She glanced over to see his brow deeply furrowed, and confusion mirrored in his eyes. It was time to repay his earlier generosity in offering her the table. “Yes.”

Becky smiled brightly. “Meal is on the house, then.”

“No,” he said quickly, brusquely. “I’ll pay for my meal.”

“But yer with Miss Trewlove ’n’ Trewloves don’t pay in a Trewlove establishment.”

“This is a Trewlove pub?”

“My sister Gillie’s,” Fancy told him.

“The duchess.”

She smiled because keeping up with her family members was a task, and it seemed he’d already mastered it. “Yes.”

Coming to her feet, aware of him quickly following suit, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crown. Unfortunately, the newspaper clipping came out with it and fluttered down to land near the toe of his polished boot. Before she could react, he was reaching down to gather it up. She pressed the coin into the serving girl’s hand. “This is for you, Becky.”

“Ah, Miss Trewlove, ye don’t ’ave—”

“You took such good care of us. Thank you.”

The girl gave a quick bob of her knees. “Appreciate it, miss, sir.” Then someone was calling for her, and she was racing off to see to another’s needs.

When Fancy looked at Mr. Sommersby, it was to discover him staring at the embarrassing clipping that had the audacity to open itself up as it made its way down to the floor. She held out her hand. “I’ll relieve you of that now.”

“Why would you carry this about with you?”

“Because I find the letter terribly romantic and enjoy reading it. And if I may be honest”—she didn’t know why she felt a need to confess to him, perhaps because she feared without further justification, he would think her a silly chit—“I hope to meet Lord Rosemont at the ball next week and have the opportunity to spend time in his company.” To offer her condolences, to come to know better a man who had given his wife so much of his heart.

Mr. Sommersby hesitated several heartbeats before carefully folding the letter and placing it in her waiting palm. “It is a dangerous thing, indeed, Miss Trewlove, to fall in love with a man before ever having met him.”

Chapter 4

If the mutinous glimmer in her eyes was any indication, Miss Trewlove had not taken kindly to his remark. He didn’t know why he’d made it. What did he care if she went around snipping poppycock from newspapers and carrying it about in her pocket?