Page 46 of Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset

“Ma’am!” Vic pulled back, her little lips pressed in a smug smile, so proud of herself that she waved a hand. “No drops.”

“Indeed, the saucer is spotless.”

Vic offered the plate of real treats, her eyes a rich emerald green like her mother’s. “D’you want one?”

“I do. Perhaps two.”

Vic leaned forward, her head cocked as if in conspiracy. “Me too.”

They played this scenario each day they dined.

“I think you must, my dear lady. After all, conversation requires the sweetness of good biscuits.”

Vic hummed, blissful at the confirmation that she could indulge.

From the first day Zeph had been introduced to the little lady, the two had bonded. Zeph loved the child’s staunch approach to all before her. The child’s adoring regard of her filled a hole in her heart for pure, uncomplicated affections. Their relationship was mutually beneficial.

In the four weeks since Zeph had moved here, she had not mourned the breach in her friendship with Rafe Durham. That was purposeful. She had argued herself out of any such useless emotion as regret. She would see him again. It was inevitable. In Society in the coming months or, indeed, through the years, if she decided to remain in Britain, Rafe Durham would appear often. Whether at announced instances or by casual happenstance, he would stand before her and she would respond. Her demeanor would now be that of a friend, fond though it had been once. What it would be again, she would not declare now. For that, she needed time and evidence of her feelings for him, and, too, from his own actions.

In the past weeks, she had seen him a few times. Rafe had often come to meet with Kane, and once, he had been invited to dinner. She had not seen him when he met with Kane, but dinner was another matter. She’d had plenty of warning. Gus had told her that afternoon that Kane and she had sent around a set of invitations. Halsey and Inès would have been invited, but Gus explained that Inès was still recovering from the birth of their son.

Also to dinner had come Scarlett Hawthorne and her chief clerk, Todd Carlton. To meet that lady finally had filled Zeph with the delight of meeting so capable, so renowned a lady business owner. But she was stunned by the easy manner in which that young woman treated her clerk as more than her friend, and definitely more than her employee. Even their discussion of Nathan Rothschild and money was muted by Zeph’s fascination with how Scarlett and Carlton treated each other. Was the man Scarlett’s friend, her employee—and her lover?

Zeph was grateful for the diversion, because she’d made up the table so that Rafe was not the odd man. She did not mind, so long as no one perceived them as a couple. They did not, of course, because by now, all knew she had left Rafe’s influence with less than good humor. The news of her departure, if not the subject of their quarrel, had even appeared in gossip sheets. Throughout the evening, Rafe was polite, his interest in her friendly. But his eyes roamed her features with a curiosity she would not answer. She was as casual, as kind. If his appearance held a weariness, as if he had not slept, she dared not succumb to the chance he might see that mirrored in her own nature as well.

Luckily, the jovial tone at dinner came from the camaraderie among all the others. That they worked together was obvious. That they respected each other was even clearer. They were colleagues as well as friends. A rare combination.

After that, Zeph had not seen Rafe again for two weeks. But Scarlett and Carlton appeared everywhere. So too did she meet many others. At a small wedding of one of the Earl of Halsey’s friends, the same people, all friends, had gathered. At an afternoon musicale, new and old friends came—Amber and her husband, Vivienne and her husband, and Liesel and her husband.

Zeph had entered Society slowly with Gus’s advice. She had attended two balls and danced with no one she thought half as interesting as her new friends. But the night before last, at her last appearance, to one side had stood Rafe Durham, never saying more than good evening to her, but watching her. His black eyes boring into her form, she excelled at her dancing. She swayed and stepped with rhythm and grace. She showed off her newest gown of jade silk. She’d ordered Gus’s modiste to cut a savage line to her décolleté. That had one man unable to fix his monocle correctly. She had laughed. Rafe had set his teeth—and when their gazes met, his jaw twitched.

Pleased at his reaction, she suppressed the urge to go speak with him. Others would notice. The gossips would rave. She wished only to move about the ton with more anonymity than her reputed fortune afforded her.

In the meantime, she had met with Rothschild’s clerk again and gained access to her income. She did not need much, but she was happy to be solvent, to pay her own expenses for new gowns and gifts for her friends who had been so good to her. From Friedlander, she did learn that the person who had attempted to impersonate her had not reappeared. Glad of that, she knew not how to investigate who that person might be. Without any clues, she had asked him to hire someone who might track the imposter. He had readily agreed and hired a Bow Street Runner. Zeph would be happy to have resolution on that.

In fact, she had a bigger problem to solve. She still had no idea how to find her friend Cosette Lenior. She hoped Cosette still had in her possession the book Zeph had entrusted to her care. She knew not whom to ask, where to go, what to seek. She could not ask Gus or Kane if they knew Monsieur Lenoir. He was disgraced, formerly a corrupt French banker, and not of their caliber.

“Drink, Zee.” Vic encouraged her to finish her tea—and end her daydreams. The child had strong ideas about her guests’ participation.

“I do apologize, Lady Victoria.” She grinned at the girl’s persistence.

“Vic.” The little girl poured more imaginary tea into her own cup.

Zeph drank.

Vic rattled on in childish gibberish about many matters.

Zeph offered that the weather was quite cold and forbidding, and they were unable to go outside to play.

Vic had much to say in that regard.

Zeph listened, nodding.

“How is your friend Dolly today?” Zeph asked with a careful eye to the pretty rag doll with the black yarn for hair and embroidered green eyes and pink lips.

“Mad.”

“Goodness! The same as yesterday? She looks recovered. But then, sometimes you cannot know what others are thinking.”