“Of course, Lady Liverpool.” Her stiffness spoke volumes.
Lady Liverpool stopped short of the door. “By the bye, Lady Huntley, I understand you assisted a young actress by the name of Dinah Darby. How does she fare?”
“Quite well, my lady. She has a nice comfortable position at Doncaster.”
“Excellent, Lady Huntley, absolutely excellent. I expect I’ll see you at Apsley House for the celebration and unveiling of Wellington’s statue?”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Until later then.”
Gabby stared after the closed door for a long time.
Forty-Two
Rose stood at the windows in her sitting room, peeking through the black draping. What an abhorrent practice. Her husband had been nothing short of a libertine. If he hadn’t died, he likely would have spent every last shilling of her dowry. And it had been generous. She was the oldest of the Ryleigh women siblings.
Looking back, she could see the mistakes she’d made. Each one fell on her own head. Each one stemming from fear. Fear of being left on the shelf, fear of the ton’s censure, fear of being unwanted. Oh, how she envied her sisters. Gabriella. Gabriella suffered no such insecurities. Her youngest sister had married well. Better than any of all the siblings. Including Sebastian, considering the troublesome youth his duchess had been. Always dragging Gabriella into one scrape or another at school until Sebastian had put his foot down and dragged her home.
But her youngest sister had prevailed, just as she always had, out on top, landing a handsome earl who appeared to adore her. It was so unfair.
Now, Stanford was dead. Perhaps she’d never marry again. It was fortunate she’d never contracted the pox. She ran her fingers under her stinging eyes, shocked to find tears.
Someone tapped at the door.
She quickly dried her eyes. “Yes?”
The butler’s head appeared. “Lady Bentick to see you, madam. Are you receiving?”
“Of course, I’ll see her here. I have no desire to meet in the drawing room.” It was much too close to the parlor where her rogue of a husband lay in waiting. “Send up a tray of refreshments,” she added.
Rose checked her appearance in the mirror. Her black bombazine gown was of the latest fashion, complete with black lace cap.
Rose looked horrible in black.
Lady Bentick entered and hurried over, kissing her on each cheek. “Rose dear, how are you?”
“I’m fine, Estelle. I’m surprised to see you. I thought you were with Lady Liverpool.” Rose indicated the settee for her to sit. The housekeeper entered with a tray laden with delectable treats Rose wouldn’t be able to choke down. She poured out the tea and handed Estelle a cup, covertly studying her. She seemed hardly able to sit still, reminding Rose of Gabriella when her sister was a precocious child with a secret she was dying to share.
“Yes, I was. I must say, Lady Liverpool did not look at all well.” Lady Bentick sipped her tea. She was so excited, she didn’t add sugar as she normally did, just splashed a minute amount of milk.
Rose hid a smile behind her cup. “Do tell,” she murmured.
“Well, as you know, Lady Liverpool is renowned for her charitable works.”
“Oh, yes. She is quite the paragon.”
“I vow, the woman goes too far. Everyone knows she’s as fragile as a bird dropped from the nest.” Estelle’s bitterness was glaring, catching Rose by surprise. She hadn’t noticed that about her friend before.
“Whatever can you mean?” She couldn’t remember anyone speaking ill of Louisa. It didn’t sit well.
Estelle blinked with a deceptive innocence that raised the hair at the base of Rose’s skull. “Have you ever heard of Hope House?” she asked.
“No.” Rose’s smile felt grim. She had the notion she would never have the privilege of experiencing joy again.
“It’s a shelter of sorts for… women of questionable nature.” She leaned in, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial manner. “And, you shall never guess who its sponsors are.”
“I can’t imagine.” Rose’s insides quivered with reasons she couldn’t explain.
