“I shall second Gabby,” Rebecca said, smiling. “Between the three of us, we shall do wonders for many young women in need. But ’tis wise to remember, there will be the occasional failure.” This, she added softly.
The sounds of rustling silk and excited chatter drifted faintly from the fitting room down the hall.
“It sounds as if we’ve a tea to attend,” Gabriella said. “Huntley is rounding up a few outriders to accompany us from the city. We should be able to leave soon. I cannot wait to see how large Antonia is. That’s horrible of me, I suppose.”
Rebecca laughed. “Come, let’s see how our charges are faring.”
Some of the pressure in Rose’s chest alleviated. She stood and followed Rebecca and Gabriella to the fitting room to find laughter and chatter ensuing as final seams were tucked and hems were checked.
For a heartbeat, true regret seeped through Rose at failing to impress upon the young Miss Lockhart the importance of HopeHouse. Viola was so young—just a girl, really, who’d trembled with fury and fear. But she’d allowed pride to intervene and turned away the generosity offered her.
Rose hoped the best for Viola, truly, as Society would never welcome her now. Lady Lockhart had seen to that. The girl had been cast adrift by its stricture, her life doomed before barely getting started.
Why did Society have to set such impossible standards for women and girls? It was blatantly unfair. And the worst of it was how women themselves judged others so quickly when, if they rallied together…Viola needn’t have been cast out. She would have had a bed here. Food. Safety. And possibly unexpected friends.
Rose wanted to cry for her. Or perhaps it was herself she wanted to cry for. All those wasted years with that scallywag Stanford. Self-realization was hurtful in its way, while also enlightening—ugh, like Rose had been at Viola’s age. Rose hadn’t learned her lessons soon enough. Stuck married to a horrible man, stuck with the consequences of her own stubborn pride for years on end.
She’d only thought to help Viola avoid such difficulties. But the girl was as stubborn and as prideful as Rose had been. It was fruitless to hope Viola’s realizations would not ruin her life forever.
Regardless, Rose remained steadfast in her decision in not allowing Viola to attend the tea in Amersham. Viola’s actions and words could not be allowed to go without consequence.
A long sigh of regret escaped her. Rebecca and Gabriella were right. One couldn’t help someone who didn’t wish to be helped.
With that, Rose clapped her hands, garnering everyone’s attention. “You all look lovely. Shall we be on our way?”
Just before reaching the door, Maisie skittered forth, nearly flying past on the newly waxed floors. “A note for you, Lady Stanford.”
“A note? For me?” She took the missive and broke the seal to a scrawl becoming quite familiar. Emerson’s bold, uncompromising script slashed the page.
I hear Hope House is already aflame with its newest arrival. I have every confidence you will conquer this battle as you have every other you’ve faced. Tonight, you’ll allow me to manage ours. Be ready by eight.
—Whitmore
The blasted man. It was a charity soiree, not a dinner party. “One moment, ladies, whilst I respond to this particular demand,” she said through clenched teeth, then stomped down the hall. In the drawing room, she went to the escritoire and scribbled her own dictate, then raced back to the entryway. This was her outing after all.
The curious eyes of every young woman pelted her, and glinted amusement from Gabriella and Rebecca. She ignored them and turned to the housekeeper, handing over her note. “Mrs. Kier, please dispatch this to Ten Manchester Square as quickly as possible.” She turned to her charges. “Ladies?”
More excitement filled the hall as Rose led the girls through the door, where two carriages and several outriders awaited them.
Thirty-One
Antonia’s parlor was bright despite the autumn gloom outside. A fire roared in the grate and, with several candelabras, gleamed off delicate porcelain on the low tables. The Hope House girls perched stiffly in their new gowns. Rose was quite pleased by their gentle manners, if still a tad uncertain, until Antonia—round with child and radiant—settled them with her easy warmth. As one of the middle daughters, she excelled at such.
“You must forgive me if I remain seated,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve reached the stage where standing for too long has become a losing battle.” She beamed a smile at Kadida that hinted at conspiratorial. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Botha?”
“Indeed, Mrs. Tatton,” she whispered. “Mostly I roam the halls at night because ’tis too uncomfortable to sleep.”
Antonia reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “As do I, Miss Botha. As do I.”
That won several shy smiles, sending a sense of relief and…gratefulness welling through Rose. Vella offered to pour, and soon the room hummed with the sound of teaspoons and lively conversation. Rose caught Gabriella’s eyes, and they shared a truly poignant moment. So poignant, tears prickled. A current of sisterly love arched between them.
Antonia’s smile turned sly. “Do you all know that Lady Huntley and I are the youngest of the Ryleigh clan?”
The girls shook their heads, leaning forward eagerly.
“Well, then, you must hear of the time Gabriella and I decided to run away from home.”
“Antonia!” Gabriella protested, laughing despite herself.
