Chapter 30
Thirty
Rose was slow to wake the next morning. Her bed seemed cold and lonely after Emerson’s quick departure in the early hours.
Her head throbbed as if she’d imbibed an entire bottle of claret with no help from anyone.
Scratchy eyes, throat. The whole of her body ached from the inside out. She hadn’t wanted him to leave.
That was the most stunning realization. She hadn’t wanted him to leave.
A short tap at the door startled her, and Jane entered with a welcome tray of tea and warm scones. “Oh, you’re awake, my lady. I wasn’t certain whether you would be returning to Hope House today after your late night.”
You mean early morning…
“Of course I’m going to Hope House,” she said, struggling to sit up. Someone had to make certain Viola Lockhart had not instigated a self-defeating mutiny. “I’m escorting the young ladies to Amersham today for tea. I should like to depart within the hour.”
“Excellent, ma’am. What of this evening’s benefit Lady Harlowe is hosting?”
“I should return in plenty of time for Mr. Whitmore to accompany me.” The words seemed awkward on her tongue. “I shall have to look my best.” Especially if they hoped to pull off this faux attraction. Faux? Ha. The lie unraveled the instant it entered her head.
A small giggle escaped her maid, but Rose ignored it as she hurried from the bed, the sense of urgency rippling through her. She wished to reach Hope House before Gabriella and Rebecca since Rose hadn’t had the opportunity to explain Viola Lockhart’s sudden appearance.
One and a half hours later, Rose entered Hope House to the scent of fresh bread and beeswax. But the pleasantness was nearly drowned out by the unmistakable sound of a young lady in a temper.
“Porridge! I do not eat porridge. Do you know who I am?”
Rose paused in the entry hall, her gloved hand still on the doorknob. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. Good heavens, Viola had been there less than twelve hours. Rose sincerely prayed she didn’t regret her impulsive actions from the night before.
Mrs. Kier’s calm voice floated back in reply, pitched in that Scottish lilt born of a practicality Rose had come to admire.
“Aye, I ken fine who ye are, lass, and ye’ll find no finer fare than what’s set before ye.
If porridge is good enough for the Duchess of Ryleigh and the duke’s sister when they come a-callin’, ’tis good enough for ye. ”
A sharp intake of breath followed, indignant and wounded all at once.
Rose’s cheeks flamed. Time to straighten out that ungrateful chit. She raced down the hall with a hand flattened on the door of the dining hall just as other voices drifted over her from the adjoining kitchen.
“She’s horrid.” It was one of Mrs. Kier’s daughters, Rose realized, trying to whisper but failing—Maisie. “She acts as if she’s lady of the ’ouse, she does.”
“Hush, bairn,” Mrs. Kier soothed gently. “I told ye last night. She’s frightened, and fear makes folk lash out cruel-like. Pay it no heed.”
Rose’s spine stiffened. Fear or not, she would not have Viola tearing strips from the women who had opened their doors to her. Gathering her skirts, she strode toward the kitchen passage, the heated voices growing louder with each step.
She pushed through the door and found Viola seated at the long dining table, arms crossed, chin lifted in defiance. Before her, sat a steaming bowl of porridge, untouched.
“Miss Lockhart,” Rose said crisply, still clutching her bonnet and gloves. Her voice carried across the small room like the crack of a whip. “You were warned last night about speaking so disdainfully in this house.”
Viola blinked, her bravado faltering. “I-I only meant—”
“You meant,” Rose cut in, stepping farther into the room, “to insult the very people who saw to your comfort after finding yourself cold and starving in Whitefriars. Mrs. Kier and her household are owed gratitude, not scorn.”
Crimson stained Viola’s cheeks, but her lips pressed tight.
“Please wait for me in the drawing room.”
Stunned silence filled the dining hall and not so much as a spoon tinked against a cup.
“Now,” Rose snapped.
Her chair scraped the wood planks, and Viola dashed from the room.
Rose took a steadying breath and gauged the widened eyes of Kadida, Gilly, Vella, Mable, Inez, and Lena. “Good morning, ladies. Did Mrs. Kier relay our plans for today?”
Slow nods bobbed quietly around the table.
“The dresses are complete?” she asked, addressing Vella.
Vella beamed. “They are indeed, Lady Stanford.”
“Excellent. I should like to depart within the hour. Enjoy your breakfast, ladies.” Rose spun on a clipped heel and marched down the hall, her steps echoing against the walls. She entered the drawing room and dropped her bonnet and gloves on the nearest chair.
Viola stood at the windows, staring out at the lawn where orange and yellow leaves fell like large raindrops, and tossed about in a sharp October wind.
“You are not a Lockhart here, Viola. You are not a baroness, nor a duchess, nor any other title that might impress Society. You are a young woman in need of help.”
“I didn’t ask for your help, Lady Stanford.”
Shock reverberated through Rose, leaving her momentarily speechless.
“That is true,” she said slowly, though her temper simmered and spurred.
“You are welcome to leave anytime you wish, my dear. This is not Fleet; you are not a prisoner.” Rose drew in a deep breath.
“In my eyes, you’ve been treated with nothing but kindness, generosity, and respect.
” She strolled over to the windows and stared out as well, keeping Viola’s expression in her peripheral view.
The silence that followed was marked, the kind that cut more deeply than shouting. Viola’s eyes darted to Rose then back to the windows with her brows furrowed. For a moment, she looked every inch the frightened girl Rose had first seen in that Whitefriars alley.
“Is it true, you are taking everyone to tea? Mrs. Tatton is sister to the Duke of Ryleigh. I should enjoy that,” she said.
“As am I,” Rose said wryly. “But I find you may not be ready for such an outing.”
She whipped around, facing Rose, fury sparking from her eyes. “I believe I should like to leave Hope House, Lady Stanford.”
“Of course, dear.” Shockingly, Rose’s reticule still dangled from her wrist. Shaking her head, she lifted and retrieved her coin purse. She opened it, took Viola’s hand, and poured out every last shilling.
Amazement, then fear, rippled from her. “But what am I to do?” Viola whispered. “I haven’t a thing to wear.”
Her gall was astonishing. “I’m sorry, Viola, I’ve done all I can to help you,” Rose said gently. “Perhaps it’s time you helped yourself.”
Rose retrieved her bonnet and gloves, walked to the door, and slipped from the drawing room without looking back, her heart heavy with untold failure.
On leaden steps, she made her way back toward the kitchens, where excitement spilled out along with the warmth.
Her heart lurched, hearing the unmistakable tones of Gabriella, Rebecca, and even Huntley.
“Rose Stanford!” Gabriella’s voice could have felled a regiment. “Where in heaven’s name did you disappear to last night?”
Rose caught Mrs. Kier’s eye, and the Scotswoman’s lips softened into a small curl as she turned away. “Out o’ my kitchens with the lot o’ ye. I’ll bring coffee an’ tea to the dining room.”
Spinning about for the third time that morning was making Rose dizzy. But she marched into the dining room and took a seat—at the head of the table. Rebecca’s skirts swished furiously as she skirted Rose and dropped into the chair next to her.
Huntley’s deep voice rumbled. “Did you mean to give us apoplexies, vanishing from Peachornsby’s ball without a word?”
Rose suppressed a groan as Huntley stepped inside the room—an unwanted apparition—and held out a chair for Gabriella before taking another for himself.
“You are not my keeper, Huntley. Don’t you have your hands full with Gabriella?” she said lightly.
Mrs. Kier entered with a tray laden with much needed coffee, smart woman. Coffee was the beverage required for this confrontation.
“Did the footman not deliver my missive?” she went on blandly.
Gabriella frowned. “Yes, but—”
Rose let out a sigh. “But what, Gabriella? Should I have stormed the dance floor just to let you know my head took on an unexpected ache?”
Mrs. Kier’s brows arched as she quit the room. Rose could feel her lips twitching but lifted her chin, bracing herself. She’d survived Emerson’s fury the night before, hadn’t she?
Gabriella and Rebecca let out simultaneous breaths, their shoulders collapsing along with their indignation.
“By the bye, I shall be taking the girls to Amersham for tea with Antonia.”
“Today?”
“You know very well it was planned for today. I suspect she’s lonely. The two of you are attending as well.”
“Lady Huntley, somehow you’ve failed to inform me of your plans,” Huntley growled.
Hiding a grin, Rose finished her coffee and stood, eager to escape more revelations. “If you will excuse me, I must speak with Mrs. Kier before our departure.” She hurried from the dining room with Huntley’s words following her through the door.
“I’ll be sending outriders alongside you…”
Outriders? Actually, that was a bit of a relief.
She stepped into the kitchens. “Mrs. Kier, I fear I have some disappointing news. Miss Lockhart has made the unwise decision to leave Hope House.”
The older woman’s mouth fell. Rose had succeeded in flabbergasting her. Astonishing. “But where’s the lass to go?”
“I fear that is up to her. We’ve helped her as much as was in our power. I have given her coin. I suspect she’ll land on her feet, much like a cat using one of its many lives.”
“Who did you give coin to, Rose?”
She spun quickly to find Gabriella standing in the door, her eyes narrowed, not in anger now but in sudden understanding.