Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(43)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“I hope so,” Lady Margaret said. “I almost feel as if I know your brother, the duke, better. Thomas talks about him so much, and then they spent all that time last summer drawing up their gin bill. Wakefield’s quite passionate on the subject, isn’t he?”

“He believes that St. Giles is crime-riddled because of gin,” Phoebe said soberly. “So by extension he blames our parents’ death on gin.”

Hero glanced at her sister, a little surprised that she’d gleaned this information from the censored things that Maximus said in front of her.

Lady Margaret nodded. “Then I suppose you both are also passionate on the subject.”

Reading turned to look at Hero, and she tilted her chin up as she answered. “Yes.”

“We ladies can’t make bills in parliament,” Phoebe said, “but Hero has recently become the patroness of a home for foundling children in St. Giles.”

“Really?” Lady Margaret asked. “How I admire you, Lady Hero. I’ve never done anything so selfless.”

“But you could.” Phoebe leaned forward in her eagerness. “Hero has decided to let other ladies help with the home by donating their money.”

“Indeed?” Reading drawled. “And are gentlemen allowed to help, too? Perhaps I shall make a donation.”

Hero couldn’t quite meet his gaze. He was jesting, of course, but he’d already offered to help her once….

But before she could say anything, Phoebe leaped in. “It’s for ladies only, I’m afraid.”

“Such discrimination,” Reading murmured.

“Gentlemen always want to run things,” Hero shot back.

Reading’s mouth quirked in amusement.

“That’s very true,” Lady Margaret said. “I think it’s quite smart of you to limit your, er…”

“Syndicate,” Phoebe supplied. “It’s to be called the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children.”

“Splendid!” Lady Margaret enthused. “I think that a ladies-only syndicate is quite a wonderful idea. May I join?”

“Naturally,” Hero replied as Reading rolled his eyes.

“Except…” Lady Margaret looked suddenly abashed. “I’ve only a bit of pin money to donate. Perhaps it won’t be enough to join?”

“We have no lower limit,” Hero said firmly, even as she realized that her syndicate might have to be larger than she’d first envisioned. “Any lady of means who is sincere in her wish to help the orphan children of St. Giles is welcome to join.”

“Oh, lovely.”

Reading smiled and shook his head. “We’re at Bond Street, ladies. Will you come and shop now?”

Phoebe and Lady Margaret eagerly descended the carriage, and somehow Hero found herself with Reading.

He bent over her as their sisters walked ahead. “So you have found a solution to your dilemma over the funds for the home all by yourself.”

“Phoebe came up with the idea, but yes, I think it a good solution,” she replied.

“As do I,” he said unexpectedly. “Brava.”

His approval sent a warm feeling through her, as if she’d just drunk hot tea on a cold day. Why she should care one way or the other about his feelings on the matter, she did not know, but there it was—she did care.

“Have you told Thomas yet about your involvement with the home?” he asked.

“No.” She glanced down guiltily. “I will soon, of course.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “I just hope Thomas is as liberal as your brother.”

“That’s an awful thing to say.”

He shrugged. “But true nonetheless. Your activities will reflect upon Thomas, and he has a damnably narrow view of what it means to be the Marquess of Mandeville.”

She felt a twinge of irritation, though she knew that Reading was but speaking the truth. Mandeville did need to worry about his name—he was a prominent member of parliament. And as his wife, she would be under scrutiny. Still…“I can’t think being the patroness of a home for foundling children can be considered so very risqué.”

“No, but gallivanting about St. Giles is.” He escorted her around a group of ladies gathered about a window display. “He’ll want you to stop once you’re married.”

“You don’t know that,” she insisted stubbornly. “Besides, I can’t think what business it is of yours.”

“Can’t you?” He turned and suddenly his green eyes met hers. The street, the crowds, seemed to fall away, and she could hear the echo of her heartbeat in her ears.

Hero inhaled, tearing her gaze from his. “No, I can’t. Besides, it’s natural for Mandeville to want to protect his wife. You must understand that.”

“Must I?” He shook his head, his mouth twisting. “I only understand that I prefer birdsong from the meadow instead of a cage.”

“Do you? Have you ever thought of the bird?” she asked too quietly, too intensely. Suddenly they were no longer speaking of birds. “Perhaps she feels safer knowing that someone is looking after her in her cage. Perhaps she fears the wide-open space with no one to guard her.”

For a moment he was silent; then Reading said low, “How does the bird know she hates the freedom of the meadow if she’s never felt it?”

His green eyes were locked with hers, and she couldn’t look away. Her breath was caught in her chest, and she longed to simply do as he suggested, to fly free, but she couldn’t… she simply couldn’t.

“Here we are!” Lady Margaret called ahead of them, gesturing to a pretty little shop.

The shop turned out to be a milliner’s where Phoebe found a lovely length of Belgian lace. Afterward, Reading bought them all buns and tea and then insisted they visit a bookstore. Phoebe and Lady Margaret made for a display of beautifully illustrated books on botany while Reading drew Hero aside toward a small shelf of books in Greek and Latin.

“They have some interesting books here,” he said, taking down a tome of plays. “Have you read Aristophanes?”

“I shouldn’t,” she murmured, even as she took the book from his hands. She fingered the leather spine.

“Why not?” he asked softly. “It’s merely a book of plays, a bit scandalous in parts, granted, but nothing to tempt you into sin.”