Rebecca squeezed her hand. “From the beginning, Gabby and I decided Hope House would be for all young women in need. Their walk of life mattered not. You did a good thing, Rose.”
“I was stunned she returned Inez’s gloves,” Rose said softly. “In front of everyone like that? Now, I worry of Lady Lockhart learning her plans for Viola went awry.”
“There are ways to deal with Lady Lockhart. We shall come up with something…” Rebecca said.
Gabriella’s mouth twisted. “Antonia’s Mr. Tatton might have some idea.” There was an edge beneath Gabriella’s tone that was calm, dangerous, resembling nothing of Rose’s flighty youngest sister of their youth.
“How do we keep Lady Lockhart from sinking her talons back into her niece?” Rose ventured softly.
Rebecca clucked her tongue against her teeth. “As I said, we shall come up with something. The important thing is that Viola is safely tucked away from her.”
A sudden ripple moved through the crowd like a wave—not visible so much assensed—a whisper that seemed to carry along a nonexistent breeze. Heads tilted toward the entrance, where Lady Lockhart herself had just arrived, clad in lilac satin trimmed in black lace and an outrageous hat on her head with a stuffed bird nestled into it—straight out of the Marie Antoinette era. Her expression was the perfect blend of sympathy and hauteur, and no one could miss the faint hush that followed her entrance.
Not awe. Something cooler. Measured.
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed slightly. Gabriella’s lips quirked, though not in amusement.
“Curious,” Gabriella murmured. “It seems the lady has lost her usual entourage.”
Indeed, several women who normally hovered near Lady Lockhart—Lady Ingleby, Maeve’s notorious prattler of a mother, Mrs. Gorman, even that little toad Lady Collier—turned their shoulders subtly away. A few offered brief nods, as though uncertain whether it was fashionable to acknowledge her.
Rose frowned. “Goodness, do you suppose she knows?” she said, keeping her voice low. “That thetonhas grown…cold? Surely she must sense it.”
“Women such as she,” Lady Kimpton interjected from behind, her voice silky, “rarely recognize frost until the icicles drop into their low-cut bodices.”
Rose turned, startled. She hadn’t realized Lady Kimpton had drawn near. The countess was all elegance, her smile composed. But her eyes gleamed with the precise satisfaction one imagined in a duelist who’d already taken aim.
“Lady Kimpton,” Rose greeted, curtsying lightly. “I take it you’ve learned of Lady Lockhart’s plight?”
“Oh yes,” Lady Kimpton replied, as if discussing the weather. “A most unfortunate misstep on her part. One ought to treat those in one’s household with more care.”
Something in her mild tone was too nonchalant and prickled the hairs at Rose’s nape. She turned, fully facing the countess. “Mr. Whitmore spoke to you.”
Gabriella’s brows lifted, but she said nothing. Rebecca, on the other hand, was proving stunningly perceptive. She sipped her lemonade and watched the interplay with faint amusement.
“Indeed. Incidentally, Lady Stanford, my felicitations on your recent betrothal.” Lady Kimpton smiled. “Your Mr. Whitmore is an intriguing gentleman.”
“Who?” A deeper, more possessive voice sounded. Er, not just sounded, but growled.
In unison, all four women turned to the new arrival, who showed not an ounce of remorse at his intrusion.
“No one you need worry over, my lord.” Lady Kimpton tapped her husband’s arm with her fan. “It’s not as if anyone has dropped anyone on a ship bound for war.”
“And as we later learned, no one ever did,” he returned smartly.
“Certainly not,” Lady Kimpton agreed, smiling fondly at her husband. “Run along, Thorne. We are talking.”
“Save me a waltz,” he said. “Ladies, enjoy your visit.”
Lady Kimpton’s eyes swept their circle. A second later, her cheeks turned pink. “I see you are unaware of a great misunderstanding my husband and I fumbled through a few years ago. It had to do with my brother, Harlowe. But that’s a story for another time. The earl saw the error of his ways.” With a delicate cough, she cleared her throat and leaned in, lowering her voice so that Rose was forced to tilt her head to hear. “Youneedn’t trouble yourself regarding Lady Lockhart, my dear. The matter of her atrocities is being…handled.”
“The cut direct. It’s brilliant.” Rose said. “But Lady Lockhart is an extremely vengeful woman.”
Lady Kimpton’s smile didn’t waver, all traces of her earlier embarrassment gone. “Yes, well, as you can see by her entrance, I am as well. What the woman did to her niece is beyond unconscionable. It would be a crime to our fellow creatures in letting the matter go unaddressed.”
Rebecca’s eyes flicked briefly toward Rose—a warning? She couldn’t tell. But the chill that ran through Rose wasn’t entirely unpleasant. This wasn’t the open warfare of masculine politics; this was something quieter. Thefemalebrand of retribution—silent, exact, nearly untraceable.
Lady Kimpton’s fan opened with a snap. “Sometimes justice arrives before one’s prayers for it are finished.” She then drifted away, leaving the faint scent of roses behind.
