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memory helped to block out the unpleasant ones assaulting her now.
    The woman sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand before returning the papers to Claudia. She took them and folded them, taking care not to touch the spot the woman had smeared with her snot. She’d as lief throw them in the fire, but this evening had proved mild and there was none. Besides, it would look decidedly strange. She’d tear them up when she got home. They were only copies.
    “You’re the new owner. What do you plan to do with the place?” the woman demanded.
    “Nothing,” she said. “I only wanted to see it.”
    “What, you couldn’t make an appointment like any normal gentry-mort?”
    Fascinated, Claudia tilted her head and wondered what a gentry-mort was. Whatever the meaning, it appeared she was one. “I wanted to see it during…working hours.”
    The woman cackled. “Well, here we are. Do you like what you see?”
    She moved closer and Claudia was hard put not to step back.
    “Some ladies come ’ere of an evening to join in. Are you of that mind?”
    Claudia shook her head. Waves of nausea swept over her, and she had to fight to keep her dinner in her stomach. “May I watch? Please, don’t tell anyone who I am.” She could put up with a little stink.
    The woman shook her head, the lappets of her cap grazing her bare shoulders. “You shouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t let any of my little ’uns see me in working hours. Whatever is your mother thinking?” She clicked her tongue. “You could get robbed, or worse. Still, Mother Finch’ll take care of you. If anybody asks, tell them you’re reserved and your gentleman isn’t here yet. He’s paid a lot for you, and he wants you to wait. We gets all sorts ’ere. Some like to watch and most gentlemen have their favorites. I’ll send you some wine over. There, in the corner near the fireplace. Don’t sit there like the specter at the feast. Smile and laugh and look like you’re having a good time.”
    After a nod, Claudia made her way down the side of the room to the seat the lady—Mother Finch—indicated. A big man who could have been the twin of the one outside, except that the pattern of battering was different, handed her a grubby glass of red liquid. She thanked him and sniffed the contents of the goblet. Wine, for sure, but she had no idea what else was in there. It could be vinegar from the way it smelled. She wet her lips with it and her tongue shrank from the acrid taste.
    The sound in the room had continued unabated. A fat, florid man stared at her, his gaze roaming lasciviously over her figure. She wished now she’d worn a less vivid color, for the pink gown seemed almost gaudy in this place. She had a double ruffle of lace at her elbows, not her finest lace to be sure, but too fine for this room. Lace was expensive, so dear that smugglers gained a good price from it. As well she hadn’t worn her gown with the laced petticoat. The people here might have ripped it off her or even killed her for it.
    She shuddered and took a delicate sip of the wine.
    The man was still watching. His face was red, from wine or the heat of the small room crammed with unwashed, excited people, she didn’t know. He wore relatively grand clothes. Blue and mustard in color, the waistcoat was a little too long for current taste, the sleeves of his shirt even fuller than her brothers had. No, not unfashionable. Foreign. The style was French, or maybe Italian.
    She didn’t care. The man had a bulbous nose, no doubt from over imbibing over a period of time, and his pale blue eyes were unpleasantly prominent. His lips were full, almost like a girl’s. He smiled, revealing white teeth, though she wasn’t close enough to ascertain whether they were his own or artificial.
    She didn’t care. Looking away, she was just in time to catch the rush of a dark green coat as its owner sat next to her. He smelled of citrus and warm, clean male.
    “What…”
    With a laugh, Lord St.