Philip winced. “You still know the best place to strike, Masterson. No wonder you were so good at fencing. But you’re right. In the last six months I’ve spent so much time running in circles and feeling incompetent that I’ve half forgotten why life is worth living. I’d be delighted to join you for dinner. Seven o’clock in your rooms, Jamie?”
After the time was confirmed, he touched his hat in farewell and swiftly climbed the last steps into the Rochester.
Frowning, Kirby watched until his friend disappeared into the building. Then he turned and fell into step with Masterson as the two young men walked toward St. James, where they would be able to find a hack. “Philip’s not looking at all well. He’s been working too hard.”
“Very likely,” Masterson agreed. “It was quite a shock for him when his father died so unexpectedly—they always got on amazingly well. Being the responsible sort, Philip’s obviously feeling the weight of being head of the family.”
“He really needs to relax a bit before he goes dashing back to the country,” Kirby mused. “Now, what’s most relaxing?”
Recognizing the tone, Masterson eyed his companion with misgiving, for Kirby’s innocent face masked the devil’s own capacity for mischief. “Dinner with friends is relaxing, and just to make sure, I’ll send down half a dozen bottles of my best claret. That will relax all of us.”
Ignoring the comment, Kirby said with an air of great enlightenment, “Females are relaxing. That’s it! What Philip needs is a girl.” Turning his wide blue eyes to his companion, he said, “Let’s find one and put her in his bed tonight.”
Masterson stopped dead in the street. “You’ve finally lost your mind,” he said flatly. “The first day you showed up to fag for me at Winchester and I saw that shade of red hair, I knew your sanity was precarious. Granted, females are sometimes relaxing, but just as often they play the very devil with one’s sanity. Philip is quite capable of finding a girl of his own if he wants one, but at the moment, he has other things on his mind besides dalliance.”
“Which is why he needs a girl to cheer him up,” Kirby said. “A nice jolly one will make a perfect Christmas present. While Philip’s dining with us, your valet can spirit her into his rooms. Now, where can we find one?” He pondered. “You can ask Michelle if she has a friend who’s free tonight.”
“Neither Michelle nor her friends come free,” Masterson said dryly. “And as it happens, she and I came to a parting of the ways last week. If I went to her house and asked her to find another female, she’d likely drop a chamber pot on my head.”
Undeterred, Kirby said, “Then we’ll have to find a girl somewhere else.”
The two men were still arguing as they hailed a hack and set off to lunch, but already Masterson was resigning himself to the inevitable. Kirby was bound and determined on his plan, so Masterson had better cooperate to make sure the thing was done right.
* * *
After more than twenty-four hours without eating, Nicole was so cold, hungry, and tired that she was unsteady on her feet. It was time to consume the meat pie Merkle had given her. She turned into a small, cluttered alley and sank wearily onto a stone step. After pulling out the cold pie, she held it for a while. She wanted to postpone the moment when it would be gone.
Her spirits were as low as they had ever been in her life. Her efforts to find a situation the day before had come to nothing. Two modistes had refused to talk to her since she had no London references. Three more had said that they weren’t hiring and wouldn’t be for months, for the Christmas rush was over and business would be slack until spring, when the ton returned to London to prepare for the Season.
Nicole had not expected that. It was terrifying to realize that it might be months before she might find a seamstress position.
Not wanting to spend her five shillings before she had to, Nicole had slept rough the night before, shivering in a deserted corner of a stable yard behind an unoccupied house in Kensington. The night was dry and she was protected from the wind, but she’d been numb with cold by morning. Because it was Sunday, she had gone to church, partly to be under a roof, and partly because prayer seemed in order.
When the vicar read the Christmas story, Nicole had found herself with new empathy for Mary and Joseph, who had found no room at the inn. Closing her eyes, she uttered a silent prayer that she, too, would find the shelter she so desperately needed.
She considered asking the vicar for help, but when she timidly approached him after the service, he gave her a glance so contemptuous that she left without speaking. That had been hours ago. Ever since she had been drifting through the London streets while she planned how best to eke out her money and what kinds of employment she could seek.
The onset of bone-chilling rain brought her to a reluctant decision. Since she might not survive another night sleeping rough in this weather, she must spend some of her limited funds to rent a room. Remembering that Miss Merkle had said there were cheap lodgings near Covent Garden, she asked directions and set off to find it.
A plaintive meow brought her back to the present. She glanced down to find a scraggly, half-grown cat sitting on the step beside her, its gaze fixed on the cold meat pie in her hands. The little creature’s splotchy calico fur was matted with rain, and its huge green eyes were a mixture of hope and wariness.
“Sorry,ma petite,” Nicole said apologetically. “This is all I have to eat, and the good Lord only knows where my next meal will come from.”
She bit into the pie, so ravenous she wanted to stuff the whole thing in her mouth at once. She forced herself to take only a small bite and chew slowly so it would last as long as possible.
Even cold, it tasted wonderful. After she swallowed the first bite, she took another. It wasn’t easy to ignore the pleading green feline eyes.
With a small murmuring sound, the cat jumped onto her lap and began rubbing its head against her chest. “Your manners leave much to be desired, my patchy friend,” Nicole scolded as she held the pie out of reach. “But you are not as wild as most street cats. Did you also have a home until someone cruelly evicted you?”
The painful thought made it impossible for her to ignore the cat’s yearning expression. “Very well,ma petite,” Nicole said. “Perhaps it will bring me luck if I am generous to one less fortunate than I.” She took a morsel of meat and offered it to the calico.
Her companion did not wait for a second invitation. The fragment disappeared instantly. With dainty gluttony, a warm, raspy pink tongue licked Nicole’s fingers.
For the first time since she was discharged, she found herself smiling. From then on, each of her bites was followed by a bit for the cat.
When Nicole was done, she stood and brushed the crumbs from her hands. “Au revoir, my little friend, and good hunting.”
Refusing to be dismissed, the cat stropped her ankles. Unable to resist such friendliness, Nicole lifted the calico and cradled the skinny little body in her arms. Immediately it began to purr so strongly that Nicole felt the vibration through her layers of cloaks.
