He nodded. "As you say, Mrs. Hopkins. Your husband does admire and appreciate hard, worthwhile work."
Indeed. All she needed to do was make him see that this was worthwhile work. And that she needed to do this particular worthwhile work herself. She pushed aside any thought that working at the orphanage was not exactly the same as becoming a patron of the orphanage. If the society matrons did not understand the importance of taking care of children, she could not bother herself to care.
R.J. crept guiltily into their room. His business had kept him exceptionally late tonight. He expected that she would be asleep. But she was not.
He undressed quietly in the dressing room and turned out the light before he made his way to the bed. Halfway there, he heard the movement of the bedclothes as she sat up. He braced himself for complaints over his late hours.
Instead, her voice carried softly across the darkened room. "I have discovered a purpose today."
"A purpose?" He wondered for a heartbeat if she might be carrying a child. But surely it was too soon to be sure of such a thing.
"I went to the Wellburn Orphanage today."
Ah, the orphanage. He climbed under the covers and pulled her close. "The one Phineas has saved from imminent demise?"
She nodded, her loosened hair sliding along his chest quite pleasantly. "The same one. Although salvation will be short-lived if we do not find a way to endow the venture."
"What does Phineas say?"
"Not much. I suspect he finds the endeavor overwhelming. There is a droop to his shoulders when he speaks of all the work to be done and the complete lack of funds. We need food, and coal, and furniture. The old director absconded with everything of value, including the table upon which the children ate."
"Scoundrel. Trust Phineas to volunteer his time to clean up someone else's mess. How many children does he have?"
"Twenty-five. They have nowhere else to go. The other orphanages refuse to take them."
"Write him a generous draft at once." He paused. "Or have you already done so?"
"No." She prodded him to turn over and began to massage the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders. He groaned in pleasure as she continued, "I wished to speak with you before I made a decision about the donation. How much do you think we could manage?
R.J. had little idea of what would be reasonable. "A hundred dollars?"
"Not a thousand?"
He was shocked and half-rose, but she pushed with the palms of her hands under his shoulder blades, and he sank back down to enjoy her ministrations. "A thousand!" He shook his head. "Perhaps. But wouldn't it be better to have some event to raise money for the orphanage among the wealthier of our citizenry?"
"Yes. But the need is immediate. And desperate."
"Then a thousand is not too much." He would speak to his father, to ensure there would be no trouble releasing that sum. "I suggest you speak to Annabel about donating some of the furniture we have stored in the attic, as well. That should save on immediate expenditures." He had played among the furniture as a boy, drawing comfort from the fact it was the furniture his mother had chosen, the sofa she had sat upon. But neither Annabel nor his father would tolerate the sight of it, so it had been relegated to the attic, and made ghostlike with linen dropcloths.
"That would be useful indeed." She hesitated, her fingers digging deeper. "I also plan to volunteer my time helping out at the orphanage."
"Do you think it wise to spend time in that neighborhood?" He thought of her, vulnerable to any ruffian or pickpocket. "Have you consulted with Annabel about this decision? Does she approve?"
"I have not," she admitted. "But what does it matter? The children need someone like me to oversee their needs, and the doctor has a practice to attend to."
He turned and took her into his arms so that he could inhale the scent of her. "You do not want to put yourself in a position to become the subject of gossip." He was all too aware how precarious her position. Was it the children that drove her to be so reckless? Or was it the handsome doctor himself? "Phineas can hire help with our donation."
"No." She cradled his head in her hands. "You did not see their faces."
Something deeply sorrowful in her voice told him that she spoke the truth. Not that it would matter to idle gossips. "It is not your responsibility."
"No, my only responsibility seems to be to please the harpies of your society so that I can give teas and dinners while you spend all day in business. And that will not even occur until we are in possession of our own home. Sometimes I don't believe that day will ever come."
"It will never come if you create a scandal trying to help your orphans. I would be disowned, and we would have to move to an entirely new country, where the names of Romeo and Juliet only referred to Master Shakespeare's tragic pair."
"Sometimes I think I would not mind that at all."
"Would you not even miss Susannah?"
"Of course. And I would not have you at odds with your father." She sighed. "Come with me tomorrow. I'll show you why I cannot turn my back on them. At least not until Phineas has the funds he needs to hire adequate staff. I will do nothing to create a scandal. I have learned my lesson."
"I have a very important meeting. But I will trust you to make the best decision on how much it is wise for you to do." He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. He thought of her precarious social position and felt an unnamed dread begin in the pit of his stomach.
The gossips wanted to feed on her. Would anything keep her safe except his locking her in their room and throwing away the key? "You will discuss this with Annabel?" It was easy to bury his worries when he held her in his arms. She smelled warm and soft, like sleep. But her touch made him anything but sleepy.
"I will speak to Annabel." She curled her palm warm over his mouth. "But I must take care of these children until we have one of our own to keep me busy." Her palm slid down to his chest. "Which brings me to my next request."
* * * * *
Annabel, after agreeing to allow Juliet to furnish the orphanage with furniture from the attic, had told her directly that she was going much too far spending so many hours with the poor of society. It almost seemed as if the woman thought poverty were a disease that could be caught if one spent too much time among those suffering from it.
There was no way she could create a scandal just helping children who had no one else in the world to look after them. She shook her head. Annabel didn't understand. And there was little point trying to convince her. At least not until Juliet could prove that she had made a real contribution. One that could not be laughed off as frivolous.
The children haunted her nights. There must be something more than what she was doing for them now that she could do.
She enlisted the maids to help her search the attic for discarded furniture.
The maids helped with true pleasure. "It's welcome to see that this will be used for a good purpose," Mary said.
"Very good purpose," Juliet answered. "The children have no possessions to speak of, and they have only hooks to hang their clothing on.
"Even their Sunday best, ma'am?" The maid was shocked.
"They share a trunk for anything they own other than their daily clothing." The girls had only a trunk per five girls to store their clothing and what little of value they had from their previous lives.
She surveyed the dressers and wardrobes in the attic. How many could she take? At least three. Maybe even a mirror or two for the girls' room? The boys would not care so much. And perhaps something with glass in it would not be wise in their room, considering the way they seemed to only be able to storm like bulls despite all her attempts to teach them how to walk, not run, jump, or leap from place to place.
No, no mirror for the boys. But the girls. How could they grow up without ever seeing themselves? Without ever trying to tie hair ribbons in different ways? She determined to fetch a length of ribbon material for the girls' hair.
She could teach them to cut and tie as they looked into the two large and sturdy mirrors she directed brought down and loaded onto the cart of things for the orphanage. Missy, especially, with her beautiful choir voice, would look well in a bright blue ribbon to catch back her wheat blond hair.
As she moved everything, she discovered a portrait hiding under a piece of old linen. Curious, she dragged it to the light and unwrapped it. The woman could have been none other than R.J.'s mother. Impulsively, she ordered the painting carried down to their room. She would have it mounted there, and when they had a home of their own, she would give it a place of honor in the parlor.
It was as Juliet was delivering the furniture and trying to find the money to buy things to brighten up their days that she realized what might help. And it was the children themselves who had given her the answer, when their faces lit up at the few pretty paintings she had taken from the attic to break the starkness of the bare white walls.
She was not completely surprised to find Phineas Abernathy opposed to her changes when she approached him with the idea. He was struggling to keep the orphanage open, and he could not bother himself too much with more than keeping the children fed and sheltered. But she could. If she could convince him.
She outlined the changes she would not only finance but oversee as he listened. The fatigue slowly lifted from his shoulders. At first he argued. "These children need more than a little music and some colorful pictures on the wall."
"Do you mean to say they must never have beauty because they are poor?" She knew he would never agree to such a harsh assessment of the children's future.
"Of course not. But they need food and warm clothing and a roof over their heads much more."
"I agree. I will fund every suggestion I have made."
She did not mention her plan to oversee the changes as well. He might have a moment of masculine stubbornness. Better to have him fully endorse her idea. Then she could tell him she would implement the ideas.
"Is R.J. aware of this offer?"
Chagrined, she knew she would be out of luck if he spoke to R.J. before she did. But she would not be stopped now. "He is in full support of my idea." Or he would be, once she explained it to him. How could he not be?
"But even with your generous funds, the bills for feeding, clothing, and caring for twenty-five children will hardly leave leftover money for the frills of life."
"I agree." Juliet could feel herself beaming, and she was pleased to see a genuinely broad, answering smile on Phineas Abernathy's face. "We must raise additional funds to create a trust for the orphans."
"And how shall we do that?"
"We need to have a charity benefit."
"That is a common practice. In fact, there are so many these days one feels that the society matrons have taken instruction from the beggars in the streets." A little of the joy went out of his eyes, and his shoulders sagged slightly again. "Who would we invite?"
"All the most influential people, of course." Juliet thought that should be obvious. "I will have to rely upon Annabel and Susannah for that, you understand." But she was determined that this event would make her the most envied hostess in Boston. "Everyone who is anyone will be present. We will fund an endowment that will allow the children not only food and shelter but music and art and dance." Since quiet persistence and behaving like a pious nun did not gain her entree into society, she would try to take the city by storm.
There was open skepticism in his gaze, but the tired air had left him completely. "Why would they come?"
She smiled. Once he heard her idea, he would understand. But would he agree to allow the children to participate? "To hear Dominic and Missy sing, of course."
"Our little opera singer and that angel who has a voice almost as beautiful as yours?" He nodded slowly. "I think you may have had a brilliant idea."
* * * * *
Juliet was pleased when, instead of hurrying off to his office at dawn, R.J. joined them for breakfast one morning. Her hope that he had decided to stand up to his father and spend a little more time with his wife was dashed, however, when Annabel cleared her throat and said, "I am concerned that you are spending too much of your time at the orphanage."
With a scornful glance at her husband, Juliet said mildly. "The children need me."
R.J. stopped buttering the roll he held and met her eyes. "Unfortunately, because Phineas Abernathy is such a handsome man — "
She stopped moving the eggs around on her plate and stared at him in disbelief. "You are not accusing me of improper behavior, are you?" She could accept Annabel's misunderstanding of the situation. But R.J., of all people, should know that the orphanage was not a pretense for an affair.
"I'm certain you have been nothing but proper. It is the appearance that creates concern, not the reality."
"Well, I would like to know how my washing children's faces and teaching them their letters could give any appearance other than one of charity." She thought of all her hopes for the small improvements they were making in the orphanage that would be ruined were she to have to step back. "There are even two children that I am working with who sing like angels. Dominic has a voice that would make an Italian opera lover weep."
"Juliet. It is not enough that you work hard. You must also avoid putting yourself into situations which appear . . . unsavory. Consider the way your actions look."
She dropped her spoon with a clatter that expressed her irritation. "What difference does it make? I have transformed myself to no effect. I am not invited to join in other charity organizations. I am not invited to the soirees that matter to anyone who is anyone. The women whisper behind my back, or they ask about England as if it were a backward province. They go all pinch-faced when I come near, as if I smell like rotted fish or dried dung."
Annabel broke in sharply. "Exactly why you must guard your reputation against any hint of scandal."