Absolutely nothing.
Six
Rose entered Hope House on Monday morning, dazed from the weekend’s enlightenments. A kiss that had stolen her sleep. Her own audacity at bribing a merchant in hopes for another such interlude.No, wait, that wasn’t it. A decent price for good material—for the young women. Yes.
But oh, my. She’d never been kissed like that. Her late husband had certainly never enlightened her. With his tongue? It was shocking, indecent,lewd. But her body hummed thinking of it. Her lips, her fingers, the space between her legs.
“Oh, there you are, Rose.” Gabriella’s overexuberant tones yanked Rose to her surroundings.
Heat surged up her neck, and she turned away and busied herself with removing her bonnet and pelisse. “Of course I am. Really, Gabriella, I’m nothing if not dependable.”
“True.” There was a smile in her sister’s voice that eased Rose’s tension. She really shouldn’t be so suspicious of her youngest sister’s motivation. “Come along, then. The girls are waiting.”
Rose followed Gabriella to the drawing room, where five girls—young women ranging from ages fourteen to twenty-two, if she had to guess—were seated in a semi-circle having tea.
She was forever stunned by the young woman Rebecca and Gabriella had saved. Their paths to the sanctuary Rebecca and Gabriella created for them had been quite horrific. “Good morning, ladies.”
The young ladies murmured timid hellos.
“Good morning, Lady Stanford,” Rebecca returned. Sebastian’s duchess was the most unlikely wife Rose could have imagined for her brother. But since Rose had begun visitingHope House, her eyes had been opened, and her sister-in-law had grown on her. She was truly a kind person with a huge heart. There was even talk she’d saved Huntley from a dire fate, though Rose hadn’t been privy to the details.
Rose had discovered much about Gabriella and Rebecca since learning of this truly exceptional home. Her family was not discerning when it came to women in need of help. Some hailed from the theater, one or two from Covent Gardens, while others were from the lower classes, having worked in shops from a variety of backgrounds. All had been abused abominably just for the simple fact of being a woman with no one to look after their interests. To treat them with respect.
It had taken Rose’s own husband, one of those very libertines who forced himself on girls hardly old enough to marry, finally educating her to his horrid debauchery. It was his being stabbed in the chest—for he surely hadn’t had a heart—for Rose to see the good Rebecca and Gabriella were doing.
The prime minister’s own late wife had blessed their efforts and contributed to their cause before her recent death.
Gabriella consulted the slate she held. “I wish to schedule your etiquette lessons,” she told the young women. “Then we shall locate material for new frocks for which Vella has generously offered to design. She has also enlisted Gilly as an assistant.”
Rose couldn’t remember which young lady was which. “I will deal with the material for the gowns, Gabriella. Will Mondays and Thursdays work for the etiquette lessons? I could start today if you like.”
Gabriella’s mouth snapped shut, the surprise on her face satisfying. “The material?”
“Yes. I’ve struck a bargain with a merchant I recently met. He’s assured me an excellent price for good quality fabric. I promise you won’t be disappointed.” Rose kept her voicemodulated despite the riotous emotion blundering around inside her, hoping her words were true.
A look passed between Rebecca and Gabriella, and Rose held her breath.
“Thank you, Rose,” Gabriella said softly. “This is much appreciated.” She made a note on her slate. “Mondays and Thursdays will suffice for the etiquette lessons. Thank you.”
Two of the girls nodded. One was English, and the other was from somewhere overseas. Her skin was not as dark as Miss Botha’s, who was from Africa. Miss Sharifi, Lena, was from India. Rose usually came away from these meetings somewhat discouraged because she couldn’t remember the details, thus solidifying her notions of making her an unworthy countess or duchess.
She let out her breath, relief warring with a surge of excitement. She’d never been useful before. Now was her chance, and it was…exhilarating. Yes, she had three younger sisters. Two of which were already producing children, and Gabriella, who was making a different sort of statement with her and Rebecca’s works assisting these less than fortunate women.
Rose’s one great claim was that she was good at pretending all was fine. Fear simmered just below the surface that she would ruin things in a colossal manner, not just for Rebecca and Gabriella, but for the young women who depended on them.
“How soon can you provide the bolts, Rose?” Gabriella asked, cutting through Rose’s silent self-attack.
“I believe we can have something delivered by Friday.” Goodness, she hoped that would work. “I shall consult with my contact and let you know if there is an issue.”
“Excellent. Now about the etiquette lessons…” Gabriella went on, which Rose successfully tuned out.
Seven
After three completely unacceptable residences, Emerson decided on Manchester Square. He may be a merchant, but he had requirements if he was to conduct his business affairs from this distance. The neighborhood was young by London standards, having been built in the late seventeen hundreds. There was a covered portico, and the house was four levels high. The house was perhaps more than he needed, but the convenience alone made the property worthwhile. The streets were clean, wider than other London streets, and quiet. The manor was spacious and already furnished, as he was letting it from a nob who’d opted to forgo Town for the Season.
“You cannot be serious, Emerson.” Ben’s attitude was a chore.
Emerson had dragged his brother from his no-good cronies and forced him along. Admittedly, that part had been entertaining. “I’m quite serious,” he returned, hiding a grin. “It appears there are two apartments. One for each of us.”
