At least in Della’s own case, she knew perfectly well what had happened to her not-so-beloved Mr. Baxter: he’d stolen her jewels and snuck off in the middle of the night, leaving her and their daughter, Nora, to fend for themselves. She didn’t need to know any more than that. Just as she didn’t need to recall Lord Stanbury’s title, even though of course she did; he was just another man, a gentleman, and the last thing she wanted or needed was a man. Ever.

Which was why she addressed him—in her mind, at least—so cavalierly. It was her own tiny rebellion, even though the gentleman in question was like her, as evidenced by his being a sea captain, not a bored aristocrat.

She was too protective of herself and her family to give anyone the benefit of the doubt again.

“How can we find him, my lady?” Becky’s tone was even more apprehensive, if possible. Perhaps because in their short time together Della had already done and said things that were not at all ladylike?

But she wasn’t a lady any longer, no matter what her title might say. She was a ruined woman, and so if it turned out that a merchant was cheating the Society by padding the bill, Della was going to call him out. And if some uncouth men decided to comment on Della’s and Sarah’s appearances while they were out walking with their charges? She was damned well going to say something about that too.

What was the point of being ruined if you couldn’t speak your mind?

“We’re going to the Duke of Northam’s town house.” Her sister Olivia had provided all of the information Della wanted, and more, in a frantically scribbled note in response to Della’s letter asking for information on the viscount-captain. She could hear the words as Olivia would speak them, and smiled at how good it felt to be reunited with her sisters, even Ida, who tended to deliver lectures no matter what the circumstances.

It was endearing, Della had to admit. If also obnoxious.

“A duke?” Becky sounded wondrous now instead of terrified.

“Yes, a duke.” Della couldn’t help how grumpy she sounded. She wished this captain had not been a nobleman as well—a noble captain had to be a relative anomaly. It was just her luck that her captain was also a member of the aristocracy.

When she had a moment, she’d ask Sarah to calculate those odds. Sarah was much better at maths than Della.

But in the meantime, she would be braving the lion in his den. Or the viscount in the duke’s town house, to be more accurate.

Roar.