Wicked Earl Seeks Proper Heiress by Sara Bennett Read Free Book Online Page B

Distressed Women, which she passionately believed in. Not just for the sake of her mother, who had died so tragically, but for all the poor and unfortunate women she had met in her search for her sister.
    Beth fussed around her, making sure her knee was raised up on cushions on the sofa where she lay.
    “I so wanted to go to St. Thomas’s, Beth,” she said wistfully.
    “Write a letter to the superintendent. I will see it is taken at once,” Beth offered. “At least then you’ll know if they are aware of your sister.”
    It was the only course of action available to her. Averil wrote a carefully worded letter and Beth sent if off with one of the servants.
    What if the superintendent knew where Rose had gone, or even if she was still there? But no, that wasn’t possible. Rose must be eighteen and she would have left the orphanage by now, perhaps found work as a maid or a companion. Perhaps she was married and happy somewhere.
    Averil closed her eyes and hoped very much that was the case.

 
C HAPTER F IVE
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    T he champagne supper fund-raiser was held at Baroness Sessington’s house in Bloomsbury. The baroness was an enthusiastic supporter, sometimes rather too enthusiastic for Averil’s tastes, but she couldn’t say so. Dr. Gareth Simmons frowned upon those who spoke ill of his patroness—come to think of it, there were a great many things Gareth frowned upon.
    Despite her injured knee, Averil had been determined to attend and do her bit. Besides, the knee wasn’t so bad anymore, and she had her ebony cane to lean upon. Looking about her, Averil was pleased to note that so far their guests included a duke, a marquis, and four honorables. Surreptitiously she patted her fashionable curls, which were caught up on her crown with a wreath of waxed flowers, checking to see if they were still in place. Her hair did not curl as prettily as other girls’ hair; its weight eventually caused all its manufactured curls to fall out. By the end of the evening it was always hanging as depressingly straight as a horse’s tail.
    Gareth was greeting some late arrivals, his caramel-colored hair brushed neatly forward over his brow.
    To hide his receding hairline?
    Averil smiled fondly. Gareth was a little vain sometimes when it came to his appearance. Not quite the unworldly saint he liked to portray himself as.
    Someone else was watching Gareth.
    Averil’s gaze crossed with that of Baroness Sessington, who was standing by the supper table. Knowing that Gareth would not like to see his patroness being neglected, she hurried to join the other woman before he could notice.
    The baroness was prone to simpering, and Averil found her mannerisms and giggles sometimes difficult to bear, but she was Gareth’s patroness and so she did her best.
    “We are serving a very good quality champagne,” the baroness pronounced, lifting her eyeglass to ogle the bottles. “Not French, but I’m certain half of the guests won’t know the difference.”
    Averil forced a smile. She did try to like the baroness, really she did. For Gareth’s sake.
    He was currently a guest in her house in Bloomsbury, and as for those who whispered that for a single gentleman to be living in the baroness’s home was most unseemly, well Averil didn’t believe for a moment that there was anything untoward about it. Gareth was not a wealthy man and his practice as a doctor was not well-paid. He treated the poor for what they could afford to pay—which was nothing usually. And besides, the baroness was sixty. At least!
    Averil’s thoughts had been drifting, but luckily Gareth arrived at that moment and took the baroness’s arm, leading her away toward the crystal glasses and the champagne.
    With a sigh, Averil hobbled across to share the chatter around the supper table, heavy with silver trays of food, and heard her stomach rumble discreetly as the strawberry-adorned cream cake was cut. Averil took a small slice, telling herself she deserved it, and tried not to