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here for m’friend Rory. His father is the worst. He keeps a fancy whore here on J-jane Street while p-poor Rory doesn’t have a shilling to his name and his mama is home crying all the time.” He turned a mottled shade of red which clashed with his green hue. “Sorry. No doubt the wh-whore is a friend of yours. And I was going to tell you—” he trailed off, as if he really had no idea what he was supposed to say on poor Rory’s behalf.
    So her location and reputation had trickled down to Ned. She felt instantly stricken for that which must be a considerable source of embarrassment for him. To know that his stepmother was installed on Jane Street—Edward could not possibly have told him. Even though Edward had been cruel, he had been the soul of discretion. It was she who had let her whereabouts slip a time or two.
    Caroline had an idea which Jane was involved in this love triangle—square, if one counted the destitute Rory. Sophie Rydell at Number Two complained long and loud about Lord Carmichael, who brought his domestic troubles with his wife and son into her bed more often than an erection, and was somewhat stingy with his gifts besides. “Does Rory’s father beat him or his mother?”
    Ned gaped at her as if she’d grown two heads. In his inebriated state, she probably had. “I should say not! Rory would knock him flat. Good with his f-fists, he is.”
    “Then I suggest you explain to your friend that gentlemen often seek dalliance outside the bonds of marriage. It’s the way of the ton. He’ll probably do the same to his wife when he marries.”
    Ned’s dark brows drew together. “That’s it? You w-won’t talk to the girl?”
    “And what am I to say to her?” Caroline asked in impatience. “Leave your comfortable house and go back on the street to sell oranges because some spoiled drunken boy is unhappy that his allowance is cut? Lord Carmichael will only find another mistress, I assure you.”
    Ned hiccupped. “You r-really are a wonder. You do know everything. I n-never even said his name.”
    The rattle of cups heralded Hazlett’s return. Ned declined a sandwich but gulped the hot coffee gratefully.
    “Hazlett, if you don’t mind, wrap up the sandwiches and take them and a flask of coffee out to the guards. They’ve earned them tonight.”
    “Very good, Lady Christie. Shall I procure a hackney cab for the young master as well?”
    Ned was slumped over the table, all sharp elbows and knees. He had yet to fill out, but gave the promise of being as lean and elegant as his father. Caroline sighed. Ned could not become her reclamation project. She had been quite out of her league as a stepmother, as Edward had pointed out to her again and again.
    “Yes. Although it’s awfully late. I wonder if you’ll have any luck.”
    “ ’Snot that far,” Ned mumbled. “I can walk.”
    “I should like to see you try.” Jane Street was ideally located in the heart of Mayfair, so handy for gentlemen to slip away from their homes and slip into their mistresses. But she could picture Ned sprawled facedown on the sidewalk. He wouldn’t freeze to death as it was nearly summer, but he’d be a target for pickpockets and gossip.
    She plied Ned with more coffee, and he did indeed seem to come somewhat to his senses. She was treated to rambling tales of his siblings Allie and Jack. Caroline had missed Allie most of all, that sullen, gangly, impossible child who had made her married life a living nightmare. Well, to be fair, Edward did that, but Allie had helped him with a concerted, conscientious effort. The boys had been easier to deal with, being mostly away at school. When they came home, she was reminded of her scapegrace brother Nicky, and Andrew, God rot his soul.
    Hazlett came back after more than a quarter of an hour, unsuccessful in procuring a means of transportation to remove Edward Allerton Christie the Younger from her sofa. It was just as well. Despite the coffee, Ned was snoring. Grunting.