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After a shocked silence, Lady Louisa spoke. “I have to say I know more of its charitable supporters than of its inmates. What do you say, Aurora? Aren’t the Duke of York and the Marquis of Hertford benefactors?”

“What is your interest in this place, Viv?” Lady Melforth demanded. “I thought you meant to show us a museum or an exhibition hall. You didn’t mention the Penitent Hospital in the book, I hope.”

Viv had a fleeting thought that her ladyship must know that Viv had not written about the hospital, but then she remembered that Sarah had taken the draft to Dodsley before Viv could revise that section.

“Of course, not, but our sixth walk ends just across the way, and when I looked about, I could not miss those signs. I suppose it made me curious about the hidden lives of other women.” There seemed to Viv a great gulf between the three ladies in silk in the open landau and the world behind the hospital door. Those other women were perhaps a subject for another book about London. For a moment, Viv only half heard the conversation around her.

“I suspect that many a young woman who has been debauched and abandoned may have recourse to such a place,” said Lady Louisa.

“Is that how they come to be here?” asked Viv, returning her attention to her companions. “Is it a program, as the sign proclaims, of voluntary admission?”

“Really, Viv,” said Lady Melforth. “What an odd topic to take up! I am tired now. I want to go home.”

Before Viv could answer, the ladies’ attention turned to the opening of the hospital door. Three men emerged, the tallest of them, Viv saw at once, was the Duke of Wenlocke with his unmistakable wheaten hair. A somber man in a clerical black coat bowed to the duke and withdrew. Then duke turned and strode toward them, speaking to a thin man trying to match the duke’s rapid stride.

Viv wanted to sink. It made no sense that the duke should be there, that he and she should be drawn to the same place, but instantly the thought occurred that he must have come on some business connected with Lark. She didn’t care to be caught gawking at the place. She bowed her head, hoping the brim of her bonnet would conceal her face until the men passed by.

“Viv.” Her aunt tapped her wrist gently. Viv looked up, blushing, to find the duke standing at the side of the landau, regarding her with frank curiosity.

“Miss Bradish, ladies, taking the air?” His piercing blue gaze seemed to read Viv’s mind, and her cheeks burned.

She barely remembered the civility that was required. “Your grace, may I present my aunt Lady Louisa Atwood, and my friend Lady Melforth.”

They exchanged bows, and the duke introduced his companion, Mr. Finch, a wispy, thin sort of young man, perfectly the gentleman in appearance, but perfectly dutiful. Everything about Mr. Finch proclaimed him to be a sort of secretary. She was mulling over how unlike Mr. Finch and Mr. Larkin were when the duke began speaking to her companions. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Louisa, and you Lady Melforth. Your fame as the Traveling Viscountess precedes you.”

Lady Melforth offered the duke one of her diminished smiles.

“My wife regrets that we missed your dinner party, Lady Melforth. She would be happy to see you after so many years. May she call on you?”

Again, Lady Melforth smiled, and Viv could not help sending the duke a grateful look.

Lady Louisa said, “Your grace, I understand that your book collection played a part in Miss Bradish’s betrothal to Mr. Larkin.”

At Mr. Larkin’s name, meek Mr. Finch started and cast a quick curious glance at Viv.

Wenlocke caught Viv’s eye with a kind of warning, and she steadied herself. “A modest part, but one I am glad we could play. If you will forgive me, ladies, I must bid you good day, my business is pressing. I hope my wife may call, Lady Melforth.”

Lady Melforth nodded, and with a brief bow, the duke and his companion turned away.

“Extraordinary meeting him here. I suppose he must be a benefactor,” said Lady Louisa.

“I didn’t think you had met him, Viv,” said Lady Melforth.

“Just briefly in passing the other day,” Viv admitted. Her aunt Louisa’s glance said she was not fooled for a minute.

“We must get you home, Aurora.” Lady Louisa signaled to her coachman, and the carriage began to move.

As Lady Melforth sagged back in her seat, there was no more talk until they reached Henrietta Street. There, in passing from the carriage into the house and attending Lady Melforth up to her room, the opportunity for Viv to confess the truth passed.

*

Once Lady Melforth was comfortably settled for a nap, Viv went to her room. She would write to her aunt without delay and put the letter in the afternoon post. At least, then, one person would be undeceived.

The empty desk momentarily dismayed her. For weeks the sheets of paper she had folded into little booklets of twelve leaves had held her stories about their walks. Most pages had been marked with her pencil notes where changes needed to be made. She reminded herself that when the proofs came, she would have another chance to make corrections and perhaps to restore her friendship with Lady Melforth.

She opened the drawer and withdrew pen, ink, and paper. She didn’t know quite what to say, but she trusted that the words would come.

Dear Aunt Louisa,