“No, but I’m surprised.”
“That I like a sandwich for breakfast? I found in the army that they’re an efficient form of food. If I was interrupted, I could put what was left in a pocket and have rations later.”
“That can’t have been good for your clothes.”
“I couldn’t always afford to be particular.”
Again, she was curious about his army career, but the current mood made personal questions impossible.
Two days,she reminded herself. It had been merely two days since their wedding, and they’d had only one night together. Alas... She watched as he poured himself more coffee and then added milk, admiring his long, strong fingers.
He put down the milk jug. “I’m in the same dilemma as before, Kitty.”
She pulled her wits together. “About what?”
“I don’t know you. I don’t know if you can be trusted. Not,” he said with a raised hand, “in the deepest sense, but might you let information slip? To a friend, for example.”
“My only close friend is Ruth.”
“You may meet old friends here. Male as well as female.”
“Ah.” She sipped more chocolate. She’d looked forward to meeting Moor Street friends, but he was thinking of military men. “I don’t think I’d carelessly let anything slip, but if it would create problems or danger, then it’s better not to tell me.”
“What an excellent woman you are.”
It was more statement of fact than high praise, but Kitty couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.”
He ate another bite of his sandwich, then said, “What I’m doing isn’t life-and-death, but you have no need to know, except that I’m going to be very much engaged.”
“I’d enjoy your company, but you needn’t be concerned. London is very familiar to me.”
“But not, perhaps, fashionable London? Remember your changed station. I had a momentary awareness of that myself last night when I remembered that I’m not Mr. Braydon anymore but the sixth Viscount Dauntry, and thus took precedence over the Home Secretary.”
Kitty noted that tidbit of information. Nothing would slip out accidentally, so he was letting her know that he’d come to Town at the request of the Home Secretary. Lord Sidmouth was the man principally responsible for the safety of the nation. That told her little, but it was more than nothing.
“When you go out,” he continued, “take Henry and Edward.”
“Go about with an entourage?”
“It’s appropriate, but Edward might prove useful.”
“As protection?” she asked, startled.
She’d surprised him in turn. “I don’t expect any unusual danger to you, Kitty, but London has dangers enough. In addition, Edward is familiar with this part of London, skilled at finding hackneys in the trickier locations, and can advise you—on the best shoemakers, for example, and furnishing warehouses.”
Kitty took a moment to appreciate his clever mind. Most men would have said something like “shoemakers and milliners,” assuming a woman would have no interest beyond clothes. He’d remembered that she had rooms to redecorate.
“That touches on a subject,” she said. “I have very little money to hand.”
A blink revealed surprise. “My apologies! Your pinmoney is theoretical at the moment, isn’t it? I’ll provide some money immediately and make proper arrangements. If you purchase anything for the house or estate, have the bill sent to me.”
Kitty buttered another piece of bread. “Which touches on a second subject. Have you any objection to my visiting the town house?”
“I’m sure it’s your duty to do so. There’s only a small staff, however, and everything’s under Holland covers.”
“We will want to use it at some time, and it must be ready. Which brings us to a third subject. How long are we likely to be here?”
“That I don’t know. At least a week. Are you uncomfortable? We could remove to a hotel.”
