Martha Schroeder Read Online Free

the marble mantel. Ashes fell on a hearth already thickly scattered with them.
    Gideon felt he had to explain just why Amy was so different from other women. “Lady Amelia is following in her father’s footsteps. She is continuing his work with children and has decided to found a school for orphan girls. She is devoting her life to charity.”
    “What a waste!”
    Gideon’s anger at his mentor’s cynical dismissal of the systematic kindness that had saved his life was hotter than he expected. He beat it down. Amelia and her father had saved a number of boys like himself. In later years he had helped them in their work, and his admiration for the rich and well-favored Bradshaws, father and daughter, who could have spent their lives in elegant salons with people as well-bred and attractive as they themselves, was boundless. His disgust at those who belittled them was equally vast. He hated to feel that way about Sir Richard Sinclair.
    His host’s shrewd eyes took their time taking in his rock-hard jaw and thin lips. Gideon knew his eyes were black and stormy—they always were when his temper got the best of him. Fortunately, he had so far managed to keep his mouth shut.
    “I am sorry, Gideon.” The colonel’s words were quiet, but Gideon could tell that they were heartfelt. “I did not realize quite how much the lady meant to you. I believe that we can find a way to keep her out of the grasp of fortune hunters, Mannering included. Sit down, and tell me about Lady Amelia’s work.”
    Gideon’s anger seeped away. “Thank you, sir. I would appreciate your advice.” He raised his glass and prepared to share still more of his life with a friend. It was a new feeling, but he thought he might grow to like it.
    * * * *
    “Amelia, my dear, what in the world are you doing here? Oh, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded!” Jane Forrester greeted her friend with the quick laugh and good humor she used to confront a world that was not always kind to spinsters of slender means. “Of course, I am delighted to see you anytime you can break free from those ton parties that occupy your evenings.”
    Jane put her arm around Amelia and led her into the small parlor. A woman of indeterminate years, Jane was too tall for beauty, though her glowing topaz eyes and wealth of chestnut hair could have made her seem beautiful. Jane Forrester had confronted and prevailed over circumstances that would have felled others. The only child of improvident artists, Jane had been the practical member of the household. From a very early age, she controlled the purse strings and managed everything except her parents’ painting. In her teens she had nursed both her mother and father through their final illnesses, to find herself alone in a world that placed a low value on the managerial skills she had in abundance and set a great price on wealth and family connections, of which she had none.
    In her usual blunt, straightforward fashion, Jane had tried to use her talents to help others. She had begun as a teacher in a London girls’ school, and at the end of three years was its headmistress. Amelia met her when she was trying to expand the duke’s charities to include girls as well as boys. Jane’s school took a certain number of poor girls, and she worked hard to get the money to take in even more. Amelia had been glad to aid her in her work.
    Now Jane offered her friend tea and sat on her shabby sofa, her feet curled under her. “You’re frowning, my dear, and staring into your cup. ’Fess up, Amy. Tell me what’s wrong.”
    Jane’s comforting voice, the tea, the cozy surroundings made Amelia’s eyes sting. She’d never known her mother, but Jane, though only a few years her senior, was as warm and welcoming as any mother could be. No wonder the school administrators chose her instead of a learned lady to head their institution, Amelia thought. Jane could smooth problems and ease hearts—much more necessary for young girls than mere