Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(96)

But she’d pretty well fouled those waters, hadn’t she? Her shoulders slumped at the thought as she rounded the final twist in the old staircase, coming at last to the uppermost floor of the home. He thought she’d wanted him only for a crass sexual relationship, and while she certainly longed to embrace him again, there was so much more to her emotions.

She halted, there at the top of the stairs, a single candle wavering in her hand to give her light, as she finally acknowledged what she’d known all along. She felt much more for Caire than lust.

A sob caught in her throat before she could stifle it. She’d been so lonely before he’d come into her life. His absence now only highlighted just how alone she was. Oh, she had her brothers and sisters, the children and Nell, but even with her own family, she was apart. Only with Caire was she herself, flaws and all. He saw her sexual need, her sometimes un-Christian urges and emotions and, wonder of wonders, liked her just the same. Wanted her just the same. It was so freeing, simply being with him! Knowing that she could be herself—all of herself—and he would not turn away.

She looked about the dim, squalid hallway. Alone. She was so alone.

IT WASN’T UNTIL half an hour into the viewing that Temperance decided that the event was going quite well, all things considered.

They’d had a rather rocky start when their first visitors—a lady with an enormous plume in her hair accompanied by a stout gentleman in a full-bottomed wig, improbably dyed an inky black above his elderly face—arrived a bit early at just before five of the clock. Joseph Tinbox had been the only one to hear the knock at the door, and when he’d answered it, had at first refused them entry on the grounds that they were “too early and ought to go away and come back at the proper time.”

Fortunately, Nell had gone looking for Joseph Tinbox at that moment and found him about to shoo their visitors away. Profuse apologies, and the application of two cups of Mr. St. John’s punch, had done much to soothe the couple’s indignation. After that, a steady stream of gentlepersons had arrived. So many, in fact, that at one point their grand carriages had clogged the end of Maiden Lane, much to the interest of the usual inhabitants. Some had, in fact, taken out chairs and sat along the street to watch the parade of nobility go by.

Yes, all was going quite well, and if the punch held out and she could keep Winter from engaging in a political discussion with a rather loud young gentleman in an atrocious yellow coat who insisted on saying the most idiotic things, they might actually live through this day.

Temperance smiled and shook the hand of a vivacious lady in a plum-colored dress as the lady exclaimed about the “poor little wretches.” She was leaving and, despite her rather unfortunate choice of words, seemed genuinely moved by the orphanage.

“Who is that?” Nell muttered behind Temperance.

“I don’t know, but she’s quite enthusiastic,” Temperance whispered back.

“No, not her. Her.”

Temperance looked over their guest’s head to see Lady Caire picking her way across the cobblestones, her mouth twisted in distaste. She wore an entirely inappropriate gold and blue brocade dress and held the hand of a gentleman in a ginger wig and lavender coat. The Maiden Lane spectators were quite taken with her, many elbowing their neighbor as she passed. Fortunately, Mr. St. John had seen her approaching and intercepted her, apparently pointing out the home’s rather sad architecture. He couldn’t hold her off forever, though.

“Oh, no!” Temperance groaned.

“What? What?” Nell hissed, all agog.

“It’s Lady Caire,” Temperance murmured. “She’s quite horrible.”

A muffled giggle came from behind them.

Temperance turned and to her horror saw that they weren’t alone. Lady Hero, in a striking silvery-blue dress, had somehow entered the little hallway and, what was worse, had obviously heard her.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Temperance muttered, beginning a curtsy and then changing her mind halfway down and popping back up too fast. “I didn’t mean… that is… uh…”

“She is rather horrible,” Lady Hero said, smiling faintly. “But if you will credit it I’ve heard her discuss the plight of poor children before.”

“Really?” Temperance asked faintly. She darted another look at the street. Lady Caire had stopped to argue about something with her escort. She turned back to Lady Hero. “So she might actually be interested in our home?”

“I think so, yes. As am I,” Lady Hero said almost diffidently. “I was orphaned at the age of eight, you know.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t.”

Lady Hero waved aside her apology. “It was a long time ago now. But there are any number of ladies who are interested to one degree or another with the welfare of poor infants.”

“Oh,” was Temperance’s not very eloquent reply. It hadn’t occurred to her to seek a patroness. Somehow she had been thinking all along about a patron who would be like Sir Stanley Gilpin—older, wealthy, and male—when perhaps she should’ve been focusing merely on the wealthy bit. She smiled at Lady Hero. “How wonderful!”

Lady Hero smiled. “Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to show me about your home.”

“Of course,” Temperance said, but Winter descended the stairs at that moment.