She kept her head down as she walked past them. It would take many hours to get to her home in Stepney, for she didn’t have the money for a cab, and her mind was racing faster, more furiously, with each step. Christien had deceived her. She had trusted him and he had deceived her. She twisted the ring on her finger as she walked, wondering if this was really what she wanted for herself, this marriage to a very fine man from Kensington-Knightsbridge. It had made sense, once upon a time. It still did. Her father liked Christien, liked the stability and security he brought to her life, and the fact that he could help the family with Catherine’s care. And she liked him too, liked the fact that he was interested in Forensics and crime and mysteries. He was better than she could have hoped for, better than she deserved, as stubborn and willful as she was. But still, she couldn’t shake the image of the Mad Lord from her mind, sitting like a child under a blanket, standing under an umbrella on a rainy pier, lying on a hospital slab with a knitted dog under his arm.
