She made it to her bedchamber and fell back against the door, splaying her hand on her chest. Then gasped—Lady Macbeth! She hurried to her sitting room, and her breath left her in a rush of relief. Vella was standing before the fire gazing up at a landscape Rebecca had painted for Gabby as a wedding gift, Lady Macbeth ensconced in Vella’s arms. Her ears were perked, her eyes bright. Her tiny body wiggled at the sight of Gabby. She let out a yap and Vella turned around.
“Good evening, Vella,” she said. “I see you’ve met Lady Macbeth.”
Vella smiled and set Lady Macbeth to her feet. “Yes, indeed. She’s adorable and not the least bit deranged. I pray I’m not too late.”
Lady Macbeth dashed over and leapt in the air. Gabby caught her, laughing. “I missed you too, my sweet.” She set her on her feet and gestured to Vella. “Not late at all, Vella. Please. Sit down.” Gabby went to the door that led to the hall and twisted the lock. “Would you care for something to eat?”
Confusion lit her features. “Eat?”
“You must be famished. It’s going on eight.” Gabby dropped into a wing-back chair and selected a scone for herself and took a less than ladylike bite. Lady Macbeth wasted no time in jumping up in her lap. Gabby set the remainder of her scone on a plate and gave the little queen a quick peck on her wet nose, and a tiny bit of the pastry.
“Wouldn’t you like to try on your dress?”
A large box was on the settee Gabby hadn’t noticed, but she waved out her hand. “I’m sure it’s perfect.” She poured another cup of tea, dropped in a piece of sugar—moved her gaze over her guest—and added another couple of cubes. “Do you care for milk?”
She stared back at Gabby with large eyes full of astonishment. And rendered speechless.
Gabby decided Vella was likely accustomed to economizing. She poured in a dollop of milk on impulse, stirred the contents, and handed her the delicate cup on its saucer.
As if Gabby held a mirage, Vella slowly accepted the tea. Her fingers trembled. “T-thank you, my lady.”
“There’s no need to be nervous, Vella. I truly did wish to speak to you. You see, my friend, the duchess of Ryleigh, and I are in the process of setting up a home for young women who—” Gabby stopped. She really must come up with a way to explain hers and Rebecca’s plans without stumbling over her words. Inhaling deeply, she started again. “There are young women who are in dire circumstances without means of improving their situation,” she said. “The duchess and I happen to be in a position to assist those who want that help.”
Vella’s mouth gaped, her disbelief apparent.
“Drink your tea, dear, it’s getting cold.”
She gulped the cup empty. “I-I don’t understand.”
Gabby set a chunk of cheese and a lemon tart on a plate and traded dishes with Vella. “We’ve acquired a house for these young women to live in while they decide their next chapter as it were.”
Vella nibbled on the cheese seeming to mull over Gabby’s statement. “They just stay in this… house? Without having to… to pay?”
Gabby smiled. “Yes.” Then shrugged. “Admittedly, it’s nice if the young woman has skills to contribute. It’s appreciated but it is not a requirement. If she does, she will be adequately compensated for her skills. Some women are not in a place or frame of mind to help, and if not, then that is also acceptable. May I ask you something personal?”
Tension instantly replaced her surprise. Her eyes dropped to the plate she held and murmured. “Of course, my lady.”
“This afternoon, when I inquired as to your marital status, well, to be frank, you turned quite pale. Can you tell me what upset you so?”
Vella was silent for so long, Gabby feared she’d offended her. “’Tis my papa. He refuses to allow me and my Thomas to marry.”
Gabby was stunned. Young women were reared to marry. Employment was scarce for them, no matter their station. “What possible reason could your father have—er, is this Thomas perhaps too fond of his gin?”
“No.” Disgust vibrated from her. “’Tis Papa who has the taste for gin. It is he who takes the money I earn at Madame Bovine’s. He doesn’t wish to lose my income.”
Gabby compressed her lips. Of course, it was. Men infuriated her. While her own father left much of her and her sisters upbringing to Sebastian, her father never stole the food from their plates. Chagrin hit her. Her father had been a duke. Her family had never been in danger of going hungry in the first place. “What of your mother?” she asked gently.
“She expired of a fever three years ago. I acquired my skill with the needle from her.”
“Is that when your father started drinking?”
The eruption of laughter was sharp and bitter. “No, my lady. He was attached to his gin long before that. I just hadn’t realized how much my mother protected me and how much her income he’d been relying on till she’d perished.”
Gabby refilled Vella’s cup with more tea and held it out. “What of Thomas? How does he make his living?”
“He works in the stables at Tattersall’s. Has a way with horses, he does.” Her voice and eyes softened. She blinked. “Of course, it doesn’t matter.” She appeared to gather an inner strength. “’Scuse me, milady, but you made mention of earning more blunt.”
Gabby let out a sigh. “I’m afraid my scheme is not very sound at this juncture. I tend to be somewhat impulsive, I fear. My siblings will happily attest to that.”
