Everyone was out enjoying the balmy evening. Laughing children darted through the crowd, housewives clustered to gossip, day laborers hurried home. The ever-present odors of rubbish and smoke and cooking perfumed the air. One of Elizabeth’s neighbors, a large-boned actress from a nearby Covent Garden theatre, gaped at the fine figure of the earl. “‘Ey, ‘andsome,” she called, wriggling her generous hips. “Need a place to lay yer ‘ead for the night?” With haughty disdain Lord Nicholas ignored the woman, though color washed his elegant cheekbones. Elizabeth swallowed a bubble of startled amusement. The arrogant Earl of Hawkesford… embarrassed? Somehow he didn’t seem capable of such a human emotion. They headed through the throng of people toward an opened landau at the curb. The twin coach lamps were lit against the thickening darkness. “What the devil,” Lord Nicholas muttered. Elizabeth spied the reason for his exclamation. Surrounded by curious spectators, Cicely sat in the carriage like a queen holding court.
