Della nodded, giving Sarah a sly grin as she walked out. “Tell Nora I will be home to tuck her in.”

She caught a last look from her friend, who appeared to be both wistful and concerned. The former likely because Henry was still missing, and the latter—well, she’d seen that same expression on Sarah’s face often enough to know that it was directly related to her.

She took her cloak off the hook in the hallway, relieved nobody was there to insist she take someone with her. Perhaps it was foolhardy, but if she had Becky with her, she’d have to figure out what to tell the girl to do with herself when she went to discuss . . . strategy with Lord Stanbury. It wasn’t customary for ladies to care what their servants did when they were busy, but Della certainly wasn’t the usual sort of lady.

Nor was Becky the usual sort of servant.

Like everyone who was in the Howlett/Wattings household, Becky was a stray. Della and Sarah had found one another, and then they had kept going, collecting people and animals and even furniture that it seemed nobody else wanted.

That was why there were seven young ladies living with them at the moment as well as a multitude of kittens. Not to mention a few wobbly chairs.

Neither Della nor Sarah could resist rescuing someone or something that had been abandoned. Della didn’t have to examine her own life too carefully to understand her own impetus. And she knew Sarah had been tossed out by her family when they believed her to have married below her station.

Had Lord Stanbury been tossed out too? Was that why he had run off to sea?

“My lady.” Mrs. Borens placed her hand on Della’s arm as she was getting her cloak on.

“Yes, Mrs. Borens? What is it?” Della couldn’t help the note of impatience that crept into her voice. Because Lord Handsome was at the other end of her journey, and now that she’d asked, and he’d accepted, she couldn’t wait to engage in some illicit pursuits with him. Or licit ones, but the gist of it was that she was aching to be touched by him and touch him in return.

“There is a young female person in the sitting room.” Not a lady, or Mrs. Borens would have said. “She seems in . . . distress.” And then Mrs. Borens kept Della’s gaze as though to communicate through an intense stare rather than words.

Thankfully, Della spoke unspoken communication as well as English.

There’s a young woman in a delicate condition in the sitting room who needs your help.

Della sighed and withdrew the one arm she’d been able to slide into her cloak out again. “I’ll go speak with her. Do we have any room?”