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“Lady Beatrice Bentley is rumored to have the most beautiful gowns in all of London,” Dinah said with a sigh.
“And she’s bound to marry a dashing duke or a handsome earl this Season,” said Martha.
Ford set down his fork. “How in the world do you know all of this?”
“We read the society pages,” replied Dinah. “If you see Lady Beatrice you must tell us what she’s wearing. We want to know the color of her gown, the pattern of the cloth, how her hair is dressed, we want to knoweverything.”
“Men don’t notice details like that,” said Tiny.
Ford was fervently hoping not to see Lady Beatrice. He’d been seeing far too much of her in his memories. The copper of her hair, the glow in her eyes as she taught him new words.
“I’m due at the jeweler’s at nine,” said Tiny.
Ford rose with the rest of the group. “Thank you for breakfast, Mrs. Meade.”
“Don’t forget the details,” said Dinah.
Ford and Tiny left the house and headed toward Covent Garden.
“If you stay at my sister’s house much longer, she’ll have you married to one of my nieces,” Tiny remarked.
“Your nieces are safe from me.”
“Martha’s taken a shine to you. She’ll be heartbroken when you leave.”
“What about you? You’re actually going to go through with it and tie the noose around your neck?”
Tiny ducked his head. He was so large that passersby stared at him. “Reckon Eliza’s the girl for me.”
“She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Love makes fools of us all.”
His parents had married for love and paid a high price. His mother had been disinherited by her wealthy father for choosing a mere carpenter when her father had wanted her to marry into the aristocracy and increase their social standing.
London never felt welcoming to Ford. This was his estranged grandfather’s city—a cold and pitiless place where gold was king and thousands of unfortunates were left to rot in the poorhouses, workhouses, and rookeries.
“I hope you have the chance to talk to the duke before you leave London.” Tiny frowned. “Never did like Gibbons, that close-fisted windbag. What if the duke doesn’t return before you leave, then what will you do?”
“Then I’m in a bad spot. If the embezzlement comes to light, I know Gibbons will try to pin it on my father—or on me. I must warn the duke about him in person, or find another trustworthy method to warn him before he leaves London for Thornhill.”
“I wouldn’t want to visit the duke’s townhouse without an invitation.”
“Dukes don’t intimidate me. A title doesn’t make them any better than you or me. Noble blood is only a lie passed from generation to generation, a way of keeping all of the power in the hands of the few.”
“Well, Thorndon’s not a bad sort, as far as dukes go. I think he truly cares about the fortunes of his crofters.”
They walked through Covent Garden—the bustling heart of London, teeming with taverns, theaters, brothels, and coffee houses. Tiny stopped outside a jeweler’s shop. “This is me.”
“There’s still time to reconsider,” Ford said jokingly.
“And you still have time to find yourself an Eliza.”
“Small chance of that when I’m always at sea.”
“Good luck at Thorndon’s.” Tiny had to duck to enter the shop doorway. He was soon swallowed by glittering displays of nuptial shackles, taken in hand by a gatekeeper of hell disguised as a jolly salesman.
