Speaking of which—he should really find out what happened to Clark, and let his crew know he wouldn’t be captaining them anymore. Not to mention figure out what procedure he’d need to follow to quit the Royal Navy.

Damn it, that hurt. He shoved the emotion away to deal with later.

Better to keep his mind occupied with thoughts of his new voyage than to obsess over trips he would never take now.

He knocked, and the door opened moments later. It was she, and not a servant. Again he wondered what was so different about her—why didn’t she have a butler to answer the door? Unless she was so desperate to see him again she insisted on waiting for him herself?

The thought pleased him more than he knew it should. Especially since he knew it wasn’t true.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” Lady Della said, holding the door wider so he could enter. He stepped into the foyer, noting several cloaks hanging on the opposite wall, some of them clearly child-sized. A ball lay on the floor underneath.

“You live here with children?” he asked.

She glanced to where he was looking. “Yes, of course. My own child, and Sarah’s. Mrs. Wattings’s.”

She had a child?

“So you are a widow?” he asked. He knew nothing about her; he’d resorted to looking in Debrett’s for her name, but the only thing he discovered was her age and who her parents were. There was no mention of a husband.

“I am not married,” she replied, an expression on her face that practically dared him to comment.

“Ah.” He wouldn’t ask when she hadn’t volunteered more information, no matter how curious he was.

And he was intensely curious. Although that fact would go a long way toward explaining why she was unaccepted in Society.

“Well. If you would like to step into the parlor?” She gestured to a door at the far end of the small foyer. She began to walk ahead of him. Eyes up, Griffith reminded himself. Even though his eyes were not obeying orders, instead looking at the curve of her waist and the sway of her hips.

He really should do something about his needs or he’d be subjecting his pretend betrothed to far too many salacious glances.

Although that thought, now that he’d met her, was not nearly as appealing as before. Any woman would pale in comparison to her.

She turned quickly, giving him just enough time to yank his eyes up to her face. Thank goodness for quick reflexes.

“Do you care for tea?” she asked.

“I doubt you have anything stronger, so tea is fine,” he replied. She nodded as though that was the answer she’d expected and rang a bell.