Notorious Pleasures by Elizabeth Hoyt Page B

Eating breakfast with a baby in one’s lap could be a very messy task—as she’d found out in the last months.
    “You’re welcome, ma’am. And you”—Nell bent and mock-scowled into the baby’s eyes—“careful with that great big spoon.”
    Mary Darling laughed up into Nell’s face, splattering porridge down the front of her chemise. Silence sighed and wiped at the spill, taking a spoonful of porridge herself. Breakfast was almost over, and if she didn’t eat now, she’d not have another chance until luncheon.
    Hurriedly, she ate the thick porridge, taking sips of the hot tea that Nell thrust in front of her. In between her own bites, she fed spoonfuls to Mary Darling, keeping both the hot teacup and the tempting bowl of porridge out of the baby’s reach. Mary Darling was old enough to feed herself with her spoon, but the result tended to be incredibly messy.
    Around them the children ate cheerfully, aided by Nell and the other maidservant, Alice. The home also employed a manservant, Tommy, who helped with the heavier tasks and ran errands.
    Nell suddenly clapped her hands. “Time to clean up, children. We have a busy day ahead of us, for we have a very important visitor coming today.”
    Silence nearly choked on her last spoonful of porridge. Oh, dear Lord! She’d completely forgotten. Lady Hero was to tour the home today—and not only was Lady Hero their patroness, but she was also the daughter of a duke . Silence pushed her bowl away, feeling slightly queasy. Would she ever be comfortable in her position as manageress of the home?
    H ERO STEPPED GINGERLY from her carriage that afternoon—gingerly because she’d learned very quickly to watch where she placed her feet in the St. Giles streets. To the side, a man lay in the gutter. Hero made a wide circle around him, her nose wrinkling as she caught the stink of gin. Here was yet another victim of that terrible drink, sadly not that uncommon a sight. What misery would be relieved in London if only gin could be eradicated!
    Once past the drunkard, Hero made her way down a little lane to where the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children was housed temporarily in a rather ramshackle building. Hero sighed silently. As the patroness of the home, she felt guilty whenever she saw the wretched condition of the house the children lived in.
    Mrs. Hollingbrook, the home’s manageress, bobbed a nervous curtsy as she neared. “Good afternoon, Lady Hero.”
    Hero nodded, smiling—she hoped—graciously. The fact was that she’d originally become a patroness of the home when Temperance Dews, now the younger Lady Caire, was in charge. Hero had felt an instant friendship with the then Mrs. Dews and had rather enjoyed her interactions with the woman. She’d not found the same rapport with Mrs. Hollingbrook—at least not yet.
    Mrs. Hollingbrook was younger and less poised than her elder sister. Her face reminded Hero of a medieval saint—all pale oval solemnity—and like one of those painted martyrs, she seemed to hold a resigned melancholy close to her heart.
    “Won’t you come in and have a dish of tea?” Mrs. Hollingbrook asked formally as she always did.
    She stood aside, letting Hero precede her into the home. Hero stepped over the threshold, trying not to wince at the cracked plaster on the entryway walls. A cramped room lay at the back of the house, and Hero entered it, familiar now with the rhythm of her visits to the foundling home. Inside, four chairs, a low table, and a desk had been crammed into the small space. Hero took one of the chairs, drawing off her hat as Mrs. Hollingbrook fluttered about, supervising the tea.
    Finally the other woman settled to pour the tea. “No sugar, is that correct, my lady?”
    Hero smiled. “Yes.”
    “Now where have I put the spoons?” Mrs. Hollingbrook held the full teacup in one hand, the hot liquid sloshing perilously near the rim as she searched the crowded tea tray. “But if you don’t take sugar,