She had given up trying to regret that kiss. When she lay awake at night, the memory of the giddy feeling, the rush of blood to her head, the soft pressure of Sebastian’s lips on hers made her want to swoon. It would be beyond shocking of her to kiss him again, but she couldn’t stop imagining that either. Did he lie awake thinking of kissing her? Did he think about her when she wasn’t with him, wonder where she was, what she was doing? Or when she left Lambeth, did she cease to exist for him?

“You look positively moonstruck,” Louise said. “What on earth are you thinking about?”

“Nothing. Oh, I nearly forgot,” Margaret said, feeling a flush creep up her throat. Anxious to head off any awkward questions, she reached under the table for her reticule. “I brought you a small gift. Here.”

Louise took the pencil drawing, her brows rising in surprise as she studied the scene. “It is by an amateur hand, but it is really rather accomplished.”

“That is a self-portrait of Billy and his dog, Muffin. Here is another he did, of me.”

“Goodness, he’s captured your likeness very well,” Louise said, diverted as Margaret had hoped she would be.

“I thought I might purchase a selection to send as Christmas presents. Billy would be grateful for the custom.”

“It’s a little early to be thinking of Christmas, but they would make rather nice gifts. Who is the artist?”

“A young boy, no more than twelve or thirteen. He sells his sketches at the market. No-one knows where he lives or whether he has a family.”

“Not even your Father Sebastian?”

“He is not my Father Sebastian. He is very much his own man, and his sister Susannah is very independent of spirit, too. If I could have a tenth of her strength of purpose, I would be a significantly better person.”

“You are certainly a very changed person. What does Killin make of your philanthropic endeavours?”

“He doesn’t know. It’s none of his business what I do with my free time.”

“Yet.”

Margaret’s mouth went dry. She was not officially betrothed to Killin; therefore his opinion was irrelevant. And if you say that often enough, M., you might eventually believe it!

“That’s quite enough about me,” she said firmly. “Tell me your news. Mama showed me the piece in the Times praising the bust you made of Lady Jane. You must be very pleased.”

Louise, always happy to talk about her artistic endeavours, beamed. “It is the first piece I have completed without an ounce of help. I confess, I am very proud of it. It has been discussed widely in the press, so Lady Jane tells me.”

“How flattering.”