“I’m no expert on dying or grief,” she said. “I’m sure what you are feeling is perfectly normal.”

“You’re young for a widow. You’re probably not even thirty-five or forty years old.”

“I’m twenty-nine.”

He blanched and turned away. “Oh Lord, now I’ve really dug a hole and dived into it headfirst.”

He looked so mortified that she had to choke back a laugh. Men were atrocious at estimating women’s age, which was why so few of them dared try.

“It’s okay,” she said, still battling a laugh.

“It’s not okay.” He looked to the heavens for relief, and it was time to put him out of his misery.

“Knock it off, Patrick. We both have bigger things to worry about.”

He bowed his head, then sent her a grateful look. “You’re quite a woman, Mrs. K. I’ll confess, I didn’t expect you to be so nice.”

“Why not?” She stepped up beside him and curled her hands around the cold metal railing.

He shrugged. “I was rough on you folks in the courtroom today. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’ve never thought much about the real people living behind the imposing Blackstone name.” His face darkened, and he straightened, digging around in his pocket.

“Here,” he said a little gruffly. “I think this is yours.”

Lamplight glinted on her sapphire wedding ring, and she could scarcely believe her eyes. “Where did you get that?”

“Maybe you saw a tough bloke in the courtroom today. Dark hair, angry scowl, split eyebrow?”

“I know who you’re talking about.”

“He said you gave him the ring. True?”

“True.”

“Why did you do it?”

She took the ring back and slipped it onto her finger. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully.

The strange man had triggered ominous emotions, and she couldn’t let him walk away while unanswered questions clawed at her. Giving him the ring had been an impulsive move to learn more about him.

He had passed the test. That didn’t mean he might be her missing brother. In all likelihood, it was the stress of the past week causing her imagination to run wild.

Her gaze strayed over the lane. Laundry lines cluttered the space between the buildings, and discarded crates were stacked behind the pub across the street. There were probably worse neighborhoods, but this was the grittiest she’d ever been in, and she hugged her arms around herself. She didn’t like it here.

One of the research assistants stuck his head through the window opening. “The carriage driver wants to head back to the college. Are you going with him?”

“I’m coming,” she said, then glanced back at Patrick, sending him a brief nod of farewell before climbing back through the window.