“So you do have some manners,” he heard Lady Della mutter.

He ignored her. He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “Wattings was a good seaman. I am sorry to hear he has been missing. He was on my ship.”

“The Royal Lady,” Mrs. Wattings said.

“Yes, the Lady. A fine ship, at least until we ran into a fearsome storm. We were lucky there was another ship nearby.”

“What happened then?” Lady Della asked impatiently.

“We boarded the other ship, which took us to the nearest port. From there we managed to find passage for the crew back to London. I stayed in that town until all of my crew had sailed. That is the last I knew of Wattings. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. But you said—you told Della that you knew he had made it home?”

Of course. He’d left out the most important part. He was a thoughtless idiot. An opinion it seemed Lady Della shared, judging by her expression. “Yes, once I reached London and obtained another ship, I found records of my crew having landed, including Wattings. I would have liked to have him aboard again. I thought he was planning on heading south, but I could find no word of him. That is the last I know of him.”

Mrs. Wattings started to tremble, and Lady Della was out of her seat immediately and bending over her friend. “Breathe, Sarah.” She turned to Griffith. “Could you get a glass of water, please?”

“He’s just as abrupt as you are,” Griff heard Mrs. Wattings say in a shaky voice. He strode out of the room, nearly running into a woman carrying a tray of tea things. “Is there water on there?” he demanded.

She shook her head no, and he walked past her toward where he assumed the kitchen was.

“Water!” he called, his pace quickening. He descended the stairs and ended up in a small, clean kitchen. A few startled young girls stared at him as though he were the devil himself. “Water for Mrs. Wattings, please,” he said, trying to keep his tone reasonable so he wouldn’t scare them further.

One of them jumped up and filled water from a tap, then held the glass out to him.

Sarah nodded, gesturing for him to sit, which he did. One of the kittens poked its nose out from under the sofa and then began to clamber up the viscount’s leg. He didn’t shake it off, though; instead, he drew the kitten up and cradled it against his chest.

Della had never envied one of her rescued cats more. Even though she wished she didn’t have such urges. But his presence served to remind her of certain needs that had not been met in some time.