still not a normal sight to see respectable women on the street alone, and while many of these men may know herself and Liddy, they were expected to keep with Goodwyn’s escort whenever possible.

Indeed, on the docks and at the warehouses, the clerks and captains were familiar with the girls from a young age Louis Duvall had from the time of his unexpected widowhood, taken turns bringing one of the girl’s with him, leaving the other with Mrs. Derry, the housekeeper. They had each been educated whilst traveling and observing their father at his business. Then whilst at one of the homes he owned or rented, being trained in domestic duties, as well as ladylike arts. Especially on the insistence of their aunt Tabatha, who was part of society and wed to Sir Jasper Bryson.

An unusual upbringing to be sure. But Louis could bury himself in business and travel and would have seen very little of his daughters had he not brought them along at times. His girls made him laugh, relax, and forget business on occasion, which was something their mother Melissa had been able to do. Melissa VanHuss had been the daughter of a Merchant. She understood both the realities of being diligent in trade and taking time to enjoy an opportunity when travel permitted.

Since the war with France had ended, Madeline and Liddy had taken every opportunity to drag their father off, when away from England’s shores, to enjoy sights and sounds of the locals, and though he grumbled, he was secretly glad for it, they knew.

Their Mama’s sister was a great gun. Aunt Tabatha was a woman of cheerful countenance, rotund figure and good sense. She and her husband often hosted Louis or the gel’s at their townhouse or country estate. But since she had wed into society, no matter that it was not the highest echelons, she understood from both herself and Melissa’s upbringing that Merchants moved in circles very similar to the titled. The females trained as hosts and prepared for wife and motherhood as well as the many unique duties that came with being in a merchant family.

Also, it was not unnoticed by wealthy merchants that daughters and sons were accepted into the best schools and academies and invited to ton functions. Impoverished titles were in need of blunt. It became quite common for the classes to marry, albeit the snobbery very much existed whenever a cit was introduced into the old and established families. Merchants had their versions of debutante balls, though it was of greater import to introduce one’s daughter into London society where the guest list included the aristocracy.

The merchants, captains, and businessmen had mansions that rivaled and sometimes overshadowed old money. To Tabatha’s mind, Melissa would have wanted her girls to be as comfortable at a Duke’s table as they were at the assembly halls in the ever-growing Industrial cities where businessmen set up grand residences.

It went without saying that many of Louis’s cronies were not so sophisticated, intelligent, or classed as himself, having obtained their wealth in this generation. Their wives and offspring could be both coarse and boorish, in some cases naively ignorant. Men of all classes still balked at educating their females. Some did not do more than spoil their sons either, by throwing riches at them.

It was this fringe of the newly wealthy that often skewed the opinions of high society, but that was not the norm. Many generations of merchants were greater educated, traveled, and stronger in ethics than the aristocracy. They had their clubs, mansions, and in many cases were the prop that kept many old and respected titles able to live with the dignity and style as before.

To Tabatha and to Louis there were expectations in all classes of society, and hypocrisy existed everywhere. It was to anyone’s advantage to have confidence and know the vices as well as the virtues, both male and female.

Madeline was not far from the Royal exchange. London’s business district was one of the most crowded. She had spent the morning in two dusty, humid, offices, attempting to settle some business her father needed completed. His age and health had taken a turn this past winter. He intended to remain in London the next few months whilst his physician attended him, and whilst Liddy coddled and scolded him.

Madeline deduced that he was greatly concerned for their future, and that his affairs were in order, in the event he did not recover. Louis had been going at such a fast pace, that he scarcely seemed to notice his age, or theirs, until ill health slowed him down.

Muttering, Madeline walked a bit hoping to find an available hack sitting by the curb, awaiting the many lords and businessmen who would be seeking conveyance. It was nearly the lunch hour.

She was just about to step down off the street, when a lacquered and crested coach rumbled by. She froze, completely unable to think or breathe. And while she took a step back, she had no time to turn and lose herself in the crowd when the Earl of Fairbane’s driver paused right there—right at the spot where the occupant was in arm’s length of her.

A group of laughing, talking gents had stopped in the middle of the streets. Whistles, shouts, a few curses and mutters filled the air in an effort to unclog the congestion. However, this too was a ritual, largely ignored and more often than not, someone would turn and notice and before long, join in the conversation, or laugh and call out some amusing remark. Bucks passing by were agitating things further by calling out wagers and trying to prod some fellow on a high perched phaeton to squeeze through the melee.

Madeline heard none of it as she mentally groaned and watched the curtain pull back, so that Dorian Engstrom, Lord Fairbane could poke his head out and see what had caused the halt to his progress.

Her stomach tightened viewing that wavy black hair, blue black with only a hint of silver threads. His aquiline profile tensing her further. She wanted to look away but could not pull her eyes from that bronze visage.

His nose was arrogantly flared in agitation that she well remembered seeing on him, brooding brows were the same, lashes thick and long, that mouth, still sensual yet the lines at the sides had deepened. His face overall was harder and more sinewy than the last time she had seen him.

Still there was a harsh beauty to his darkness, an encompassing dangerous edge that emanated from him.

Madeline did not have to see his eyes to remember their deep ebon hue. They were devastating eyes, haunting yet hard, and when he did sit back, settling his broad shoulders and lighting a cheroot; he glanced over blowing a stream of smoke from those flared nostrils, looking to the street as if sensing someone. And her own of anxious gray/blue stare tried to mask anything that might show.

She felt that same sensation, the stomach dropping and light-headedness that came the first time he had looked at her.

“Madeline…” He seemed to still and blink, and it was as if his mouth formed her name but she heard the deep rasp of his tone whether in voice or in her head.

It served to jerk her out of the shock. Madeline swallowed, turning and crashing into a couple, muttering an apology before hastening away, weaving in and out the crowd. She knocked a newspaper from some toff’s arm, bungled her jacket in the umbrella hook of some gouty duke, and her right knee smacked into the sturdy briefcase a passing solicitor carried.

Hurry…hurry…hurry…Her heartbeats thundered in her ears.

“Madeline!’ She heard it this time, his shout, and a curse.

But she spotted the brown suit and hat, the familiar figure of Goodwyn standing on a low wall of planters, near a law office, looking worried and vexed.

“I am here,” she called out, seeing the sun glint on his lenses as he looked down.

“Thank goodness.” The wiry Goodwyn jumped off his perch and hurried to her. “I was getting worried.”

They reached each other and he took her burdens, offering his elbow for her hand and saying, “What a day. I do believe every soul in London is on the streets. I’ve secured us a hack, just across the street.”

Madeline allowed him to lead her, but peeked back over her shoulder just before stepping off. Mr. Goodwyn always walked fast, which suited her fine, as she was tempted to run. She realized the tall dark man was trying to make it through the crowds.

Dorian was head and shoulders above most, and even without his caped coat, he was broad of shoulder. But it was near impossible to find a clear path to her, and since she had no wish for him to reach her, Madeline turned after seeing that he was standing still while a stream of men blocked his way. Their eyes met again for a brief but long-enough second, Madeline wanting him to realize she had seen him and did not wish to encourage an encounter, then she hastened on with Mr. Goodwyn, breathing her first shaky sigh when they were in the hack.

Though he sifted through the papers, questioning, talking, and they spoke of business on the way to the offices, she stared out the window; her kid glove‘d hand gripping the door edge to settle her reeling senses. Madeline tried to tamp down the memories that poured into her head, sounds, smells, emotions that had nothing to do with the Madeline Duvall most people knew, and everything to do with the woman she became after meeting Lord Fairbane.

She wanted to return to their townhouse, to her cool chambers and to the understanding arms of dear Liddy, who was the only one she trusted and confided her secrets to. But there was more business to see to, and a supper with Mr. Goodwyn’s wife and family, at their lovely home. She’d accepted last week and his older daughters and son were her good friends. Ordinarily real life, that life, would excite her, for the chance of a relaxing meal with laughter and pure fun as the clan were a lively and amusing bunch—normally, it would balance out the business and fill her thoughts.

But there was another sort of excitement, a mixture of chaotic feelings trying to overtake her mind and body. And when Goodwyn fell silent, losing himself in reading the Times. She sat back, slumped and raised her gloved fingers to rest against her lips. Unbidden the memory flooded, so that the eyes that looked outward saw only those memories in her mind.