“Ah.” Lady Hero looked at her lap. “It was to be expected, I suppose.” She glanced up and caught Temperance’s eye, smiling a little crookedly. “I find people treat me differently when they know my name.”
“Oh.” Temperance wasn’t sure how exactly to respond to that, because, of course, Lady Hero was quite correct: A duke’s daughter was treated differently. “I am Temperance Dews.”
Lady Hero smiled more fully. “How do you do?” This close, Temperance could see a fine sprinkling of freckles across her nose. They only served to highlight Lady Hero’s smooth, white complexion.
Sir Henry chose that moment to walk past them. She met his embarrassed eyes before quickly looking away.
Lady Hero followed her gaze. “That man is a toad.”
“I beg your pardon?” Temperance blinked. Surely she hadn’t heard correctly. Did the daughters of dukes call gentlemen toads?
Apparently they did. Lady Hero nodded. “Sir Henry Easton, yes? He looks agreeable enough, I’ll grant you, but he has definite toad tendencies. I say”—her brows knit slightly—“he hasn’t done anything to you, has he?”
“No.” Temperance wrinkled her nose. “Well, yes. He tried to kiss me.”
Lady Hero winced. “Horrifying.”
“It was, really. And rather disappointing, too. You see, I thought he might be interested in my foundling home, but he wasn’t. I’m afraid it was rather foolish of me.”
“Ah,” Lady Hero said, sounding wise. “I don’t think you should blame yourself, you know. Toadlike gentlemen generally try to kiss ladies entirely unprovoked. Or at least that is what I have been led to believe. No gentleman has ever attempted to press his unwanted attentions upon me, of course. Duke’s daughter and all that.” Lady Hero sounded just a tad disappointed.
Temperance smiled. She would never have guessed that a duke’s daughter would be so delightful to talk to.
“But tell me about this foundling home,” Lady Hero said. “I’ve never met a lady who managed one.”
“Oh!” Temperance felt a pleasurable rush of confusion. “Well, the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children is in St. Giles, and we take care of eight and twenty children at the moment, but we could take care of ever so much more if only we had a patron for the home.” Her shoulders slumped. “That’s why I was so hopeful of Sir Henry.”
Lady Hero shook her head. “I’m sorry. Do you have both girls and boys at your home?”
“Yes, we keep them in separate rooms, of course, but we accept all children up to the age of nine. They’re apprenticed out at that age.”
“Really?” Lady Hero said. Her hands were folded gracefully in her lap, and she made no movement, but she seemed somehow to be genuinely interested. “But then how—oh, bother.”
Her gaze had gone beyond Temperance’s shoulder.
Temperance glanced quickly and saw a rather stout matron gesturing imperiously.
“It’s Cousin Bathilda,” Lady Hero said. “She probably wants me to go in with her to dinner, and she’ll only become more irate if I pretend not to notice her.”
“Then you had best go.”
“I fear so.” Lady Hero inclined her head. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Dews.”
“Mrs.” Temperance said quickly. “I’m widowed.”
“Mrs. Dews, then.” Lady Hero rose. “I do hope we meet again.”
Temperance watched her make her way to “Cousin Bathilda.”
When she turned back, Caire was standing in front of her, a glass of punch in his hand. “You’ve been in rarefied company in my absence.”
Temperance smiled at him. “You wouldn’t credit how nice she is.”
He glanced in Lady Hero’s direction, then back at her, his expression indulgent. “Is she? Come, drink up your punch and then I shall feed you some scandalously decadent dinner before I take you home. Your brother is bound to be pacing by the door as it is.”
Indeed, it was nearly an hour before they finally made their way to Caire’s carriage. Temperance was yawning widely after the rich food and richer wine. Caire settled her on a seat, knocked on the carriage roof, and then sat beside her, drawing her into his arms. He threw a fur across them both, and she drifted in and out of sleep as his carriage rumbled across London.
It was like a dream world. She felt so safe and warm in his arms, and she could hear the strong beat of his heart under her ear. He was different from her, an aristocrat from a marvelous spun-sugar world, but his heart beat just like any other man.
The thought comforted her.
When next she was aware, the carriage had drawn to a halt and he was gently shaking her shoulder. “Up, my sleeping beauty.”
She opened her eyes and yawned. “Is it dawn?”
He glanced to the window. “It soon will be. I have a feeling your brother will take a strip from my hide if I don’t have you home before the first light.”
That woke her up a bit more. She scrambled upright and felt to make sure her hair was still in place. “Oh, I’ve lost a slipper.”
She bent to look on the floor, but he’d already knelt and felt along the base of the seat. “Here ’tis.”
He took her stockinged foot and gently slid the slipper back on. She stared, dazed, down at his silver head.
He must’ve felt her look for he glanced up, his eyes darkening. But he merely said, “Ready?”
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
He helped her from the carriage and walked her to the door of the foundling home. The light had turned gray as they’d approached, but no one yet stirred on the street. She turned as they reached the door, placing a hand on his chest.
“Caire…” She wasn’t sure what she was about to say, but it didn’t matter anyway.
He bent his head and brushed her lips with his, murmuring, “Good night, Mrs. Dews.”
He turned away.
She watched his broad back blend into the gray mist; then she opened the door to the foundling home with her key. She yawned as she barred the door behind her, then hopped on first one foot and then the other as she removed her heeled slippers. Afterward, she wandered into the kitchen.
Four male heads swung around at her entrance. Temperance stared. Surely her brothers hadn’t waited up all night just for her? But there was something else wrong. For the fourth male was her brother-in-law, William, and his eyes were red.