Regency Society. Ann Lethbridge

not so crowded. He heard a single walker on the other side of the street from him, and remembered that he would have to be cautious of footpads and cutpurses. Though the areas he travelled were good ones, not all that ventured out after dark could be trusted.

      He tapped ahead of him with his stick, to make sure there were no obstacles, and set out at a pace that was slower than normal, but still little different from a stroll. He almost stumbled, as the pavement gave way in another kerb. But then he caught himself and stood, looking both ways for changes in the shadows that obscured his sight, and listening for the sound of horses’ hooves and the rattle of carts or carriages.

      When he was sure there was nothing, he made sure his course was straight, stepped forwards, and made an uneventful crossing, gaining the opposite side. He proceeded for a little while longer in the same fashion, before everything began to go wrong.

      He could hear the increase of traffic around him as the way became busier. While most passers-by gave him a safe space to walk in, he was occasionally jostled and forced to adjust his pace to those around him. The changes in speed made it harder to keep a straight course, and the corner seemed to come much sooner than he expected. Had he passed two or three streets?

      Suddenly, he felt a hand, light as a moth’s touch, on the pocket that held his purse.

      He caught the tiny wrist easily in the fingers of his left hand. ‘Here, you. What are you about?’

      ‘Please, sir. I didn’t mean nothing.’ A child. A girl? No. A boy. He was sure of it; though the wrist he held was bony, it did not feel delicate, and the sleeve that it jutted from was rough wool.

      ‘You just choose to walk with your hand in my pocket, then? No more of this nonsense, boy. You meant to have my purse. And now the Runners shall have you.’

      ‘Please, sir …’ there was the loud, wet sniff of a child who was near tears and with a perpetual cold ‘… I didn’t mean any harm. And I was hungry.’

      ‘And I am blind, not stupid. And certainly not as insensate as you expected. I am much harder to sneak up upon, because I pay better attention to small things such as you.’ He gave a frustrated sigh to persuade the boy that he was serious in his intent, but not without sympathy. Then he said, ‘If you want to avoid the law, then you had best prove your worth. I am walking to St James’s Square. Do you know the way?’

      ‘Yes, sir. Of course.’

      ‘Then take my hand and lead me the rest of the distance. Keep a sharp eye out and steer me clear of any pickpockets. And I will know if you lead me wrong, so do not try it, or it will be off to the Runners with you.’ Then he pretended to soften. ‘But if you lead me right, there will be a shilling for you, and a nice dinner.’ And at the sound of another sniff, he added, ‘And a clean handkerchief.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      He felt a small hand creep into his, and a tug, as the boy turned him, and set off at a brisk pace in the other direction. After a while, he could tell that the boy was honest, for the sounds around him and the echoes off the buildings of the square changed to something more like he had expected.

      It annoyed him that, in his first outing, he had proved himself unable to find a house he had visited hundreds of times. Perhaps that meant that he was as helpless as he feared, a useless invalid that would only be a burden to his wife.

      Or perhaps it proved that he would manage as best he could, under the circumstances. In any case, it had been better than hiding in his bedroom. Even having accepted aid, he felt an unaccustomed sense of power.

      The boy read off the numbers to him as they passed, and then led him up to the door he specified. ‘Here we are, sir.’ The boy was hesitating as though afraid to lift the knocker.

      For a moment, Adrian hesitated as well, then mounted the step and fumbled and then grabbed the ring, giving a sharp rap against the wood. ‘Very good.’

      ‘Lord Folbroke?’ The butler’s greeting was unsure, for it had been a long time since he’d visited. And if the servants’ gossip here was as effective as it was in his own home, the whole household must be buzzing since the return of his wife and her brother.

      Adrian gave a nod of affirmation and held out his hat, hoping that the man could understand the nature of his difficulty by the vagueness of his gaze. ‘And an associate,’ he said, gesturing down to the boy with his other hand. ‘Could someone take this young man to the kitchen and feed him? And give him the shilling I have promised him.’ He glanced down in the general direction of the child and heard another sniff. ‘And wipe his nose.’

      Then he reached out, and found the boy’s shoulder, giving it a pat. ‘And you, lad. If you are interested in honest work, some might be found for you in my house.’ If he meant to walk the city in future, a guide would not go amiss. And he suspected a child of the streets should know them better than most.

      ‘Yes, sir,’ the boy answered.

      ‘Yes, my lord,’ Adrian corrected. ‘Now get some dinner into yourself and wait until I can figure what is to be done with you.’

      Then he turned back, looking down the entrance hall of his brother-in-law’s home and trying to remember what he could of the arrangement. The butler stood behind him, still awaiting an explanation. ‘Is my wife in residence?’ he asked. ‘I wish to speak with her.’

      He suspected the man had nodded, for there was no immediate answer, so he tipped his head and prompted, ‘I am sorry, I could not hear that.’

      The man cleared his throat. ‘Yes, my lord. If you would wait in the salon …’

      Adrian felt the touch on his arm, and shrugged it away. ‘If you would describe the way to me, I prefer to walk under my own power.’ The man gave him instructions, and Adrian reached out with his stick to tap the way into the sitting room.

      As he crossed the threshold, he heard a gasp from the left, on the other side of the hall. Higher than it should be. There were stairs, certainly. And a woman in soft slippers, running down them with short light steps.

      ‘Adrian.’ Her voice was breathless and girlish, as he had remembered it, as though she could not quite overcome the awe she felt, and her pace was that of his eager young bride.

      But now, before she reached him, she slowed herself so he would not think her too tractable, and changed her tone. ‘Adrian.’ In a few paces she had changed from the girl he’d left to the woman who had come to London for him. She was still angry with him. And pretending to be quite unimpressed with his arrival.

      ‘You notice I have come to you.’ He held his arms wide for her, hoping that she would step into them.

      ‘It is about time,’ she said. ‘According to David, you never visit him here any more, though it is not far, and the way is not unknown to your coachman. Not an onerous journey at all. Hardly worthy of comment.’

      He stepped a little closer to inhale her scent. Lemons. His mouth watered for her. ‘I did not request a coach. The night is clear, the breeze fresh. And so I walked.’

      He thought he heard a faint gasp of surprise.

      ‘I very nearly got lost along the way. But there was a boy in the street, trying to pick my pocket. And so I caught him, and forced him to help me.’

      Now he could imagine the little quirk of her mouth, as though she said the next stern words through half a smile. ‘That was very resourceful of you. There is no shame, you know, admitting that you need help from time to time. Nor should a minor setback on the journey keep you from taking it.’

      ‘Trying to teach me independence, are you?’

      ‘I think you do not need teaching in that. It is dependence that you fear.’

      ‘True enough.’ It had made him resist her for far too long. ‘It was wrong of you to lie to me, you know. I felt quite foolish, to think I had been seducing my own wife.’ And now he had wrong footed it, for that sounded like she was not worth the