Sebastian grinned. So she was out performing good deeds. “Well, you should tuck it away where it will be safe. Don’t mind me. I am just here to protect the angel.” On second thought, he could do his own good deed. He pulled out a pound note and gave it to the man. “You both could benefit from a good meal and a place to sleep.”
The man took it reluctantly at first, then shoved it into his pocket. “God’s blessings, sir.”
Five
Someone had recognized Helena last night. It seemed impossible anyone would know her identity, much less see her in the dark, and yet it had happened. Someone had called her name in time to save her from being accosted. Her attacker had been a menacing shadow pouncing when she’d spun around and reacted. Fergus’s training had saved her skin, but now she faced a new danger.
Someone had followed her to Whitechapel.
Despite the grittiness of her eyes, her body refused to stay abed. She rushed through her toilette without bothering Ismay and made her way down the corridor. Her movements were graceful and controlled as she descended the staircase. The morning newssheet was folded neatly on the heavy walnut table just inside the entry where it always awaited her, along with copies of The Informer, The London Observer, A Lady’s Companion, and The Talebearer. Her heart slammed against her breastbone as she forced herself not to run.
Picking up the stack of gossip sheets Fergus had purchased that morning and tucking them under her arm, she glided toward the breakfast room as if it were any other day. If there was mention of her encounter last night, she didn’t know what she would do.
Once she was seated at the small, round table, she muttered a desperate prayer. Please don’t let me see my name. Please don’t let me see my name. When she couldn’t ignore the distasteful task any longer, she slowly opened The Informer and scanned the columns for mention of Lady P. and late-night excursions to the rookeries. Her pulse raced as she dragged her finger over the words, but each inch she covered without seeing anything remotely connected to her eased the tightness in her chest. She quickly opened the next paper. And the next. After reading all four, she melted against the seatback.
There was nothing. Not a hint of her late-night activities. She released a pent-up breath and chuckled, relieved. She couldn’t believe her luck.
In a better frame of mind, she paid closer attention to the victims who hadn’t been so lucky to escape having their reputations sullied. The second to the last tidbit caught her eye.
Lord Thorne was seen leaving the theatre in a rush after an encounter with a certain paragon of Society last night. Could it be the lady gave the baron the proper set-down he richly deserved for making her daughter so unhappy that she had no choice but to run away?
Helena closed the paper with a disgusted huff. Really, couldn’t Lord Thorne make an appearance anywhere without exciting the gossips? And how terrible to imply the Dowager Duchess of Foxhaven had been anything less than kind to the baron or to remind everyone his betrothed had eloped with another man.
Hardly a day passed without hearing some salacious tidbit about Lord Thorne. She considered the sources and frowned. Perhaps he was partly responsible, although he was clearly the wronged party.
No matter what was said about his mental status or reputation, everyone agreed he was a handsome devil. Several women had gone so far as to imply they would welcome his company any time or place, but Lord Thorne was not accommodating. He ignored the assemblies and thwarted any chances these ladies might have to lure him to their beds. Helena suspected this was the source of their ire and the reason there was often venom behind their words. Feeling slighted, they took pleasure in uncovering his flaws and pointing them out to everyone. Helena supposed it was human nature to disparage what one couldn’t have, but it was still very nasty business, indeed.
Fergus entered the breakfast room, holding out his hand as he approached. The gold watch glinted in the sunlight when he passed the window. “Robert found this in the carriage.”
Helena took the piece with a frown. The hinge had been knocked askew and she was barely able to pry it open. The face of the watch had a crack across it. She turned it over, looking for a marking, but didn’t see one. “It must have fallen from Lord Thorne’s pocket the other night.” She closed it as best as she could. “Would you mind too much taking it to the watchmaker? Once it has been repaired, it can be returned to him anonymously.”