The crowded, bustling neighborhood of Wan Chai was worlds apart from the cool mountain climate and British atmosphere of Victoria Peak. Crudely built shops were crammed tightly together in twisted blocks linked by narrow, dusty roads. Street vendors were engaged in a constant shouting battle to attract attention while barefoot children played out mischievous pranks in the gutters and alleyways. Henry cast a quick glance at Isabella, who was walking beside him with her maid and chaperone, Jia Li, a few paces behind. He was utterly bewildered by the fact that she seemed completely unaffected by the stifling heat. Even more amazing was that she moved gracefully through the unruly hustle of the village, seemingly unperturbed and unmolested. He followed her into seedier and seedier areas of Wan Chai, and it soon became apparent that they were taking a leisurely stroll through the red-light district. “So, Lord James,” she said, tilting her head to look at him from the corner of an eye, “What do you think of Hong Kong now?”
