“Here you are, then.” Alice handed Winter the milky tea, then hovered as he held the cup steady for the child’s trembling hands so it could drink. “Poor, wee mite.”
“Indeed,” Winter murmured. He smoothed the child’s lank hair away from its dirty little face. The child looked to be four or five, or maybe older, for many children in St. Giles were too small for their age.
The dog sighed heavily and slumped into a corner of the hearth.
The child’s eyelids were heavy with fatigue. Winter tried not to disturb the creature as he gently drew aside the rags. A little chest was revealed, almost blue with cold, the ribs in pitiful relief.
“Bring a blanket to warm by the fire, Alice,” Winter murmured.
“He needs a bath,” the maid whispered when she returned with the blanket.
“Aye,” Winter said. “But he’s been through enough for tonight, I think. We can give him a thorough washing tomorrow morning.”
Assuming the child lived through the night, that is.
Winter drew off the last piece of clothing and then paused, brows raised. “I think you’d best finish this, Alice.”
“Sir?”
He wrapped the sleeping child in the warm blanket and turned to the maid. “She’s a girl.”
LADY MARGARET READING—better known simply as Megs to her intimates—stepped into Lady Langton’s ballroom that night and deliberately did not look eagerly around. For one thing, she knew most of those who would be attending the ball: the very cream of London society, including her brother Thomas and his wife. Distinguished members of parliament would mingle with society hostesses and, no doubt, one or two slightly risqué ladies or gentlemen. They were people she’d associated with ever since she’d come out nearly five years ago—the usual roster of invitees to an event such as this.
But that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t bother looking around. No, it was much more discreet to not gawk after him like a besotted milkmaid. She wasn’t ready yet to let everyone—her brother included—know about their connection. Right now it was a delicious secret she held close to her breast. When they announced their attachment, it would immediately become public property. She wanted him all to herself for just a little longer.
And the third reason she didn’t scan the crowd? Well that was the simplest of all: The first sight of him was just so wonderful. She felt a thrill every time. A quiver in her tummy, a rush of light-headedness, a wobbliness in the knees. Megs giggled. She was making Mr. Roger Fraser-Burnsby sound like a head cold.
“I see that you’re in fine fettle tonight, Margaret,” a rich masculine voice murmured behind her.
She turned to find her eldest brother, Thomas, smiling down at her.
Funny, that. Until recently—until his marriage to the rather notorious Lavinia Tate last December, in fact—Thomas had never bothered smiling at her. Not really anyway. He always had a social smile, of course. As a leading member of parliament and the Marquess of Mandeville, Thomas was always acutely aware of his public aspect. But since the advent of Lavinia into the Reading family, Thomas had been different. He’d been happy, Meg realized now. If love could excite a man as stuffy as her eldest brother, think what it could do to the average person!
“Oh! Is Lavinia here already as well?” Megs asked, grinning.
Thomas blinked as if surprised by her enthusiasm and replied cautiously, “I did escort Lady Mandeville here tonight.”
Hmm. Obviously love could only help so far in such a stodgy case.
“Good. I’d hoped to have a chat with her.” Megs made her expression more sedate.
“You’ll have to seek her out, then. Lavinia is up in the boughs over this escaped pirate business, and the moment we were past the door, she sought out her bosom bows to gossip with. She was telling me all the details about his burned body on the ride here. Quite gruesome, really, and not at all what a lady should be interested in.” Thomas frowned ponderously.
Megs, not for the first time, felt a twinge of sympathy for her new sister-in-law. It might not be correct, strictly speaking, for a lady to be interested in burned-to-a-crisp pirates, but it was very hard not to be. “Most everyone in London is talking about it, I think, both the pirate and the Ghost of…” Megs trailed off as she suddenly lost interest in the conversation.
She’d caught sight of Roger at last and her knees were wobbling right on schedule. He stood with a group of other gentlemen and his head was thrown back in laughter, his strong, tanned throat working. Roger wasn’t exactly handsome in the traditional sense. His face was too broad, his nose too flat. But his eyes were a warm brown and his grin was quite infectious. And when he turned that smile on her… well, the rest of the world seemed to fall away.
“… a soiree or ball or some such. I expect you’ll attend,” Thomas murmured next to her.
Megs started slightly. She had no idea what “some such” he was talking about, but she could find out later readily enough. “Of course. I’ll be quite pleased.”
“Good. Good,” Thomas said vaguely. “And Mother will be in town by then as well. Too bad Griffin and Hero have run off to the country. Odd time to do it, in the middle of the season.”
“Mmm.” Roger was talking to three other gentlemen who Megs knew were close friends of his: Lord d’Arque, Mr. Charles Seymour, and the Earl of Kershaw. Unfortunately, she didn’t know the other gentlemen at all well and was thus rather shy around them. In fact, Lord d’Arque was a notorious rake. If she could only catch Roger’s eye, perhaps she could signal a meeting in the garden.
Plum-colored silk overembroidered in gold and silver thread blocked her line of sight.
“Oh, Lady Margaret, I’m so relieved to see you here!” Lady Penelope spoke to Megs, but it was at Thomas that she batted her eyelashes. Beside her, Miss Greaves smiled shyly at Megs. “I must speak to you about Mr. Makepeace.”
“Makepeace?” Thomas frowned. “Who is this chap, Megs?”