Chapter 4 Kitty #3
A crash occurred at the end of the street, followed by hollering and shouts. The dandy in the barouche had collided with a farm wagon previously loaded with produce, and matters were fast approaching fisticuffs.
“That could have been you,” the stranger warned when he handed the book to me, wrapped now in his voluminous handkerchief of silk.
I blinked. He wore his dark brown hair tied back in an unfashionable queue, and his sun-bronzed skin, uncommon in the streets of London, caught my eye. Sharp cheekbones and a crooked nose—as if it had been broken once—drew my gaze downward to a mouth that quirked at my perusal.
There was something almost . . . dangerous about him with that rakish lock of hair tumbling over his forehead, yet his hold had felt protective.
He smelled of spice and tobacco, and something I didn’t want to name. Trouble, most likely. His eyes, the color of a slate sky, met mine for the briefest moment before he glanced away as if he had overstepped all sense of propriety.
“I . . . Thank you,” I managed, still dazed from the near accident and his sudden presence. “I didn’t see—”
“It’s nothing,” he interrupted, his voice deep. His gaze flickered, and I thought I saw a hint of recognition as he studied my face, which surely was my overactive imagination. “Be careful, miss. Everyone seems to be in a hurry in London.”
I wanted to ask his name, but the words seemed stuck in my throat. He gave a polite nod, turned on his heel, and disappeared into the busy street, leaving me standing in the wake of his rescue. I watched him go, frowning in confusion as I pinned my book beneath my arm.
Before I could puzzle over it any further, Edward’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Kitty? Are you all right?”
I turned to see him beside me, followed by Lord Chudley and Mr. Statton. Lord Chudley reached my side, his hand outstretched.
“You narrowly missed that carriage! I saw the driver swerve at the last minute, colliding with a wagon, and if that man hadn’t pulled you out of harm’s way, you would have been crushed,” my brother exclaimed.
I nodded, my heart still hammering in my throat.
“Who was that?” Edward asked, though his gaze shifted warily between me and the men beside me.
“I don’t know,” I answered, still shaken. “He left before I could ask for an introduction.”
Lord Chudley stepped forward, scanning the bustle of the street. “How mysterious. I am grateful he chose to be a hero before any of us could move. And he even left behind his handkerchief. If only I had been quicker to offer assistance.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “You are truly fine?”
“I am quite well. Although my book fared not so well.”
Lord Chudley’s grin widened. “No smelling salts for you. Quite spirited, Miss Grenville. Regardless, might I call sometime this week to inquire after your well-being?”
I managed to stammer out something acceptable just as an exasperated huff came from his sister, who pulled on his arm as if to lead him away.
Edward, however, offered no reassurances to the gentlemen.
The fabric clutched in my hand was made of fine linen but with no embroidery to give away its owner’s identity. I stole one last glance toward the spot where the stranger had vanished into the crowd.
“I’m going to have to keep an eye on you,” Edward grumbled. “Lord Chudley called me back to mention a ball at his home. I do believe you will receive an invitation. You’ve made quite an impression on the man.”
I grinned up at him, my heart still racing.
“Do you have an issue with Lord Chudley?” I demanded suddenly.
“What? Eh . . .” He halted mid-step. “No . . . yes.” He then shoved a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated, Kit. I know him from our school days. He’s useful for introductions at the club, but he’s not always a gentleman. Trust me, I’ve seen enough of him at White’s.”
“So you are willing to keep his acquaintance but not encourage him to make mine.”
He huffed a laugh. “You deserve only the best.”
I swatted his arm. “Then help me with this dratted Sinclair.”
My brother scowled. “Kit, you can only save yourself in this awful world. You cannot rely on others to do it for you. Do you hear me? Rely only on yourself and tell Grandfather no. I do it every day just to provoke the old man. I can’t tell you how satisfying it is.”
I dared not inform Edward that he sounded very much like Grandfather at the moment. Rely only on yourself.
“People cannot be trusted,” he added for good measure.
“It would be a shame if we let the ugliness of the world taint us so much that we could no longer value the beauty in front of us. There is some good left in others,” I protested as he started to walk again, and at a greater pace, forcing me to hurry after him. “What about our Freddy?”
The barest tremor rippled across his shoulders. “She is the exception.”
We crossed onto the next street toward the milliner’s, the noise of the city swelling around us.
Only as the shop door closed behind us and Aunt Clarice’s voice rang out in greeting did I remember—rather inconveniently—that I had forgotten to post my letters to Miss Tippens and the palace at Hyderabad.