Edmund had been nearly fifteen years her senior. As her thoughts faded away she wondered what it would be like to be touched again by a man her own age.

CHAPTER 6

Chapter 6

MEANWHILE, BACK IN LONDON…

ATALANTA WORTHINGTON STOOD IN a grim, dripping alleyway behind a row of posh shops. No one would notice she was gone from Worthington House and Attie wanted, just for a moment, to feel as though she wasn't slowly fading from human sight. Nor was she being neglectful of her duties. Some people perceived her as a child run wild, she knew, but she had her own ethical philosophy, built from reason and evidence and not simply habit or tradition.

She would do absolutely anything for any Worthington family member, born, wed or adopted.

The rest of the world could go hang.

So far this morning, she had kept company with Aurora, which helped Miranda and Cas rest. Benefiting three at once, which appealed to Attie's sense of efficiency. She'd peeled and chopped everything for Philpot to prepare a stew for dinner, which fed seven. She was supposed to be resting at this very moment actually, but Attie had never been much of a sleeper.

Iris used to tell stories about Archie walking the halls of Worthington House all night long reciting plays out loud to wakeful infant Attie. He'd run entirely through Shakespeare more than twice, he claimed.

A half hour of dozing curled up in the big chair in Miranda's sitting room had dealt with Attie's exhaustion and filled her with a restless desire to escape. She'd slipped out through a parlor window because using the front door bored her. In her boyish garb, it had been a simple matter to saunter unimpeded through the streets of London. No one glanced at her twice in the gray of the afternoon drizzle.

The very fine dressmaking shop of the famous Lementeur backed up to this alleyway. Attie had come to see her friend Button.

After all, Miranda had promised to keep certain people informed of Iris's condition. So Attie was simply here to keeping that promise. She'd come to apprise Button and his assistant Cabot of the situation (benefiting three, including herself, for there would be tea and biscuits).

Attie wasn't likely to admit it, but it just might be that right now she was the one in need of a bit of comforting. It wasn't as though she could ask such a thing of Miranda and Cas, or weary Philpot or exhausted, terrified Archie.

So here she was. She could knock, or she could keep walking. In some way it suited her to be cold and grim and gray. It was as if she didn't want to be comforted, as if being cheered up would somehow betray those in Worthington House who were so very worried.