Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(35)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

The foundling home kitchen was usually bustling in the morning—it was only a little after eight of the clock—but today only a single figure sat at the long table.

Temperance stopped short in the doorway, staring at Winter. “Why aren’t you at the school?”

He looked at her, his dark brown eyes shadowed. “I closed the school today after searching all night for you.”

“Oh, Winter, I am so sorry.” Guilt swept away what little vigor she still had. Temperance sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “I couldn’t leave him last night, truly. He had no one to help him.”

Concord snorted not very nicely. “An aristocrat? His home wasn’t crawling with servants to tend him?”

“There were servants, yes, but no one to ca—” She almost said care for him, but at the last second Temperance bit back the words. “No one to take charge.”

Asa looked thoughtfully at her, as if he knew the word she’d cut off.

But Concord merely pulled at his chin, a habit he had when distressed. “Why have you sought the company of this man in the first place?”

Her head felt achy and dull. She stared at Winter, trying to think of some probable excuse for her friendship with Lord Caire. But in the end she was simply too tired to prevaricate.

“He took me to a musicale last night,” Temperance said. “I wanted to meet someone we could persuade to become a patron for the home. We are in need of funds to continue to keep the home open.”

She glanced at Winter as she ended her explanation and saw him close his eyes. Asa’s mouth had compressed while Concord was frowning thunderously. There was a heavy silence.

Then Concord spoke. “Why haven’t you informed us of your distress?”

“Because we knew you would want to help, brother, even if you could ill afford to do so,” Winter said quietly.

“And me?” Asa said softly.

Winter looked at him mutely. Though they had debated asking Concord for help, they had never once discussed going to Asa.

“You never seemed interested in the home,” Temperance said softly. “When Father would talk of it, you almost scoffed. How were Winter and I to know that you might help us?”

“Well, I would help you, despite what you think of me, but at the moment I’m somewhat short of funds. In another three months perhaps—”

“We don’t have three months,” Winter stated.

Asa shook his head, a lock of tawny brown hair falling from his queue, and went to stand by the fire, separating himself from their family as he always seemed to do.

Concord turned back to Winter. “And you allowed this?”

“I did not like it,” Winter replied shortly.

“Yet you let our sister whore herself for this home.”

Temperance gasped, feeling as if her brother had slapped her across the face. Winter was on his feet, speaking in a grim voice to Concord and Asa was shouting, but all she heard was a muffled roar in her ears. Did Concord truly think her a whore? Was her greatest shame written on her face for all to see? Perhaps that was why Caire had made his suggestive comments. Perhaps he’d seen with one glance that she could be so easily corrupted.

She covered her mouth with a shaking hand.

“Enough!” Asa had raised his voice to flatten his brothers’ argument. “Whether Winter is at fault or not, Temperance is near fainting with fatigue. Let us send her to bed while we discuss this further. Whatever happens, it’s obvious that she can no longer see this Lord Caire.”

“Agreed,” Winter said, though he would not look at Concord.

“Naturally not,” her elder brother said ponderously.

Well, this was wonderful—all her brothers were in agreement for once. Temperance almost felt a pang of guilt. “No.”

“What?” Asa stared at her.

She rose from the table, placing her palms flat against the surface to steady herself. Any sign of weakness on this point would be fatal. “No, I will not stop seeing Lord Caire. No, I will not give up my search for a patron.”

“Temperance,” Winter murmured in warning.

“No.” She shook her head. “If my reputation has already been compromised as Concord says, then what is the point in giving any of it up? The home needs a patron to survive. You all may protest Lord Caire and my virtue, but you cannot argue that fact. Furthermore, none of you have a solution for the problem, do you?”

She looked from Winter’s weary, lined face to Asa’s watchful eyes, and finally to Concord’s disapproving countenance.

“Do you?” she demanded again softly.

Concord abruptly stamped from the room.

She let out her breath, feeling almost giddy. “That’s answer enough, I think. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m to bed.”

She turned to make a grand exit but was stopped by a figure in the doorway.

“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” Polly muttered.

The wet nurse held a bundle in her arms, and Temperance caught her breath at the sight. No. No, she couldn’t take another heartache. Not now.

“Dear God,” Temperance breathed. “Is she…?”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” the wet nurse said hurriedly. “’Tisn’t that at all.”

She pulled back a corner of the blanket, and Temperance saw dark blue eyes staring back at her curiously. The relief hit her so hard she hardly heard the wet nurse’s words.

“I’ve come to tell you that Mary Hope is feeding at last,” Polly said.

SHE’D BURNED THE joint of beef.

Silence waved a cloth over the smoking meat that night, trying to dispel the acrid odor. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She should have been more alert to the dinner, instead of staring off into space worrying about their future, hers and William’s. Silence bit her lip. The problem was that it was so very hard not to think about their troubles.

The door to their rooms swung open and William came in. She looked up eagerly but could see at once that he’d not recovered the shipment. William’s face was lined with worry, his complexion gray even with his tan from the sea. His shirt was rumpled, and his neckcloth was askew as if he’d been pulling at it in his agitation. Her husband seemed to have aged years in the last few days.

Silence hastily went to him, taking his cloak and hat and hanging them on a peg by the door. “Will you sit?”

“Aye,” William replied absently. He ran his hand over his head, forgetting he wore his wig. He swore an oath he’d normally never utter in her presence, and took the thing off, throwing it to the table.