“It’s tomorrow evening, and I shan’t be remotely offended if you cannot come, but I shall send you cards.”
“For Griz also?” Annabelle said.
“Of course,” he said without hesitation.
They left the house together and turned as one toward Park Lane.
“Will you come?” he asked abruptly.
“If I can escape.”
“I thought attending with your friends would make it easier,” he murmured.
She glanced at him, startled. Had he really asked Annabelle and Timothy just so that she could be there with propriety? A flush of pleasure surged up from her toes.
“I met your sister Lady Trench earlier,” he said casually. “She invited me in to annoy Lady Monkton. Or so she said.”
“Did she flirt with you instead?” Griz asked as lightly as she could.
“Quite the opposite. I think she was telling me off. Or at least examining me to be sure I was not a danger to you.”
“She still thinks I am fourteen,” Griz said irritably. “I apologize if she was rude or prying.”
“There is no need.”
“Hmm.” She glanced at him sideways, dragging her feet as they approached Kelburn House. “What else did she say?”
“That someone broke your heart.”
Griz laughed. “I wonder who she imagines did that?”
“Then it isn’t true?”
“I was very fond of the stable boy at Kelburn when I was twelve.”
His dark, deep gaze lingered a moment too long. His lips quirked. “Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening.”
Because her heart was whole? Was he really connecting the two? The implications disturbed her, excited her. She didn’t know whether or not she was glad he was already tipping his hat and striding off.
Only as she walked up the steps did she remember that she was the daughter of a wealthy duke with a generous allowance. Her presence tomorrow night would be good for the cause. The rest was just…conversation.
***
Her invitation from the “Society for Hungarian Refugees” arrived with the mid-morning post, just before she set out for her charitable work at the soup kitchen. She stuffed it in her pocket, hoping Annabelle would not back out. She wondered if she had the nerve to go alone, for she was curious to meet his friends and fellow refugees.
But that was for later.
Now, she donned her old cloak and bonnet, and on impulse, summoned Nick, still present in the kitchen. If he had his eyes on the silver, he was clearly biding his time.
He came leaping across the hall, his gaze darting around. “Are we not taking Vicky?”
“Not today. I wanted your help somewhere else.”
“Where?” he asked, bowing her elaborately through the door. The footman’s lips twitched, and then his face straightened immediately as he caught Grizelda’s gaze. She nodded pleasantly and sailed through to the street where the hired hackney awaited them.
“A soup kitchen in St. Giles,” she informed Nick. “I help people there, thought you might like to, also.”
“What do you do that for?” he asked, clearly amazed as he clambered into the carriage after her. He waved his hand toward the house. “You got all this!”
“Exactly. When one has all this and time, it seems only right to give at least something to those who have nothing.”
“Yes?” He was still astounded by the idea, mulling it over until he said abruptly, “Like me?”
“Perhaps,” she said lightly.
After a few moments’ mulling, he began to chatter away, telling her funny stories about happenings below stairs, scattered with bits and pieces about his life on the streets. Once or twice, he broke off on someone’s name—Art’s, she suspected—and veered off in another direction, making observations about people and buildings and horses passed on the way.
She gave him money to pay the driver, which clearly made him feel very grown-up, and then took him inside to meet Mr. Wells and the other helpers. They greeted him kindly, although there were one or two suspicious looks in his direction.
“Where did he come from?” asked Mrs. Verney, a banker’s wife, as they tied on their aprons.
“He’s a homeless waif who came to our aid one day,” Griz replied, deliberately vague. It seemed best not to mention he’d also tried to lead them to their deaths.
“You mean you have him in your house?”
Fortunately, they were distracted by the entry of their hungry clients and had to turn their attention to cooking and serving.
Nick, who seemed to have suddenly realized that in this place he was closer to Grizelda’s position than the homeless poor surrounding him, ran happily about with plates and spoons and cups, washed dishes, and swept