Notorious Pleasures by Elizabeth Hoyt Page A

the home, of her life, or of anything else.
    “Nell has taken the children down for breakfast,” Winter said now.
    “Oh! Oh, yes,” Silence muttered, shifting Mary Darling to her other hip and trying to extricate a ribbon from the baby’s mouth. “No, dearest, it really isn’t for eating. I’ll go help, shall I?” she said to her brother.
    “That might be a good idea,” Winter murmured. “I’ll see you at luncheon.”
    Silence bit her lip, remembering how poor Winter had had to dine on cold bread and cheese yesterday because she’d forgotten to put the soup on in time. “I’ll be sure and have it ready today, really I will.”
    A corner of Winter’s stern mouth kicked up. “Don’t worry so—I wasn’t chastising you. And besides, I like cheese.” He brushed a finger across her cheek. “Now I’m away to work. If I’m not at the school before the boys, Lord only knows what mischief they’d get up to in my absence.”
    Winter turned and clattered down the stairs. She didn’t know how he found such energy when he not only helped run the home, but also taught in a day school for boys.
    Silence sighed and followed more slowly, careful of her footing on the rickety stairs. The Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children had once been housed in an aging but sturdy building, but that had been before it had burned at the beginning of the year. Now, thanks to the generosity of the home’s patronesses, the elder Lady Caire and Lady Hero, a beautiful new home was being built. It would have plenty of rooms, a big kitchen, and a garden for the children to take fresh air in. Unfortunately, the new home wasn’t yet built.
    In the interim, Winter, Silence, the home’s three servants, Soot the cat, and all the home’s children—save for two infants boarded out with wet nurses—lived in one too-small, dilapidated building in St. Giles. Silence could have lived in the rooms she shared with her husband, William, but William was the captain of the merchant ship Finch and was away most of the time at sea. It had seemed silly to live by herself in the rooms in Wapping and then travel every day all the way to the home in St. Giles.
    And there had been Mary Darling.
    Silence kissed the little girl’s soft cheek as she descended the stairs. Mary Darling had been left on her doorstep nearly seven months ago. It had been a hard time for Silence—William had been at sea, and their parting had been chilly. Mary Darling had been like the first rays of a bright new day. She’d warmed Silence’s life, and Silence had hated to part with her, even for as short a time as a night at the home. Silence heard the voices of the children even before she and Mary Darling reached the main floor. A dark, crooked passage led back to the home’s kitchen—a big room with blackened beams in the ceiling. Two long trestle tables took up the middle of the room, one for the boys, one for the girls. Mary Darling began bouncing at the sight of the other children.
    “All right, sweetheart.” Silence picked up a bowl of porridge and a spoon and slid into a space at the girls’ table with Mary Darling on her lap. “Good morning, everyone.”
    “Good morning, Mrs. Hollingbrook!” the girls—and some of the boys—chorused. Even Soot glanced up, chin dripping, from his morning saucer of milk by the fire.
    Mary Evening, the girl sitting next to them, leaned close. “Good morning, Mary Darling.”
    Mary Darling, mouth full of porridge, waved her spoon in greeting, nearly hitting Mary Evening’s nose.
    “Be careful, Mary Evening,” Nell Jones said as she draped a big cloth across Silence’s lap and front.
    Nell was a merry-faced blond woman, the most senior of the servants and a former actress in a traveling theater. She might be only a bit over thirty years of age, but she knew how to wield an iron hand, and Silence had come to rely on her good sense since taking over the home’s management.
    “Thank you, Nell,” Silence said.