Page 42 of The Lady's Last Mistake
Cassie chose another word. “Forthright.”
Miss Stone’s dour expression cracked with a small twitch of her mouth. “Bravo,” she commented. “There is nothing indecent about the female form or the pleasure it can both give and receive. Only society and religious establishments try to convince us there is.”
It was the most Grant had heard Miss Stone say at one time. Even her companion looked slightly taken aback.
“And yes, Miss Plumly’s sculptures all follow the same theme,” Miss Stone went on, answering Cassie’s question.
Madame Archambeau shifted her inquisitive eye toward Cassie once again, as if wanting a second inspection of the person who had inspired Miss Stone to speak so passionately.
“Of course, magnifying such artistic talent is incredibly important,” Grant said, striking while the iron was hot, “however, have you ever given any thought to throwing support behind charities that benefit those who are willfully overlooked by high society? Say…” He paused as if trying to think of a charity. “Vulnerable, unmarried lower-class women who are with child?”
He didn’t have to look at Cassie to imagine her clenched jaw and rolling eyes. Admittedly, it had been a clunky delivery, but it got the job done. Madame Archambeau snapped her fingers and a servant dressed head to toe in banana yellow brought her a new glass of champagne.
“You have a charity in mind, I presume,” she said.
“I do. Have you heard of Hope House?”
Cassie took a deep breath; he felt her ribs expand against his arm.
“I have not,” Madame Archambeau answered. “Tell us about it.”
Through his jacket, Grant felt Cassie’s fingers pinch him. “Yes, that sounds fascinating, Lord Thornton. Do tell us more.”
She couldn’t do the honors herself. To be knowledgeable about it would only indicate that she was involved. And while the two women bucked convention at every opportunity, they were also shameless gossips.
So, Grant laid out the premise of Hope House as he knew it: a safe house for unmarried women, either wanting to have their baby in private and arranging for parish nuns to place the babes with good families, or escaping from those who would harm them and their unborn child. Cassie pinched him again, indicating he’d left something out. He had no idea what, however.
“I imagine such a place would serve women coming from many different situations,” she said for him a moment later. “Those who are frightened or ashamed or feel they’ve nowhere to turn.”
“How very true, Lady Cassandra,” Miss Stone said, her grave expression now one of concern.
“Where is this Hope House?” Madame Archambeau asked.
“Its location is private,” Grant answered. “Apparently, it is found via a sort of whisper network.”
Sparks of interest flared in both women’s eyes. The two exchanged a look and a nod. “Bring the organizer to us,” Madame Archambeau said. Then with an inquisitive glance, said, “How very fortunate for them that you’ve learned of their endeavor.”
He could have easily taken advantage of the moment to say he’d learned of Hope House through his free clinic, which also needed assistance. But their minds were trained on the safe house’s mission; to falter at this moment could dilute their interest.
“I help where I can,” he replied vaguely.
Madame Archambeau sipped her drink and gestured toward the rest of the gallery. “Do enjoy the rest of the art, Lady Cassandra.”
“In a mostforthrightway,” Miss Stone added with a playful smirk. The two women linked arms and moved along, ready to mingle with others.
Cassie turned her face toward his once they were alone again, wonderment dilating her pupils.
“Does that mean they want to help?” she whispered.
“I’d say so,” he answered, grinning at her expression of breathless delight. Cassie nearly sagged against his arm as they walked aimlessly across the gallery floor.
“This is so wonderful. Oh, Grant, I never thought… I’ll send Elyse! She can tell them everything, answer every question.” She hopped twice, giddily. “When will you take her? Should you go tomorrow? Maybe that’s too soon. But what if they forget about our conversation?”
“They won’t forget,” he assured her, pleased by her reaction.
Cassie’s bright and bubbly reaction was a salve against the lost opportunity to make his own pitch. But there would be another time. He’d see to it then.
“We don’t have to stay for the rest of the party,” he told her as they entered a thicker crowd in the center of the gallery. “Unless you have a secret yearning to see?—”
