Maeve watched him disappear around the corner. Shaking her head at the absurdity of her morning thus far, she started in the direction of the modiste’s. She’d just reached the Kimptons’ horses when she stumbled forward from a slight push. She clutched her reticule to her chest, her gaze darting around. Nothing amiss struck her, but for the extra-sensory sensation tearing through her. Lorelei and Ginny had already disappeared into the Boucher’s Cuts—a curious name for a modiste’s shop—but Maeve had a feeling the robust woman meant the name literally. She glanced about to see a fierce looking man bearing down on her. She took comfort in the fact that he could do nothing to her here. Not on the street in front of the modiste’s shop. She squared her shoulders. While an urge to save herself and dash inside threatened to overcome her, she dared not move. Fortuitously, she’d worn one of her larger skirts today. Unfortunately, notthatlarge.
“Where is she?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“The gel. Where is she? I demand me rights as her… herpapa!”
“Who, sir?”
“The gel who attempted to lift yer purse, madam!”
Maeve screwed her features into a puzzle. “Someone attempted to steal? From me?” She glanced about, then affected her haughtiest Lady Ingleby outrage upon the ruffian. In her mind, Harlowe could take him at his lowest. Not that she’d allow such a thing. “I believe someone took off around the corner, sir. Butno onewould dare attempt to “lift” my reticle fromme.” She could feel the heat from the child crouched behind her. Maeve pointed to the corner. “Perhaps she disappeared into the park. Now. Take yourself off before I call for the constabulary.”
His stare at her seemed to go on forever. He finally grunted and stormed off. Maeve maneuvered around, watching him, carefully and hopefully, concealing the imp behind her. When he reached the corner, he turned back to her. She held her ground, though her heart threatened to pound from her chest onto the cobbled walk. He finally moved from her sight but she waited another minute before swinging about and found herself facing a very dirty, very small, very young child. “What is your name?”
“Penny, milady.”
“How old are you, Penny?”
She held up her splayed palm, showing all five fingers.
“Good heavens,” Maeve breathed. She crouched down to eye level. “Will you come with me, Penny? I won’t let that man near you.”
Tear-filled blue eyes held Maeve’s. “He took-ed me sister, ma’am. I were only tryin’ to find her.”
Maeve couldn’t swallow. “What is your sister’s name, my dear?”
“Blinda.”
Maeve nodded, thinking quickly. “What of your mother?”
“She be dead, ma’am. ’Long side the babe.”
“I see. And who was that man?”
She scowled. “’is name be Jervis.” She wrinkled her nose. “Me an’ Blinda don’t like ’em none.”
And Blinda was missing. “Will you come with me… to my home?”
Her gaze turned to the park then back, and she pierced Maeve with unusually shrewd eyes, her lips compressed with distrust.
“I won’t hurt you, Penny. I have a maid. Her name is Agnes. She will feed you and give you a bath—”
Her tiny arms crossed her chest and her chin jutted out. “I ain’t takin’ no bath. That’s dangrous.”
Maeve smiled. “Did you mean dangerous?”
She nodded.
“Well, I suppose youdon’thave to take a bath. It will certainly save me the cost of a new dress.”
“New dress?”
Maeve stood up. “It’s nothing, dear. You would like something to eat though?”
Her nod was slower. “New dress?”
Maeve bit back her smile. “I’m afraid you will have to be clean to receive a new dress. But we shan’t worry about a frock at this time.”
