man who engineered his own doom. Teresa blinked with astonished respectability. “Come after?” called the greengrocer’s wife, her voice full of outrage. “Run when they see you coming, more like. With your pinches and your filthy talk.”
“Shut your mouth, slattern,” replied Dilch reflexively. Then, at last seeming to take in the panorama of glares surrounding him, he hunched.
“He’s doing it again, Catherine,” cried his mother-in-law. “He’s going to shame us. I’ve had my fill and more of picking up and moving, just when we’re settled, because of this gormless idiot’s tricks. I told you not to marry him.” She grasped one of Dilch’s sleeves, looking as if she wished it was his ear.
Dilch sputtered defiance. “Now then, dearie,” he said to his wife. “You know that last move weren’t my fault.”
“The butcher chased you home with a cleaver because you insulted his wife!” The man’s mother-in-law jerked at his coat.
Mrs. Dilch hesitated.
“Put a hand up her skirt when she turned to fetch the round of beef you weren’t actually buying,” the older woman added.
Her daughter scowled. She grabbed Dilch’s free arm, and the two women began to drag him away. The older one’s scolding voice could be heard all the way to the corner of the street.
Teresa watched them go. If Dilch showed defiance or a hint of retribution, she would have to plan further action. But the bully didn’t look back. He cringed and whined and grew increasingly cowed. She was as sure as she could be that he wouldn’t be back to this street, though other London thoroughfares might not be so fortunate.
The pub owner caught her eye, nodded, and tapped the palm of his empty hand with his cudgel. Teresa nodded acknowledgment. Dilch was vanquished here. They’d done it.
Eliza popped up at her side. “That was prime, that was,” the young maid said. Her eyes shone with admiration.
Teresa wondered what had happened to make the girl savor vengeance this much. It was not the first time she’d noticed Eliza’s love of rough justice.
People came up to exchange congratulations. The old woman with the canes was crying as she balanced on one of them to squeeze Teresa’s hand. “Thankee, my lady,” she said. “You’ve made some fast friends today and no mistake. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, just say. Not that I’m up to much these days.” She indicated her canes.
Looking around, Teresa saw the same sentiment in the faces of most of her neighbors. These were not the sort of people she had encountered in her youth, except perhaps among her parents’ servants. And exchanges with them had not been the same. She would not have dreamed of joining with them to rout a petty oppressor. She hadn’t known or understood them as she did these neighbors, from living among them.
Through the hard years since her girlhood, she’d rarely had the opportunity to make real friends. And the few she’d found had been swept away by circumstance. But here in her new home she’d become part of a little community. Teresa blinked back tears as she realized how glad and grateful she was to be included.
It was some time before she tore herself away and went to change her dress before going on to the theater workshop. She looked forward to telling Tom about their triumph over the odious Dilch. He’d often wanted to stand up to the bully—or, as he put it, the churlish, swag-bellied moldwarp. She smiled. Tom’s expanding vocabulary entertained all the craftspeople in the shop.
Lord Macklin appreciated it, too, Teresa thought. He always smiled at Tom’s sallies. She’d noticed it more than once in their three conversations in the little courtyard.
Her steps slowed. She shouldn’t remember how often they’d spoken, or recall the earl’s words or expressions. She did not look forward to his appearance in the busy space. She mustn’t. She didn’t!
Teresa stopped walking. A muddled flood of memories overtook her, bringing a queasy feeling in her stomach. What was the lesson she’d learned over and over again? Was it really necessary to repeat it? Men could not be trusted. Particularly, most disastrously, aristocratic men whose position gave them the power to do as they liked. They could not resist using it.
She was not a stupid woman. She’d proved that. She was proud of all that she’d learned and accomplished, and she would do nothing to risk her position.
But others seemed to find love that could be trusted, a forlorn inner voice declared. That couldn’t be all illusion,