“Thank you.” Dom shook out the paper and buried his nose back in the newssheet. Lines of words faded to be replaced by the image of a raven-haired temptress with green eyes. He wondered what Thea would say about how he saw her? She would probably be shocked. Except for that one time last night when he couldn’t break his gaze from hers, she most likely did not even realize the torment he was going through.
Other ladies offered themselves up to him on a silver platter. Any one of them would be flattered to receive a proposal of marriage from him, but would Thea? Did she even care that much about him?
A half hour later, after forcing down a cup of the club’s normally excellent coffee, he was walking down the front steps and ran into Alvanley. “Good morning.”
Alvanley stopped. “Hiding yourself away lately?”
Since when was Dom answerable to his friends? He kept from scowling. “No. My mother’s in Town.” Was he going to have to go through this with everyone? Attempting to forestall more questions, he continued. “She has a desire to visit old friends.”
Alvanley took out his snuff box and with a flick of one finger opened it before taking a pinch. “You have my deepest sympathies.”
At least he wasn’t going to ask about Miss Stern. “Indeed.”
Taking the opportunity to make his escape, Dom stepped onto the pavement. He strode down St. James Street toward Piccadilly and then on to Bond Street. The nerve of Fotherby. Even if Dom hadn’t already decided Miss Stern wasn’t eligible, his friend had no business sticking his nose into it. He knew his duty, and he would do it even if he hated every minute of it. He’d find an excuse to make to his mother and leave for his estate in Devon tomorrow. First he would pick up the books his mother had asked him to fetch.
“What ye think you’re doin’, miss? Let go of the lad; he’s mine.” A man’s rough shout disturbed Dom’s cogitations.
A group of people huddled in a circle. Standing taller than the rest, a footman in Worthington’s livery was near the middle of the small crowd.
A furious female voice Dom knew well rose above the rabble. “He is only a small, hungry child. Youwill notarrest him.”
Thea. He should have known. Quickening his stride, he swiftly arrived at the gathering of street cleaners, vendors, and the merely curious. The small crowd of onlookers parted for him. At the middle of the scene was Thea squaring off with a sturdy-looking farmer. An underfed, filthy child of perhaps six or seven years clutched an apple in one grubby hand and her skirt in the other, clearly recognizing her as his savior.
“How much for the apple?” she demanded of the farmer.
“That ain’t the point, miss,” the man said belligerently, spittle flying from his mouth. “He’s a thief and deserves to be punished.” The child ducked behind Thea as the farmer leaned to one side. “Hanged or transported.”
Thea’s chin rose as she stood her ground. “I am not saying he was right, but you might steal too if you were starving. The law in this case is too harsh.”
Dom’s cravat threatened to choke him. The law she referred to was one he had supported.
“Looky here, miss. Don’t you go sayin’ I’m a thief. Look’t him. He’s got bad blood.”
The boy huddled closer to Thea and whimpered. Somehow, when Dom had voted for the bill, he hadn’t envisioned small children, even though in theory he knew it applied to them.
She opened her mouth, then clamped her lips together and shook her head. “I am not casting aspersions on you.” She dug around in her reticule. “Oh dear. I spent the last of my money on a pair of gloves.” She glanced at the footman, apparently hoping he’d have a few coins, but he gave an imperceptible shake of his head. “Very well, then I shall remain here while you return the fan for me.”
“No, miss, I can’t. My orders were not to leave you.”
Thea passed a hand over her brow. “I suppose the only thing to do is . . .”
Just then it dawned on Merton that she was perfectly capable of leading this motley crowd down Bond Street to the shop so that she could return the gloves and give the farmer his money. Just the thought of the resulting scandal made him cringe. “Miss Stern, may I be of assistance?”
She turned quickly toward him and the worry lines etched on her face cleared. “Oh, my lord. Yes, thank you. Will you please pay this man for his apple? I seem to have spent all the money I brought with me.”
At the mention of “my lord,” the farmer took a step back. This time when he spoke, his voice was not as loud and considerably more polite. “That boy stole from me. I’m calling the constable.”
Holding his quizzing glass to his eye, Dom took his time surveying the man from the battered felt hat on the farmer’s head to his hobnail boots. Someone tittered. He needed to get Thea out of this mess in a hurry before she became the lateston dit. “How much for the apple?”
The farmer glowered, but finally grumbled, “Two pennies.”
Raising his brow, Merton replied, “Indeed. Perhaps we should have the constable on you. I’ll give you two farthings and nothing more.”
He dropped the coins into the man’s outstretched palm before piercing the rest of the group with a stern look. “There is nothing for you to see. Be about your business.”
The group scattered, and the footman heaved a sigh of relief.
Thea turned to the boy. “You may eat the apple now.”
