Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(26)

Humming to herself, Silence built the fire up again and set a kettle of water on to make tea. By the time William emerged, yawning, from the bedroom, she had their little table laid out with hot tea and warmed buns and butter.

“Good morning,” William said, sitting at the table.

“Good morning to you, my husband.” Silence placed a kiss on one bristly cheek before pouring him a cup of tea. “Did you sleep well?”

“Indeed I did,” he replied as he broke apart one of the buns. They were only a little burned, and she had scraped off the worst bits. “Amazing how much more pleasant it is to sleep on a bed that isn’t rocking.”

His grin was quick and flashed white teeth, and he looked so handsome it made her breath catch.

Silence looked down at her own bun, realizing she was squashing it between her fingers. She hastily set it on her plate. “What will you do today?”

“I have to oversee the unloading of the Finch. We’ll lose half our cargo to mudlarks if I don’t.”

“Oh. Oh, of course.” Silence took a sip of her tea, trying to hide her disappointment. She’d hoped that he could spend the day with her after so many months at sea, but that was a silly wish. William was the captain of a merchant ship, an important man. Naturally his responsibilities to his ship should come first.

Still, she couldn’t completely tamp down a twinge of disappointment.

He must’ve seen it. William caught her hand in a rare show of open tenderness. “I should have started unloading last night. Had I not such a beautiful young wife, I would have too.”

She could feel the slow heating of her cheeks. “Really?”

“Indeed.” He nodded solemnly, but there was a twinkle in his green eyes. “I’m afraid I was quite unable to withstand your temptation.”

“Oh, William.” She couldn’t keep a silly grin from spreading over her face. They may’ve been married for two years now, but over half that time her husband had been at sea. Each time he returned, it was like a honeymoon anew. Would that ever change? She certainly hoped not.

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!”