Benjamin frowned. “Surprised,” he corrected.
Duncan insisted. “Jealous. Awful feeling that makes men do things they normally would avoid.”
Benjamin knew better than to argue when Duncan used a particular tone. Instead, he said, “Titan meant to excuse himself, but Miss Whitchurch pressed for the name of an inn where Titan had sent the lady’s sister.”
“Why would Titan recommend an inn to a vicar’s daughter?” Duncan asked.
“I am assuming the woman, called ‘Cassandra,’ is a fallen vicar’s daughter. The child must have a father somewhere,” Benjamin reasoned, “but I do not know who is the culprit.”
Duncan did not remark, but Benjamin knew that his lordship was drawing his own conclusions. “So when the lady learned where her sister had gone, what did she do?”
“Strapped the child to her again and started off, but she was having difficulty walking straight. I feared if she fell, she would harm the child,” Benjamin told Duncan. “I insisted that she permit me to see her home. She was not best pleased, but she accepted. However, before we could reach my coach along Cleveland Row, she sagged heavily against me.”
“So you took her to Cheapside?” Duncan asked.
“I do not want to ruin her, as her sister has been ruined. Surely her family has known enough harm, but what else was I to do? I could not walk away from her.”
