And in the midst of all this, a figure in a black, swirling cloak emerged from the clouds of steam, limping but walking steadily.
Temperance rose to her feet, a cry strangled in her throat. His silver hair was tarnished by the smoke, but it was him. It was Caire. She pulled away from Winter and ran, slipping on the wet cobblestones, blinded by the rain and her own tears, rushing toward her heart. As she neared, a black singed cat struggled from under his cloak and streaked straight to Mary Whitsun.
Caire coughed. “I loathe cats.”
Temperance sobbed once.
He caught her hard, pulling her under his cloak, kissing her with a smoke-filled mouth, there in the rain in front of everyone.
“I love you,” she sobbed, rubbing her hands over his face, his hair, his chest, making sure he was solid and real. “I love you, and I thought you were dead. I couldn’t bear it. I thought I would die too.”
“I’d walk through fire for you,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and broken. “I have walked through fire for you.”
She choked on a laugh, and he kissed her again, his mouth hard, tasting of smoke and fire, and she’d never tasted anything so wonderful before, because he was alive.
He was alive.
He broke their kiss, resting his forehead against hers. “I love you, Temperance Dews, more than life itself.”
He would’ve said more, but she kissed him again, softly this time, trying to convey everything she felt with just her lips.
“Ahem.” Someone cleared their throat nearby.
Lazarus pulled back from the kiss enough to mutter, “Yes, Mother?”
Temperance blinked and turned her head. Lady Caire stood beside them, her elegant white coiffure ineffectively shielded by a coat held over her head by her shivering companion. She looked wet and cold and hurt.
“Caire,” Temperance whispered.
He lifted his head to glance at his mother. “What is it?”
“If you’re done making a public display of yourself,” Lady Caire said, “the children need to be seen to, and there’s an insane woman Godric St. John says started the fire and murdered three women.”
“Your concern is touching as always,” Caire began, but then Temperance pinched his earlobe. “Ouch.” He looked down at her.
Goodness, aristocrats were idiots at times! “Your mother was very worried for you.”
Caire lifted an eyebrow.
“I love you, Lazarus.” Lady Caire’s voice was clear and certain. But then her lower lip trembled. “You’re my son. I may not express my love effectively, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
He turned his head and stared at her in wonder. And he probably would’ve continued to stare, dumbstruck, if Temperance hadn’t pinched him again.
“Ow.” He shot a glare at her.
She arched a brow at him pointedly.
“Mother, mine.” Caire leaned down gingerly and kissed his mother’s cheek. “A wise woman once told me that just because love isn’t expressed doesn’t mean it isn’t felt.”
Lady Caire’s eyes welled with tears. “Does that mean you love me as well?”
A corner of Lazarus’s mouth quirked up. “I think it must.”
“I didn’t think you listened to me.”
“Every word you have ever uttered,” Caire whispered, “is engraved upon my heart.”
Lady Caire closed her eyes as if she’d received a benediction.
Then her eyes snapped open. “Yes, well. What shall we do with all these children?”
Temperance glanced at the home. The fire looked nearly out, but there was not much left beyond smoldering ruins. Dear God. It only now occurred to her that they had nowhere to take seven and twenty children, and although she’d set out this morning to find a patron for the home, now she no longer even had a home.
“Perhaps they can come to my town house,” Caire started doubtfully.
His mother snorted. “The home of a bachelor gentleman? I think not. The majority will come to my town house for the moment.”
“And I can find places for some as well.” Lady Hero had approached quietly. “My brother has a house standing nearly empty. He’s in the country for the summer.”
“Oh, thank you!” Temperance hardly knew what to say to such generosity.
“I can help with the little ones,” Mary Whitsun said. Her lower lip trembled. “Until I find an apprenticeship, that is.”
Temperance laid her hand gently on Mary’s sooty hair. “How would you like to remain at the home—wherever the home might be—and help as long as you’d like?”
Mary Whitsun’s eyes shone. “I’d like that, ma’am.”
“Good.” Temperance blinked back yet more tears.
Lady Hero smiled at the two of them. Her titian hair was wet and straggling about her shoulders, and yet she still seemed dignified and every inch the sister of a duke. “When you are settled, I would like to discuss building a new home.”
“As would I,” Lady Caire said. For a moment, both ladies eyed each other.
“Larger, do you think?” Lady Hero murmured.
“Definitely.”
“And with room for the children to play?”
“Oh, quite,” Lady Caire replied decisively, and smiled at the younger woman.
They seemed to have come to some sort of unspoken pact.
“Thank you,” Temperance said, dazed.
“You’re in for it now,” Caire murmured irreverently in her ear. “With my mother and the sister of a duke attending to your affairs.”
But she ignored his teasing, hugging him in her glee. The home had not one but two patronesses!
“And if you don’t mind, I’d like to contribute something to the home as well.” His tone was oddly diffident.
She looked up at him and said, “Thank you. We’d be most honored to have you as a patron as well.”
He kissed her quickly and then Caire sighed. “I need to attend to that.” He nodded his head to where St. John held Mother Heart’s-Ease with the two footmen. “Will you stay here?”
Temperance smiled up at him. “No.”
He sighed. “If you’ll excuse us, Mother, my lady.” He made an abbreviated bow to both ladies.
“Certainly,” Lady Hero said. “I think we need to organize these children.” She raised her eyebrows at Lady Caire.
That lady nodded and as one, the women wheeled to descend on Nell and the group of children.