Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(22)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

William squeezed her hand. “The quicker I’m done with my duties, the quicker I can escort you to a park or a fair or even perhaps to a pleasure garden.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, indeed. I quite look forward to spending a day with my lovely wife.”

She smiled into his eyes, feeling her heart flutter with happiness. “Then you’d better eat your breakfast, hadn’t you?”

He laughed and set to the bun and tea. Too soon he rose and finished dressing, donning a white wig in the process that gave him an air of stern authority. William kissed Silence on the cheek and then he was gone.

She sighed and looked about the room. There were dishes to wash and other chores to be done if she were to dally with her husband for a day. She set to work with determination.

Two hours later, Silence was darning a hole in one of William’s white stockings and wondering if yellow yarn had been really the right color to use even if she had run out of white, when she heard running footsteps in the hall outside. She glanced up, frowning.

She’d already risen by the time the pounding came at their doors. Silence hurried over and unlatched the door, pulling it open. William stood in the doorway, but she’d never seen her husband in such a state. He was pale beneath his sunburn, his eyes stark.

“What?” she cried, her heart in her throat. “What has happened?”

“The Finch…” He staggered into the room, but then stood, his hands by his sides, staring wildly as if he knew not what to do. “I’m ruined.”

“VERY GOOD, MARY Whitsun,” Temperance said as she watched the girl place a careful stitch in her embroidery. They sat together in a corner of the kitchen while some of the other children made dinner. Mary’s needlework was exquisite, and Temperance loved to help her with it when she had time. Unfortunately, there was rarely time. “Perhaps we can place you with a mantua maker. Would you like that?”

Mary bent her head lower over her work—the decoration on the edge of an apron. “I’d rather stay here with you, ma’am.”

Temperance felt a familiar pang at the girl’s whispered words. Her hand rose to stroke Mary’s hair, but she caught herself in time and folded her fingers into a ball before withdrawing her hand. It was wrong to give false hope to the girl.

“You know that’s not possible,” she said briskly. “If we kept every child at the home, we’d soon overflow.”

Mary nodded, her face hidden by her down-bent head, but her shoulders trembled.

Temperance watched helplessly. She’d always felt closer to Mary Whitsun than the other girls, though she knew she should not. Temperance had come to help work at the home after the death of Benjamin, her husband. She’d saved Mary Whitsun not long after. The little girl had climbed into her lap that day, sitting there, warm and soft and comforting. At the time Temperance had needed someone to hold. Ever since then, she’d known Mary Whitsun was special, no matter how Temperance tried to fight the feeling.

“Oh, ma’am, you’ll never guess,” Nell cried, panting as she entered the kitchen.

Temperance looked up and arched an eyebrow at the maidservant. “No, I probably won’t, so you had better tell me.”

Nell held out a folded square of paper that she’d obviously already read. “Lord Caire is escorting you to a musicale this evening!”

“What?” Temperance took the paper, opening it blindly. She hadn’t heard from Lord Caire since the night of his injury, and while she’d been terribly worried for his health, at the same time she hadn’t been entirely sure if sending a letter to inquire would be quite the thing. “I don’t…” She trailed off as she read the elegant handwriting.

He was calling for her at four this afternoon. Temperance’s gaze flew to the old clock on the kitchen mantel. The hands read just past noon. She was conscious that the kitchen had become suddenly silent, all the children staring at her.

“Dear God.” For a moment, she was frozen, the missive crumpled in her hand. “I have nothing to wear.” She thought she’d have at least a week to find a new dress!

Nell blinked and straightened like a soldier called to arms. “Mary Evening, you are in charge of the kitchen. Mary Whitsun, Mary St. Paul, and Mary Little, come with me. And you”—Nell pointed a stern finger at Temperance—“go to your little sitting room and take off your dress.”

Nell left with her minions marching behind her.

Temperance looked down at the sheet of paper in her hands, carefully smoothing it straight. Lord Caire’s words jumped out at her, bold and firm. She would see him tonight. She’d accompany him to a respectable entertainment. She’d be on his arm. Oh. Oh, goodness. She felt her cheeks flush at just the thought, and while the majority of her emotions were fear and trepidation, there was a small but very definite part that leapt in excitement.

Temperance snatched up a candle and hurried into her small sitting room. She swiftly stripped off her shawl, dress, and shoes. By the time Nell came back with her troops, Temperance stood in only shift and stays.

“I’ve had this for five years or more,” Nell said as she entered with a bundle. “I couldn’t bear to part with it even when I was at my most desperate.”

She laid the bundle on a chair and unwrapped it. Shimmering red silk slithered across the chair’s cushion. Temperance stared. The dress was beautiful—bright and colorful and far, far too bold.

“I can’t wear that,” she blurted before she could think of Nell’s feelings.

But Nell merely set her arms akimbo. “And what else might you be wearing, Mrs. Dews? You can hardly go in that.”

That being Temperance’s usual black stuff dress, lying now across the back of the armchair. Temperance had exactly three dresses, and all were practical black stuff.

“I—” she began, but was immediately muffled as Nell threw the red dress over her head. She fought her way through the sleeves and bodice and emerged sputtering. Nell ran around behind her and began hooking up the back.

Mary Whitsun cocked her head critically. “It’s a pretty color, ma’am, but the bodice doesn’t quite fit.”

Temperance looked down, realizing she’d never before seen so much of her bosom on display before. The bodice was extremely low. “Oh, no. I can’t—”

“No, you certainly can’t.” Nell came around to examine her. “Not like this anyway.” And she plucked the loose fabric at the bodice, pulling it forward to two points in front of Temperance’s own smaller breasts. Nell let the silk go and it sagged in the front. “No, we’ll have to take it in.”