Love. She smiled to herself. She had not called it that before, but now it had simply emerged as part of her thoughts. She did love him, though. She marveled at that.

She looked across to find him watching her, his gaze warm and the smallest smile on his face. What did he think when he saw her? Did he still wonder about Algernon, and whether she had arranged that her estranged husband could never hurt her again? He had said that he hoped she had killed him, but that was a retort made after she questioned his belief in her. He had not said that he was sure she had not killed him, the way he was sure she had not harmed the duke.

The carriage rolled down Oxford Street. Since it was morning, it was fairly quiet. The afternoon would bring out many more people. She gazed out at the shops lining the street, their owners preparing for the customers who would arrive later in the day.

Chase opened the trapdoor and told the coachman to stop at the next crossroads. Minerva looked at the shops here, and across the way. She knew this crossroads very well.

Chase pointed out the window. “If you look at the rooftops over there, you can see that of Whiteford House. It faces Park Lane, but the back is very close to where we are. When my uncle went into town, to Oxford Street or most places in Mayfair, or even toward the City, he would not go down alongside the park. He would come out this way on one of the streets, east.”

“I expect so.”

He slid over to the other window and bid she do the same. She was so bundled that she could not slide. It was more a matter of waddling her rump. She knew what they would see from this side, though.

“I was told you lived up that street, Old Quebec,” Chase said. “Not far from my uncle at all.” He reached for the door latch. “If you are feeling up to it, let us take a turn.”

She fought her way out of the blanket and let him hand her down. The fresh air felt wonderfully crisp and the sun shone brightly. Chase escorted her across the street until they stood at the bottom end of Old Quebec.

“He often went out at night, Minerva. In the country he spent time at that parapet. I think here in town he went into the squares and parks. Portman is actually the closest, but he probably wandered some distance at times. So I can see him going to Portman Square, or walking through it, gazing up at the stars that are so hard to see in much of London.” He took her hand. “Let us walk to the square, if you can manage it.”