Page 77 of Dick Stone, Regency Stud
“I hate her already, your wife,” said Tabby, brushing her jacket and clearly preparing to take off on this addlepated adventure to equality.
“As do I,” said Edward, helping her put her oversized clothes to rights.
“I could have escaped your hold, you know,” she said.
“I know. You didn’t want to.”
She ambled onto the main street, looking both ways as if to determine her next move. As if she hadn’t mentally catalogued the entire map in her head and plotted her next step long ago.
“Why don’t you just return to your old profession?” called Edward.
She turned back, with a small smile on her face. He meant pick-pocketing.
“I’ve lost my touch. You ruined me for it.”
She made to go.
“Tabby,” he called. “You know where I am if you need me.”
She nodded and went off into the gray London afternoon.
Edward let her have a head start, then walked to the main street himself. He looked about, hoping she had stayed within sight. Waiting to go home. She wasn’t.
He walked back to Mrs. Chaffinch’s boarding house, feeling lighter and less pained despite this encounter coming to naught.
Around the midpoint of his walk, he realized his coat wasn’t lying right. In his pocket, he found Tabby’s flask. She’d returned it to him after his own attempted sleight of hand.
Damn her, he thought, laughing.
Chapter 6
Edward was exiting hiscobbler’s shop when Lady Millicent Blatherwick tapped him on the arm with her pointy umbrella.
“Halloo!” she yelled in spite of being almost on top of him.
“Lady Millicent, what a pleasure,” he said, his eyes darting about for something — anything — that might give him an escape from this sidewalk encounter.
She regarded him through her lorgnette. “You look terrible, Lord Netherwallop. Just terrible.”
“Well, I should be off to the physician to remedy that. Thank you for alerting me,” he said with a bow.
“Not so fast, you scoundrel!” she cried.
Edward cursed his good breeding and remained before the termagant.
“I saw your girl.”
“Young woman.”
“So you admit she is your girl,” said Lady Millicent, drawing nearer to interrogate him, as if he’d been caught lining the basement of Parliament with dynamite.
“My friend and associate, most certainly.”
“Future marquesses don’t have girls as friends,” she said sternly.
“We’re working on that problem,” he muttered.
“I saw her, you know,” said Lady Millicent. “She has a most disreputable air about her! Those breeches are scandalous!”
