A Rose for Laura by Callie Hutton

20

Lord Hereford snapped his newspaper open and waited for his wife to join him for breakfast, an oddity, since she enjoyed her mornings in bed. He'd sent a summons earlier for her to present herself. He was still reeling from the information he'd received the night before at the Rose Room. Angry didn't begin to cover his current state of mind.

"For heaven's sake, Hereford, what is so important that you couldn't wait until dinner to discuss with me whatever it is you are anxious to speak about?" His wife sailed into the room, looking, as usual, perfect. Every hair in place, a perfectly pressed frock, and the little bit of makeup she applied to unsuccessfully cover the beginnings of aging on her face.

"I suggest you pour yourself some tea, my dear, and we will begin the discussion."

She tsked and sat at the end of the table and signaled the footman to bring her tea from the sideboard.

"No. Come closer."

Her head jerked up. "What? I always sit here."

"Not so, my lady. Since you haven't appeared at the breakfast table since the day after our wedding, you don't always sit there."

"I don't understand what is wrong with you this morning. I was out late last evening and hoped to have a nice sleep this morning."

He waved his hand. "You can take a nap this afternoon."

She ignored the footman who brought the tea and then poured the warm liquid into her teacup and stirred in sugar and cream. "I don't have time for a nap. I have an appointment with the modiste, and I arranged to meet some of my friends for lunch. I have a full day, and now I'll be tired at the Faulkner ball this evening."

"While I sympathize with your strenuous calendar, nevertheless, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you before I set off for the day."

She closed her eyes and shook her head as she sipped the tea. "What is it?" she snapped.

"I heard something disturbing at the Rose Room last evening."

Lady Hereford's eyebrows rose. "You had Maryann snatch me out of bed at this ungodly hour to tell me some gossip from the club? Not well done, my lord." She reached over and took a piece of toast and began to spread marmalade over it.

"What I heard at the club distressed me to no end."

It was obvious he'd already lost her attention, as she nibbled on the toast and attempted to read the newspaper that he'd laid aside when she'd entered.

"Mildred! I want your attention."

Rarely did he use her name, and never did she call him anything other than by his title. She sighed and placed the toast on her plate. "Very well, Hereford. What is so important?"

He leaned in closer to her. "You have filed a petition to have Miss Benson's orphanage closed down."

Apparently, that was not what she'd been expecting and she had the graciousness to flush. Something he hadn't seen on her face since their courting days when she'd presented herself as a sweet, biddable, charming young lady. A demeanor that changed barely hours after their wedding breakfast.

She raised her chin in defiance. "Yes. I did gather signatures to have the repulsive place closed down."

"Why?" He barely contained the urge to throttle the woman.

"Why? Because it doesn't belong among decent people." She flicked her fingers. "Places like that should be housed in St. Giles, or White Chapel. Not among civilized society."

"What, pray tell, dear wife, is uncivilized and indecent about babies?"

She gritted her teeth. "These are foundlings. Offspring of fallen women, doxies, light skirts, and other nasty persons."

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "And you would blame the babies for how they arrived on this earth? You would rather see them living in squalor, in unsafe shelters because they were unwanted?"

"They are not my problem."

"No. They are not your problem, but if I decide to make it mine by donating my money to Miss Benson's cause, I don't expect you to go behind my back and attempt to thwart my efforts."

Lady Hereford slammed her hand down on the table, rattling the cups and silverware. "There are those who believe the men who are supporting that place are doing it out of a sense of guilt. As if they were the ones responsible for these urchins." She raised her chin again. "I will not have your name bandied about as a supporter of bastard children who might be yours."

Hereford swallowed several times and took deep breaths. If he were to count up to ten thousand before he would be able to answer her in a civilized manner, it would not be long enough.

"That is, by far, the silliest excuse I have ever heard for what you've done." He sat back in his chair and glared at her. "This is what you will do. And you will do it today."

She narrowed her eyes, her face flushed from her tirade. "What?"

"You will contact whoever it was that filed that ridiculous petition with the Magistrate and call it off. Destroy it. Burn it. Bury it. I care not what you do with it, but this harassment by you will end! Don't think because I hadn't commented on it, that I did not hear the snide remarks you made to Miss Benson at the theater and following dinner that we left because of another lame excuse of yours."

She sniffed and looked away.

"And if I learn by the end of the day that the petition has not been squashed, then you will find yourself at our country estate for the foreseeable future. No balls, dinners, soirees, or other ton events. No lunches with your friends, visits to the modiste. Just weeks and months of you and the villagers you also disdain so much." He stood and pulled on the cuffs of his jacket. "Do I make myself clear, madam?"

She gave a curt nod.

"Good. I will see you at dinner." He turned and stalked from the room, still angry enough to slap his gloves into the palm of his hand as he barreled down the steps to his carriage.

* * *

Lady Mildred Herefordglared at her husband's back as he left the dining room. His demands were infuriating enough to almost take away her appetite. She turned to the footman standing against the wall. "Am I to eat cold food, then?" She shoved the platter of food from the center of the table onto the floor.

"No, my lady. I will fetch hot food from the kitchen."

"See that you do." She tapped her fingernail on the table, resting her chin on her hand. How Miss Benson would gloat when she learned that the petition to have that horrid place closed down had been withdrawn.

However, since Hereford controlled all the money—the devil take it—he controlled most every aspect of her life, and he'd left her with no choice. She had no intention of wallowing away in the country while all the exciting things—and her lover—remained in London. She could not give two figs if people thought Hereford was the father of some of those brats. She only wanted to take the haughty Miss Benson down a few pegs.

The footman placed a platter of eggs, bacon, ham, potatoes, and beans on the table. She didn't acknowledge him—why should she, he was a mere employee—then filled her plate and enjoyed a hearty breakfast.

Mildred enteredthe Dorothy Restaurant after a stressful meeting with her modiste. Why she found it necessary to tell the seamstress what she wanted, instead of her knowing what she'd favored over the years she'd done business with her, was just another annoyance to add to her day.

It had cost her a great deal of dignity—curse Hereford—to visit with the disgusting man who had filed the petition for her with the Magistrate. It had been necessary when the man forgot himself and actually questioned her as to why she wished to do it, to shut him down and just demand he do what she told him. It was not necessary to explain herself to an underling.

She and her friends loved this restaurant. They could just do what they wished here, without censure from the decrepit women of the Beau Monde. Here they could eat without the company of a man, relax, drink hard spirits, and even smoke if they wished to. Personally, she hated smoking, but since women were looked down upon if they indulged, she always accepted a cigarette from one of her friends.

"Mildred, how lovely to see you." Lady Beatrice Warwick air-kissed her cheeks.

Mildred took her seat, unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap. "Where are the others?"

"They'll be here soon. I think Suzanna and Delores were visiting the milliner on Bond Street." Beatrice settled across from her. "So tell me something wicked." She leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her fisted hand. "How is the new lover working out?"

Mildred fanned herself with her hand. "Oh, my. He is wonderful."

Beatrice leaned in. "Not good enough. You must give me details."

Before Mildred was able to reply, Miss Abigail Smythe and Mrs. Judith Mallory strolled up to the table. They all hugged each other and offered air-kisses. One would think they hadn't seen each other in weeks, but they met every Wednesday for lunch.

"Mildred, dear, I heard the most distressing rumor today," Judith said.

Mildred had a feeling she knew what Judith meant, but instead of volunteering any information, she said, "What is that, dear?"

"Did you or did you not cancel the petition to close that dreadful orphanage?"

The other women glanced in her direction, eyebrows raised.

Mildred studied her wine glass as if it was something formed by one of the great masters of cut glass crystal. "Perhaps."

Abigail said, "Come, my dear. Did you or did you not cancel that petition we worked so hard on?"

She sighed and looked at her friends. "Yes. I did. Unfortunately, Hereford found out about it and insisted I cancel it. He was most adamant." She picked up her wine glass and glared at the other women. "He actually threatened to send me to the country."

"He wouldn't," Beatrice said, aghast.

"Do you think he's swiving the girl?"

"Miss Benson?" Mildred said with a chuckle. "There is no chance of that, believe me. Besides the fact that she's stiff as a board, if anyone is keeping her bed warm these days, it's Mr. Keniel Singh."

"Who?" Judith said.

Mildred preened. She loved being the bearer of news. "Oh, my dear, don't tell me you aren't in on the latest Rose brothers' gossip," she said with a smirk. "You must come out from under the covers with Mr. Hill once in a while."

Judith waved her off. "Oh, do tell. I know most of London was upset when Hunt married, and Driscoll right after him, and then multitudes of women all over London cried themselves to sleep when Dante succumbed to the parson's noose—blast that Lydia for trapping him. He was such a good. . ."

"Anyway, it seems there is a fourth Rose brother." She had their attention now. "He is half Jamaican. The late earl had an affair with a Jamaican woman. The brothers never knew about him until recently. However, they have accepted him into the fold."

All three women sucked in their collective breaths. "Is he. . ." Abigail looked around the restaurant and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Dark?"

"No." Mildred shook her head. "He is the color of well-creamed coffee." She shifted her eyes away from her friends and cleared her throat, hating what she was about to say, but it was something she'd thought about for days. "In fact, if one had no compunctions about such things. . .he appears to be someone who is quite. . .knowledgeable in bed."

Silence reigned at the table as the women absorbed this news.

While they pondered this, Mildred sat back, a smile on her face. Her mind was in a whirl. She believed she'd just found a way to bring down the supercilious Miss Benson.

After a few minutes, while she allowed her shocking words to settle, she said, "One wonders how long Miss Benson has been enjoying that knowledge."

The table erupted in shocked and gleeful ladies' gasps. "You believe that Miss Benson and this Jamaican Rose brother are. . ."

Mildred smirked. "Oh, I am quite sure. They have been seen together around Town at various events and during rides in Hyde Park." She leaned in, the other women joining her. "In fact, she has been seen going to his bachelor home several times." Mildred sat back and nodded.

The women all nodded.

"We must do something about it," Mildred said.

She was greeted by silence, no doubt the ladies were still absorbing what she'd told them.

Abigail took a sip of whiskey and said, "I don't understand what you mean."

"Well," Mildred said, dragging out her words. "If we allow this scandal to continue among proper Society, before you know it, all sorts of deviant relationships and behaviors will commence and be accepted." She lowered her voice again. "If you know what I mean." Her eyebrows rose and she smothered the laugh she held in as the women's minds conjured up the worst things they could think of. In this group, it would be quite a list.

After giving them enough time to picture all sorts of debauchery that would take place, she cleared her throat. "Here is what I have in mind."

"Ladies, are we ready to order?" A waiter stood alongside them, his voice breaking the silence in such a way that the four women all jumped.

"Oh, goodness, sir you startled me," Judith said.

Annoyed at losing her audience, Mildred said, "Not yet. And do wait for us to summon you." She dismissed him with a flick of her fingers.

The man's features tightened, but she didn't care. He was a servant.

Having dealt with that annoyance, she continued. "I believe one or two of us should visit with this Mr. Singh and tell him how dreadful it is and will continue to be for Miss Benson if he proceeds with a relationship with her."

The thought of causing disruption and unhappiness to one of their own set well with the ladies. They reached in unison for their drinks and nodded at Mildred. "I believe you are correct, Mildred. We must take this in hand or our entire structure of society will be diminished."

Mildred sat back and smiled. "I agree. However, it is important for me to stay out of it, due to Hereford's dictates." She waved at the table. "I leave it up to you to do your duty to Queen and country."