“What did you say?” The lady blinked as if honestly startled at her ability to speak.
“I said I am a friend of Lord Caire’s,” Temperance said firmly. “And you are…?”
“Lazarus, tell me this is a prank.” She’d turned back to Lord Caire, dismissing Temperance as thoroughly as she no doubt did a downstairs maid.
“No prank.” Lord Caire smiled thinly. “I would’ve thought you of all people would be happy I chose a respectable lady to escort to this assemblage.”
“Respectable!” The lady closed her eyes as if disgusted by the word. Then her sapphire eyes snapped open. “Send her away and let me introduce you to one of your own rank. There are several unmarried—”
But Lord Caire had already started to guide Temperance away.
“Lazarus!” the lady hissed behind them. “I am your mother.”
Lord Caire stiffened and turned, a cruel smile on his lips. “So I’ve been told. Madam.”
He sketched a bow. A fleeting expression crossed the lady’s face as they turned away. Something vulnerable and unpracticed. Hurt, perhaps? And then her expression was controlled and cold again, and they were past her.
Temperance glanced at Lord Caire, aware that her cheeks had flamed. “That was your mother?”
“Alas, yes,” he replied, and yawned behind an elegant fist.
“Goodness.” She would never have guessed their relationship from the open hostility that Lord Caire had shown the lady. Did he hate his own mother? She frowned as she remembered something else. “Did she really think I was your—”
“Yes,” he clipped. He glanced at her and his voice gentled. “Don’t let it worry you. Anyone else has merely to look at you to know you would never let yourself be corrupted by me.”
Temperance glanced away, unsure if he teased or not, and that was when it happened. As she placed her foot down, she felt a catch and heard a rip. “Oh, no.”
“What is it?”
Temperance glanced down at her frock, hoping she wasn’t too obvious. “I’ve torn my hem.” She looked up at him. “Is there somewhere I might repair it?”
He nodded and in a moment had procured the direction to the ladies’ retiring room from a footman. The room was down a short hall, and Temperance carefully lifted her skirts as she made her way there. She looked around when she entered—the room was well lit and nicely appointed with low chairs for a lady to rest on—but no one was about. She stood, nonplussed for a moment. Weren’t there supposed to be maids to assist the ladies?
She shrugged and sat to inspect her hem.
“Can I help?”
Temperance lifted her head, expecting to see a maid, but a lady had entered the room. She was tall and pale, her posture as correct as a queen’s, and her hair was a lovely shade of light red. She wore a splendid gown—a muted gray-green, overembroidered in silver thread.
Temperance blinked.
The woman’s face became bland. “I don’t mean to intrude….”
“Oh, no,” Temperance said hastily. “It’s just that I was expecting a maid or… or… well, not a lady in any case. My hem is torn.”
The woman wrinkled her straight nose. “I hate when that happens.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Lady Kitchen is having an attack of hysterics or nerves I believe. No doubt that’s where all the maids have gone to.”
“Oh.” Temperance glanced again at the black ruffle on her hem. It sagged quite sadly.
But the lady was kneeling before her now, her green and silver skirts spread about her like a shining cloud.
“Oh, please don’t,” Temperance said instinctively. This woman was obviously aristocracy. What would she do if she knew Temperance was the daughter of a beer brewer?
“It’s all right,” the lady said quietly. She hadn’t taken offense at Temperance’s outburst. “I’ve got a few pins….”
Deftly she flipped the hem up, pinned the ruffle in place, and flipped it back again. The pins didn’t even show.
“Goodness! You do that so well,” Temperance exclaimed.
The lady rose and smiled shyly. “I’ve had practice. Ladies should stick together at these social events, don’t you think?”
Temperance smiled in return, feeling confident for the first time since receiving Lord Caire’s invitation. “You’re so kind. Thank you. I wonder—”
The door burst open and several ladies entered, maids fluttering about them. Apparently it was Lady Kitchen and her hysterics. In the confusion, Temperance was separated from her new friend, and by the time she made the hall outside the ladies’ retiring room, the other woman was nowhere to be seen.
Still Temperance returned to Lord Caire with a lighter step, having been warmed by the stranger’s kindness. She found him leaning against a wall, surveying the company with a cynical gaze.
He straighten when he saw her. “Better?”
She beamed. “Yes, quite.”
His lips curved in answer. “Then let’s find your prey.”
They strolled to the far end of the room where gilded chairs had been placed in rows facing a beautifully painted piano. No one had yet taken a seat. Lord Caire led her to a trio of gentlemen.
“Caire.” A cadaverously thin gentleman in a white, full-bottomed wig nodded as they neared. “I had not thought this your type of entertainment.”
“Ah, but my tastes are diverse.” Lord Caire’s lips curled. “May I introduce Mrs. Dews? Mrs. Dews, this is Sir Henry Easton.”
“Sir.” Temperance made her best curtsy as the older gentleman bowed.
“And these are Captain Christopher Lambert and Mr. Godric St. John. Gentlemen, Mrs. Dews, along with her brother, Mr. Winter Makepeace, runs the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children in the East End, a most Christian and charitable institution.”
“Indeed?” Sir Henry raised bushy eyebrows, looking at her in interest. Captain Lambert had also turned his gaze to her. In contrast, Mr. St. John, a tall man in a gray wig, had cocked an eyebrow over half-moon spectacles at Lord Caire.
For a moment, Temperance wondered what the connection was between Lord Caire and Mr. St. John.
Then Sir Henry asked, “How many foundlings does your institution house, Mrs. Dews?”
Temperance smiled her most charming smile, intent on catching one of these fine gentlemen for the sake of the home.
“WHAT ARE YOU about, Caire?” St. John hissed out of the corner of his mouth.