The bastard.
She adjusted the books in her arms. “Lovely. And yet he couldn’t bother to send a message,” she added under her breath.
“I’m sure he has a perfectly sound reason. He must be frightfully busy. He’s a merchant, not an idle peer with nothing more important to do than attend peerage events.”
“That’s a horrid thing to say,” Rose said tightly.
Gabriella’s mouth formed an O then melted into a wide smile. “Your filter has shifted into obsessive excess, my dear. I intend no slight toward Mr. Whitmore. Honestly, I admire a man who chooses to spend his time working with others as opposed to sitting in his club all day and gracing the hells at night.”
With a stunned grunt, Rose said begrudgingly, “Still. He might have left a note. Or a shoeprint. Or something.” Of course, her sister was unaware of the missive Rose had received the night before, warning he would be storming her residence that morning, and Rose was not inclined to enlighten her.
Gabriella grinned. “I think the silksarethe note, darling. Now, what’s in the package you’re holding?”
Goodness, she’d lose her head if it wasn’t attached. A door she refused to open for further criticism. Instead, Rose pointed to the stack of papers on the table. “What are you working on?”
Her sister’s gaze went to the pile, and her nose wrinkled. “Bills. As it turns out, running a charitable operation is expensive.”
“Oh?” She moved to a chair and sat down and frowned as well. “In what way?”
“Food. Taxes. Staff. Wages.”
Rose folded her hands over the package of books. “I thought the young women were offering their services to offset the expenses.”
“They are. But food must be purchased, clothing, linens, rent, maintenance, gardening services.” Gabriella picked up a few of the papers and waved them in the air. “Educational supplies, sewing supplies, firewood, servants to assist. Then there are the added expenses for those who are with child.”
“But aren’t we receiving donations?”
“Some, of course.” Gabriella scowled. “Unfortunately, too many narrow-minded matrons feel that what we offer here is a good waste of funds on women”—she glanced at the door and back, lowered her voice—“who don’t meet Society’s expectations for ‘in need.’ It’s abhorrent,” she finished on a sneer.
Rose thought of the bruises covering Inez Macy’s neck and collarbone. She thought of fourteen-year-old Kadida’s circumstance in carrying a child at such a young age through no fault of her own. “We shall require a midwife,” she added softly. “Medicine.”
“Yes. Lady Liverpool’s death came at an inopportune time,” Gabriella said on a sigh. “Despite her infirmity, she had been our most powerful benefactor and voice for our cause. Thankfully, Rebecca has stepped into the role. Sebastian’s support as Duke of Ryleigh doesn’t hurt, but more help could certainly be had.”
Rose shrugged. “I wonder if we could host some sort of event to raise funds.”
Gabriella tapped the papers on her chin. “That is an excellent suggestion, Rose. I’ll talk to Rebecca and get her thoughts.”
Nodding, Rose came to her feet, relief soaring through her. “I’ll also think on it for ideas. Time, place, etcetera.” Perhaps she could lean on Emerson for more assistance. He was, after all, entering homes of thebeau mondein a purely clandestine manner.
Except she was furious with him.
~~~
The ride to Sussex was a day away, but Emerson had pushed them out the door at the ungodly hour of five, leaving an arrival time, barring distractions, at the reasonable estimation of two or three in the afternoon. Of course, October brought about darkness a bit early, but he trusted Amir would bring them in hours before dusk set.
For most of the ride, quiet reigned within the confines of the carriage, and Emerson busied himself with studying the land. Rolling hills of varying verdant in a hazy sun unusual for the season. No doubt the rain would soon set in.
“I’ve a confession,” Ben said, breaking the silence.
All of Emerson’s senses went on alert, but he held his tongue, waiting.
“I didn’t really sell the farm. I-I was angry with Papa treating me as a child.”
Emerson shifted on the seat, unsure quite how to respond. “I see.” After a moment, he took a deep breath. “Ben, how could I tell Father no, on his death bed, when he asked me to look out for you?”
“You couldn’t,” he admitted. His lips tipped in a small, self-deprecating curve. “I behaved in the exact way he expected.”
Emerson let out a stream of air. “Perhaps your reaction was not so out of the ordinary.”
