Rose was shocked into silence.
“My aunt—my aunt,” she reiterated with abject fury. “Soldme.”
Rose gasped. “Lady Lockhart? She soldyou?”
“She’s a horrid, horrid woman.” Her gaze turned out the window. “She’s always hated me.”
Viola’s other words penetrated Rose’s overtaxed brain. “You know who I am?”
“Certainly. My friends and I devoured the gossip sheets when your husband turned up dead.” She snorted. “Everyone knows who you are, my lady.”
One had to hand it to the child—she did not mince words. “Where are we going?” she asked, fatigue emanating from her.
Oh, right.Rose rapped on the ceiling.
Her eyes flew to Rose. “You aren’t taking me back to my aunt! I-I won’t go.”
The shrillness of her voice raised gooseflesh along Rose’s arms, but she would not coddle. A clear head and firm resolve were required. “Certainly not. I’m taking you to Hope House. No one ever need know you’re there.” Rose opened the hatch and gave the driver their direction.
“What is Hope House?”
Rose dropped beside her. “It’s a home Lady Huntley and the Duchess of Ryleigh created for young girls when they’ve nowhere to go. When was the last time you had something decent to eat?”
Viola’s head dropped, and she stared at her hands. “I-I don’t know. A couple of days, I think.”
“Well, Mrs. Kier will fix you right up. You can take a bath, and we’ll get you some decent clothing. You’ll be warm and fed.”
“Are there other young women in the house?”
“There are. About six others, I believe.”
Slowly, the breath eased out of Viola, indicating her relief. “All right. Thank you, Lady Stanford. I don’t know how I’d have fared had you not materialized.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” Rose asked her softly.
“I’ve already told you. My aunt sold me.”
“To whom?”
Viola didn’t answer, just turned her gaze out the window.
“I won’t say anything. I’ve no intention of giving the busybodies more to chatter over, but Ryleigh will wish to know. He and Huntley will have plenty of things to say, not just to Lady Lockhart, but they will wish also to deal with your, er, purchaser.”
“I have no notion how the transaction was effected. One minute I was dressed for Martindale’s soiree, and…and the nextI was bundled away like so much rubbish.” The hurt and surprise in her voice broke Rose’s heart, at the same time infuriating her.
Rose took her chaffed hand and squeezed. “Things will turn out, dear.”
Viola turned from the window, putting her face in shadow. “Aren’t you even going to ask me if I was ruined?” she demanded bitterly.
“Whether you are ruined or not is of no consequence. This was not of your doing, Viola. That fault lies squarely at the feet of Lady Lockhart.” Her own bitterness spilled forth. “And she will pay. You may count on that.”
Twenty-Eight
The hackney wheels slowed, crunching over the gravel approach, and rolled to a stop. A faint light glowed in the front windows of Hope House, like a beacon against the cool night.
Mrs. Kier opened the door before they reached it, her wrap tucked into an apron, her braided hair topped by a sleeping cap. She took in the sight of Viola without comment, only stepping aside to usher them in.
“Best come in quickly. We’ll not have the cold undoing what we mean to mend,” she said briskly.
