A Most Unconventional Match. Julia Justiss

to the return of his principal and could bring a motion against Mrs Lowery.’

      ‘Won’t come to that,’ Hal assured him. ‘Worked out repayment. Thanks for help.’

      ‘Always a pleasure to contribute to the education of a gentlemen like Mr Smith,’ Mason said before heading off.

      His hand throbbed and Jeffers would likely go into apoplexy when he saw the bloodstained coat, but otherwise Hal felt clear-headed and confident. Normally he avoided violence; as a small boy set upon by bullies when he first came to school, he had a sharp dislike for larger, stronger individuals who attacked the smaller and weaker.

      ’Twas Nicky who’d come to his defence all those years ago, Hal recalled, thereby earning Hal’s immediate gratitude and respect. ’Twas Nicky as well who’d taught Hal the rudiments of self-defence and looked after him until Hal found his feet, earning him his eternal devotion and friendship.

      Conscious of his potential to injure opponents who lacked his size and strength, when he grew older Hal abandoned pugilism for the intricacies of the foil, where the need for quickness and dexterity neutralised his advantages of height and reach. Only once before had he deliberately set out to pound a man unconscious—when Nicky’s Sarah had been pursued by a baronet of vicious reputation who’d tried to hurt her.

      In that case, as in this, the punishment he’d allotted had been well deserved, though today he’d needed Mason’s kind assistance. Without reinforcements at his back, the confrontation at the tavern might have ended differently.

      It helped to have friends in low places, he thought with a grin. If Mama considered his colleagues on the Stock Exchange vulgar, she would have fainted dead away had she seen his confederates this afternoon.

      Hal had almost reached the respectable part of Covent Garden when the sound of jeering caught his ear. Down an alleyway, he spied several boys laughing as they pelted rocks toward something hidden behind a stack of rubbish.

      Immediately transported back twenty years, Hal turned and charged down the alleyway at them, roaring. Within seconds the startled boys scattered.

      Hal halted by the pile of rubbish, but instead of the skinny child he expected to find, a thin, mangy dog cowered under the shreds of some old playbills. Just a puppy, he quickly ascertained, mayhap the runt of some litter.

      An intelligent animal, it appeared, for though Hal was almost three times the size of its erstwhile attackers, sensing a rescuer, the little dog immediately limped over to him. Whining and wagging its skimpy brush of a tail, the dog tried to wind itself around his ankles.

      ‘Down!’ Hal commanded before the animal could jump up and plant its filthy paws on his knee. Recognising the voice of authority, the mutt flattened himself on to the alleyway beside Hal, his tail still wagging.

      With a sigh of exasperation, Hal looked down at the muddy prints already marring the shine of his boots. Probably Jeffers would find claw marks gouged in the leather as well. As he gazed down at his footgear, dark canine eyes gazed back up at him hopefully.

      What did the silly dog expect him to do? Hal wondered. Though he’d scared off the animal’s attackers, there would be nothing to prevent them from tormenting the animal again later. In the fading light he could see several cuts on the dog’s ears and face where the rocks had nicked him.

      If the animal escaped these assailants, he’d likely only encounter others. Or starve.

      Hell, Hal thought, sighing again. His coat was probably ruined already and as for his breeches, he could always fall back on the Wellington pantaloons Mama had sent him. Kneeling down, Hal picked up the little dog and cradled him against his coat. Yipping excitedly, the animal tried to crawl up and lick his chin.

      ‘Still!’ Hal commanded, holding the dog motionless. With a canine sigh, the dog settled against his chest, that pathetic tail still wagging against Hal’s arm.

      What would he do with this little dog? Hal wondered. Even washed up and with a bit more meat on his bones, the animal would never win any prizes for beauty. He supposed he could have the dog sent down to his country estate.

      But as he reached the hackney stand, another thought occurred and he smiled. Homely or not, once the animal had been fed and groomed, Hal wagered he knew someone who would be thrilled to welcome the little dog as his new best friend.

      Chapter Six

      Late the next morning in her studio, with a welcome feeling of accomplishment, Elizabeth put down her brushes and took off her apron. Glancing in the little mirror over her workbench as she tidied her hair, she smiled at her reflection, more cheerful than she’d felt since the awful evening of Everitt’s demise.

      Perhaps it was knowing she need not fear a return call by Mr Smith or the reassurance of having turned her financial matters over to hands much more competent than her own, but, whatever the reason, Mr Waterman’s visit had energised her. She’d spent a delightful evening with David, reading to him, playing with his soldiers, even teasing him into laughter. As she tucked him in that night, they’d hugged each other tightly and, despite shedding a few tears, for the first time since Everitt’s death she’d felt with deep certainty that somehow they were going to be all right.

      Then, when she’d checked on Miss Lowery this morning, she’d found the older woman sitting in a chair. After a month during which her husband’s cousin had scarcely left her bed, her continuing weakness and lethargy such a contrast to her normal cheerful energy that Elizabeth had begun to fear she might lose dear Amelia, too, she’d been thankful almost to tears at that lady’s improvement. They’d shared a cup of chocolate, after which she’d had to command Miss Lowery most insistently to remain in her room and make no attempt to resume her household duties until the doctor certified she was fully recovered.

      And now she’d just finished the most productive painting session she’d had in months. Inspired by the loveliness of the sunlight playing on and through the mist—or more often, London’s frequent fog and smoke—over the London rooftops, she’d begun a study of a city scene of the adjacent houses. For the first time, she felt she’d captured the grey mist’s airy, swirling character.

      Perhaps, after nuncheon, she might even take David for a walk to the park.

      She was about to exit when a knock sounded and Sands bowed himself in. ‘Sir Gregory Holburn to see you, ma’am. Shall I bring some refreshment to the south parlour?’

      ‘Sir Gregory?’ she echoed, surprised. ‘Y-yes, I suppose. Tell him I shall join him in a few minutes.’

      Although Everitt and the baronet had been close friends, she hadn’t expected him to call again so soon, she thought, frowning. Recalling Mr Smith’s disturbing visit and what she’d learned yesterday about Mr Scarbridge’s incompetence, apprehension tightened in her gut. Had Sir Gregory come to warn her of some new disaster?

      Anxiety quickening her steps, she decided to dispense with changing her old, worn painting gown for a more suitable dress and went instead directly to the south parlour.

      Sir Gregory rose as she entered and came over to kiss her hand. ‘Dear Lizbet, how lovely you look.’

      Despite her anxiety, Elizabeth had to stifle a smile, for the pained expression on the meticulous Sir Gregory’s face as he cast a glance at her frayed and rather shapeless gown was anything but admiring. She probably should have changed her dress.

      Meanwhile the baronet escorted her to the sofa and seated himself beside her. ‘I didn’t mean to inconvenience you, but my schedule today being so full, I took the one chance I had to call. I heard some news at my club last night that, I must admit, rather distressed me.’

      Elizabeth’s amusement evaporated in an instant. ‘What news?’ she asked, her anxiety reviving.

      ‘Perhaps ’tis only a hum, for I cannot picture you and that great oaf in the same room, but I heard that Hal Waterman had called, offering to look into Everitt’s financial affairs.’

      ‘Yes.