt guilty whenever she saw the wretched condition of the house the children lived in.
Mrs. Hollingbrook, the home’s manageress, bobbed a nervous curtsy as she neared. “Good afternoon, Lady Hero.”
Hero nodded, smiling—she hoped—graciously. The fact was that she’d originally become a patroness of the home when Temperance Dews, now the younger Lady Caire, was in charge. Hero had felt an instant friendship with the then Mrs. Dews and had rather enjoyed her interactions with the woman. She’d not found the same rapport with Mrs. Hollingbrook—at least not yet.
Mrs. Hollingbrook was younger and less poised than her elder sister. Her face reminded Hero of a medieval saint—all pale oval solemnity—and like one of those painted martyrs, she seemed to hold a resigned melancholy close to her heart.
“Won’t you come in and have a dish of tea?” Mrs. Hollingbrook asked formally as she always did.
She stood aside, letting Hero precede her into the home. Hero stepped over the threshold, trying not to wince at the cracked plaster on the entryway walls. A cramped room lay at the back of the house, and Hero entered it, familiar now with the rhythm of her visits to the foundling home. Inside, four chairs, a low table, and a desk had been crammed into the small space. Hero took one of the chairs, drawing off her hat as Mrs. Hollingbrook fluttered about, supervising the tea.
Finally the other woman settled to pour the tea. “No sugar, is that correct, my lady?”
Hero smiled. “Yes.”
“Now where have I put the spoons?” Mrs. Hollingbrook held the full teacup in one hand, the hot liquid sloshing perilously near the rim as she searched the crowded tea tray. “But if you don’t take sugar, perhaps you won’t need a spoon anyway?”
“I don’t think so.” Hero took the cup before Mrs. Hollingbrook burned herself. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Hollingbrook smiled uneasily and sipped at her own tea. Hero looked down at her teacup. People were often awkward or shy about her, she knew. Her rank awed them. It was a perpetual problem—how to put others at ease.
She inhaled and looked up. “I understand the home has new residents?”
“Oh! Oh, yes.” Mrs. Hollingbrook straightened and placed her teacup down carefully on the low table. She clasped her hands in her lap as if about to recite a memorized poem. “Since we saw you last month, my lady, we’ve taken on two infants—a boy and a girl—and a little boy of four years. The boy, Henry Putman, is—”
Mrs. Hollingbrook stopped here because Hero had coughed. “I beg your pardon, but I thought all the boys were named Joseph at the home?”
“Well, yes, they usually are, but since Henry Putman already had a name—which, as it happens, he was quite adamant about—we thought it best to let him keep it.”
“Ah.” Hero nodded. “Please continue.”
Mrs. Hollingbrook leaned forward. “I’ve never understood why Winter and Temperance chose to name all the boys Joseph and all the girls Mary. It’s incredibly confusing at times.”
“I should think so,” Hero replied gravely.
Mrs. Hollingbrook smiled quickly and suddenly, the expression lightening her pale face and making her rather beautiful. “Ahem. We also placed two of our girls in apprenticeships this last month. And, with the monies you and the senior Lady Caire gave us, we were able to outfit both girls with new clothes, shoes, stays, a prayer book, a comb, and a thick winter cloak.”
“Very good.” Hero nodded approvingly. Some of her help was working at least. “Perhaps you’d like to show me the home now?”
“Of course, my lady.” Mrs. Hollingbrook jumped up. “If you’ll step this way, the children have been practicing all week for you.”
Mrs. Hollingbrook led the way into the dark little hallway and up a rickety set of stairs. They passed a first floor, given over, as Hero knew from previous visits, to dormitory rooms for the orphans. On the second floor there was a room for the toddlers and infants and a little room used as a classroom. Mrs. Hollingbrook led her here and opened the door with a flourish. Within, a dozen of the older children stood in two rows, faces scrubbed, and hair still slick from water.
As she entered, they spoke in unison. “Good afternoon, Lady Hero!”
She permitted herself a small smile. “Good afternoon, children.”
Her reply elicited a smothered giggle from one of the boys. A sharp glance from Nell Jones silenced the giggle. Mrs. Hollingbrook gave a discreet nod, and the children burst into ragged song—a hymn, no doubt, though Hero couldn’t quite place either the tune or the words. She kept her smile firmly in place even as the most enthusiastic girl went flat on a low note and one of the boys elbowed another in the ribs, making the second squeak.
The song ended on a rather screeching high note, and Hero fought not to wince. She clapped enthusiastically, and the little boy who had assaulted his neighbor grinned at her, revealing two missing upper-front teeth.
“Splendid, children,” Hero said. “Thank you for your song. And thank you to your teachers as well.”
Mrs. Hollingbrook blushed prettily even as she escorted Hero back down the stairs.
“Thank you for coming, my lady,” she said as they made the front door. “The children look forward so to your visits.”
Hero knew that Mrs. Hollingbrook was bound to flatter her because she was the home’s patroness, but as she took the other lady’s hand, it seemed that the manageress truly meant her words.
“I enjoy my visits as well,” Hero said.
She wished she could say more. Could promise that the children would be out of this wretched temporary home soon. Could tell Mrs. Hollingbrook that the children would have new beds, a new schoolroom, and a huge garden to run in come spring. Instead she smiled one last time and made her good-byes.
She picked her way back up the street with a heavy heart. She had a feeling her next visit of the day wasn’t going to be nearly as pleasant.
“Please take me to Maiden Lane,” she instructed the coachman before climbing in the carriage.
She sat and glanced idly out the window as the coach rolled forward. The home depended on her. Now that—
“Oy!” a male voice—a familiar male voice—shouted very near.
The carriage shuddered to a halt.
Hero leaned forward. Surely it couldn’t be—
The carriage door opened and a tall masculine form climbed in the carriage and settled himself against the red squabs across from her as if he owned the vehicle.
The carriage started as Hero gaped at him.
“We meet again, Lady Perfect,” Lord Griffin drawled.
Chapter Four
Inevitably there came a time when Queen Ravenhair decided she should remarry. A queen must have a king and a kingdom an heir, after all. So the queen consulted with her advisors and ministers and men of letters to decide who would be the perfect highborn man to marry. But here she found a dilemma. Her advisors thought Prince Westmoon the perfect match for the queen, while the ministers scorned Westmoon and instead preferred Prince Eastsun. What was worse, the men of letters hated both Westmoon and Eastsun and considered only Prince Northwind the perfect consort for the queen….
—from Queen Ravenhair
Griffin hadn’t believed his eyes when he’d seen Lady Hero step into a carriage in the worst part of St. Giles. He’d hailed the carriage, told the coachman who he was, and hastily tied Rambler to the back before jumping in.
Now Griffin watched as Lady Hero narrowed her lovely gray eyes at him. “Lord Reading. What a delight to see you again.”
He cocked his head as he smiled at her. “Do I detect a wee bit of sarcasm in your words, my lady?”
Her gaze dropped demurely. “A lady never engages in sarcasm with a gentleman.”
“Never?” He leaned forward as the carriage tilted around a corner. “Even when she’s been sorely provoked by a gentleman who isn’t very, er, gentlemanly?”
“Especially then.” She pursed her lips. “A lady always maintains her composure, always chooses her words carefully, and always takes care to use them with circumspection. She’d never mock a gentleman no matter how provoked.”
She recited her rules as if by rote, her manner so grave that he nearly missed the gentle wryness in her tone. But it was there. Oh, yes, it was there. He had no doubt that she observed these rules with Thomas, but not with him. That was interesting.
And vaguely worrisome.
“Perhaps I should try harder to provoke,” he murmured without thought.
For a moment her eyelashes lifted, and her gaze met his directly, her eyes wide and intrigued, the very frankness of her look, whether consciously or unconsciously, a feminine lure to a man.
He caught his breath.
Then her gaze dropped to her lap again. “What are you doing in St. Giles, my lord?”
“Riding in your carriage.” He stretched his legs in the narrow space between the seats. “This is your carriage, isn’t it?”
Her lips thinned. “Of course.”
“Oh, good,” he said easily. “I’d hate to have to take Thomas to task because he’d loaned you his carriage to gallivant about the sewers of St. Giles. Unless”—he widened his eyes in pretend sudden thought—“Wakefield gave you permission to come here?”
She tilted her chin haughtily. “I’m not a child, Lord Griffin. I hardly need permission from my brother to travel where and when I choose.”
“Then Wakefield won’t be surprised when I inform him where I met you,” he replied silkily.
Her gaze darted away, confirming his suspicions.
