Her eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, but her instincts were rarely wrong. And right now they were telling her that the gel who’d stumbled up to her cottage during this wretched storm wasn’t being entirely truthful. “Lost, you say?” Esme mused. “And here we thought…well, never mind that. It’s not like Nelson to be wrong, but still I’m glad you ended up on my doorstep, for it isn’t a fit night to be out.” From the lady’s side, an indignant yowl rose, and she scratched the cat with an indulgent caress. Yes, Nelson, you have the right of it, Esme thought. The drenched young lady on the other side of the table stared down at the cup of tea in her hands. “Yes, after the mail coach became mired in the mud, the driver assured me there was an inn not far up the road, but I fear I wandered down the wrong lane. Thank you so much for taking me in.” She shivered and took another sip of her tea. Over near the fireplace hung her steaming gown—an expensively wrought piece of blue silk, and of far better quality than any of Esme’s usual clients wore.
