Page 37 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
“No, miss. It were…was…” She cleared her throat. “The house in Sussex is an orphan home or such as are like orphans, miss, one with good food and no beatings. Both their ladyships run it.”
She picked up the toweling and helped Paulette to stand. “Miss ‘Arris had a houseful of us, but when her friend Miss Montagu married Lord Cathmore, he made her move all of us to the country.”
“From London to the country? Did you like that?”
“Well, I liked living with Miss ‘Arris sure enough, and I liked the country too. Both places the food was better than what the pieman could sell and much more regular, and she made sure we had lessons.”
“Not as exciting as the city.”
“I’d trade a clean bed and regular meals for that excitement any day, miss.”
Paulette metLady Hackwell at the stair landing and they descended together.
“How lovely you look,” Lady Hackwell said.
Her face heated. Only Mabel bothered with compliments. No one else ever noticed her, except to criticize.
She nodded her thanks. “Jenny told me about your home for orphans.”
“She’s one of our successes.”
“She’s a very good girl. Are both of her parents deceased?”
They had reached the last stair. Lady Hackwell took Paulette’s hand and tucked it in the crook of her elbow, sending a rush of warmth to her eyes. The unexpected intimacy felt almost maternal, not that Paulette’s mother had been much of an example of tenderness.
“They are both living, as far as we know. Her father was transported a few years ago, and her mother… cannot provide a home.”
Paulette thought of her vicar, who did so much for the poor, to the detriment of his own family at times. Shame pricked her warmly. His inclination to doing without had been another reason for turning him down. “The parish cannot help her?”
“My dear, London is awash with the poor, far more than any parish can provide for. It’s one of the reasons our guests are here,” she whispered. “My husband is trying to convince members of parliament to do something constructive for a change.” She pushed open a grand door. “We are here,” she announced.
All conversation stopped, while the gentlemen rose. Paulette’s cheeks flamed. All of them were richly dressed for this country dinner.
“Are the children well?” a woman asked.
“Yes, and thank you for waiting.” Lady Hackwell apologized, taking the blame that should have been Paulette’s. It had been, after all, her bathing and changing that had delayed dinner. A splash of color drew her eyes to the woman who’d spoken, a fashionably-dressed matron who looked to be Mrs. Everly’s age.
But as her gaze roamed the room it froze on a pair of arresting brown eyes, sending her heart into a relieved flutter.
Mr. Gibson was here, dressed for dinner. Dressed like the son of an earl. He towered over all the other gentlemen, even the very tall Lord Hackwell, who greeted her as cordially as his wife had.
She barely registered the rest of the names—Lord Shurley, Lord and Lady Tepping, and a fair-haired boy of about twelve or perhaps older, Lord Hackwell’s brother, Thomas.
Perhaps thiswouldbe a less formal affair.
Lord Hackwell took her arm and turned her to where Mr. Gibson had joined a new arrival, a man with his back to her whose dark hair was streaked with grey. She saw the man’s head move and Mr. Gibson’s eyes flare.
And then he turned, and Paulette’s stomach sank. This man she knew.
