“His lordship said if you were going alone you had to take the coach.”

She did not know if Matt was simply being cautious and the rule applied to all of them, or if there really might be a threat of some sort. Either way, there was no point arguing with her footman. He could not countermand Matt’s orders and neither could she. “Very well. The coach it is.”

* * *

London was every bit as dirty and smelly as Dobbins had heard, but this was where Lady Eleanor Carpenter was. She’d took away his woman, and now his job. This time he’d stop her. He found a room over a pub not far from a place called Covent Garden. Finding men to scare her enough to change the mine back to the way it’d been wasn’t as hard as finding who owned it in the first place. There were lots of people here lookin’ for work. He’d hired a boy to watch the house she lived in and see where she went. It’d be easier and safer to get her on a busy street than near her house. The next time she went to Bond Street he’d nab her. Once she was gone everything’d go back to normal.

“Sir.” The boy he’d hired to watch Lady Eleanor came running up. “She’s on her way to shopp’en.” It was good fortune the woman went to the same places all the time, and in the same order.

“Good lad.” Dobbins flipped him a coin. “Keep an eye out.” He waited for the boy to leave and sent one of the other lads hangin’ around the inn to get his men. Dobbins had taken the one called Mickey with him to look for a likely place and they found an alley between two of the shops she went to. “Won’t be long now.”

* * *

Eleanor’s town coach drove out of Berkley Square onto Bruton Street, where she stopped at Madame Lisette’s for a fitting. From there, as Eleanor would normally do with her sisters, she walked on to Bond Street, with Turner behind her and the coach traveling as close to them as possible given the busy street. She glanced over her shoulder at Turner. “One more stop before Hatchards.”

“Very well, my lady.”

Eleanor turned onto Old Bond Street and went into a toyshop the family frequented. She found wooden ducks on wheels her younger niece and nephew would like. “Could you send these to Worthington House in Berkeley Square?”

“Of course, my lady.” The clerk began wrapping the toys.

“Thank you.” She left the store and suddenly had a feeling something was not right. She had always been told to listen to her inner voice. Tightening her grip on her parasol, she continued toward Piccadilly.

“My lady, on the left!” Turner shouted, and a pistol shot went off.