“Italian?” Christopher asked, feigning interest.

“Her parents came from Italy,” she explained. “Katerina, as far as I know, has lived in England her whole life. She looks rather Italian, but her manners and

speech are very English.”

“I see,” Christopher replied. Inwardly he still recoiled at the thought of this

obvious manipulation. “Fine. Tonight, at the ball, I'll allow you to introduce us,

but that's all. Any further actions I take will be decided by me.”

“I understand, son.”

Christopher stalked back inside, slamming the heavy oak door.

Once he withdrew, Julia sagged with relief as she climbed into the waiting hansom cab. If he meets Katerina, it will be a start. Something has to be done to help the poor girl I'm willing to give all my resources—even my firstborn son—to accomplish it. I only pray it will be enough.

CHAPTER 2

“Bennett, glad you could make it.” James Cary commented,

extending a glass of brandy. His hazel eyes twinkled with their

usual naughty gleam and his curly, sand-colored hair stood on end with his habitual habit of running fingers through it.

“Of course, of course, Cary. What did you expect? My mother wanted to talk

to me.” Christopher rolled his eyes, gratefully accepting the glass. He sank onto

a high-backed sofa of carved wood with blue velvet upholstery; the best seat in

the brick row house provided to Cary as vicar of a small, working-class

neighborhood chapel.

A threadbare blue and black oriental rug on the floor and a mahogany table

where he had arranged his prized collection of leaded glass bottles and decanters

decorated his parlor. The rich burgundy and brown hues of the liquors inside the

bottles glowed dully in the fading light.

“About what?” came a voice from one of the armchairs beside the fireplace.

Colin Butler, Viscount Gelroy, swallowed from his glass, perhaps a little more deeply than was wise.

“A woman. What else?” Christopher replied, taking a more modest sip of his

own.

“Did she finally hear about your opera singer?” Colin asked, smirking.

James grinned.

“No, not that one.” Christopher grimaced. “You know,” he drawled, “you

two have gotten a great deal of conversation out of a single night that had more

to do with wine than passion. It was eight months ago, and anyway, she was really not worth the trouble.”

“Then who?” Colin asked.

Christopher rolled his eyes heavenward. “Mother wants to introduce me to

her young friend. I fear she's matchmaking.”

“Oh, Lord. Who?” James asked, raising his glass to his lips.

“Miss—or I should say Signorina—Katerina Valentino.”

Colin stared open-mouthed at Christopher's words, and James choked on his

brandy.

“What?” he demanded. “Is she hideous?”

“No,” Colin said cautiously, “she's… powerfully timid.”

“Boring, really,” Cary added. “I tried dancing with her once. Felt badly she

was standing alone. I don't think I saw her eyes once during the entire waltz, and

if she said a word, I didn't hear it.”

That didn't sound promising. Christopher flung himself backwards against

the upholstery and glanced out the window, taking in the details of his

surroundings, as was his habit.

In the brilliant crimson light of the sunset, the red bricks of the row house across the narrow cobblestone street seemed to glow, the light diffused by the particles of soot that always hung in the air. In a city whose population has been swelling and is predicted to reach nearly six million in the next decade or so—

with nearly all homes warmed by coal—soot and haze are inevitable. The added soot from steam-powered factories only made it worse.

A strangely-scented draft seeped around the window, reminding Christopher