man like Severin Knight. I won’t deny that his austerity is its own brand of charm. But beneath that, I suspect he’s quite coldblooded.”
“’E wants nothing to do with love,” Fancy agreed unthinkingly.
Bea’s brows shot ceilingward. “The two of you have discussed the topic?”
“In passing.” Cheeks warm, she confided, “I think someone ’urt ’im in the past, and that’s why ’e’s afraid o’ love now.”
“Dash it, this is precisely why you must be careful around him. You’re already making excuses for the fellow, bleeding over his ‘wounded’ heart.” Bea shook her head. “Have you considered that perhaps he simply doesn’t have one?”
Fancy thought of Knighton’s boyish trick with Bertrand, how he’d saved her from falling into the river and given her his jacket. She recalled the pain in his eyes when he’d said that love was a risk. And his stark look when he’d talked about not knowing how to manage his siblings and how…alone he’d seemed.
“’E does ’ave a heart,” she said with certainty. “’E’s shown me courtesy time and again during ’is visit. And ’e stayed to search for me when ’e could’ve left.”
Bea pulled a breath through her nose. “A fact for which I will remain forever grateful. But that doesn’t mean I trust him with your well-being. I’ve discussed the matter with Wick, however, and he thinks it would be better for us to have Knighton’s protection for the trip to London.”
Yesterday, Bea had informed Fancy of the plan to go to London for shelter. There, they would also follow up on clues about the attacker that Bea and Mr. Murray had found. Fancy felt twin twinges of anticipation and anxiety: despite all her travels, London was one place she’d never been. Da refused to take the family there, saying that the city was too dangerous and no place for a Sheridan.
Yet in two days’ time, escorted by Mr. Murray and Knighton, Fancy and her family would be departing with Bea for that mysterious metropolis shrouded in fog. She could not shake the feeling that an adventure was about to begin.
“Despite their bad blood, Wick claims that Knighton is a man of honor,” Bea continued.
“What ’appened between them?” Fancy asked curiously.
“Wick hasn’t been forthcoming about it…other than to say that Knighton was the loser. Men.” Bea rolled her eyes. “When it comes to competition, they behave like children.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Having grown up with brothers, Fancy knew this for a fact. “Did Mr. Murray tell you anything else about the duke?”
“He said that Knighton came from the stews and has a rags-to-riches story. Prior to inheriting an actual duchy—Wick hasn’t the faintest how Knighton pulled that one off—Knighton was already known as one of the ‘dukes’ of the London underclass because of his success in Spitalfields. He owns multiple fabric manufactories. His particular moniker is the ‘Duke of Silk,’ due to his trade, obviously, but also his smoothness of manner. Wick says Knighton is known for his stoicism, refinement, and for keeping his cards close.”
Fancy absorbed the information. She’d sensed that beneath Severin Knight’s noble bearing was a ruthless strength of will. Although breathtakingly elegant, he’d never seemed like a man born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Knowing that he’d built his empire by the sweat of his own brow fueled her admiration of him.
“That explains a lot,” she murmured.
“Knowing all that, will you promise to be careful around Knighton?” Bea pressed.
Hesitating, she said, “I promise.”
In truth, she doubted she needed to be careful. Bea, being a loyal friend, was overestimating Fancy’s effect on Knighton. Why would a duke be interested in a tinker’s daughter who argued with donkeys and fought losing battles with fish?
If Knighton showed concern for her, it was because of his nature. He might have been hurt by love in the past, but he still had a noble heart. That was why he had stayed to rescue her and volunteered to provide escort to London.
“That puts my mind at ease, dear,” Bea said.
“I ain’t the only one we ’ave to worry about.” It was Fancy’s turn to reach out, to take her friend’s hand. “’Ow are things with Mr. Murray?”
Bea looked nonplussed. “They’re rather, well…”
“Spit it out.”
“Splendid.” Bea’s features pinkened. “Wick is everything I never thought to find.”
“I’m glad,” Fancy said warmly.
“Things are far from settled between us. We still have to apprehend the villain behind the attacks.” Bea’s brow pleated. “And iron out the issue of the railway and my land.”