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“O ff out again, Belinda? I declare—now that Araminta’s gone, you seem to be blossoming in confidence as well as appearance.” A faint flush colored Roland’s cheeks. “I mean—if one is allowed to say that kind of thing.”

Belinda patted him on the hand. “No offense taken, my dear Roland. I’m very much enjoying being able to spend precious time with Caroline—it makes a change not to be knee-deep in needy children. We can simply be young ladies together, enjoying London.”

Poor Roland. He was so easy to deceive; being good-natured himself, he tended to believe the best of everybody—except Piers Darvill.

Well, she certainly agreed with him on that point.

She’d considered telling Roland about the incident in the park, but she’d have had to invent an excuse for being at the market on her own, as he’d be cross with her for trying to get him reinstated at the Lyon’s Den by working there.

She’d also considered confiding in Roland about that kiss in the dark—but from what she understood of the affairs of men, it would probably result in a duel.

Much as she loathed Mr. Darvill, she didn’t wish his blood to be spilled, and she most certainly had no intention of Roland putting himself in danger on her behalf. She wasn’t worth it.

There was a knock on the door, and Caroline entered, wearing her best lavender pelisse and matching gloves. She’d done her hair particularly carefully this morning, and her face was bright and pretty.

Belinda raised an eyebrow—if she didn’t know better, she’d think Caroline was trying to impress someone. Not Roland, surely! That could lead to all sorts of complications.

She grabbed her reticule, took Caroline’s arm, and hurried out into the corridor.

Caroline shot her an anxious look. “You don’t think Mr. Chetwynd suspects anything, do you?”

“Well, he might if you stand around in corridors whispering at the top of your voice. Let’s go before it occurs to him to accompany us.”

A hackney carriage was hailed. Belinda had decided at the beginning of her adventures, that it was safest to use this mode of travel.

If they walked, there was a bigger chance that someone who knew them would spot them.

If she repeatedly borrowed the Aylsham landau, word could get back to Roland about their destination.

To be extra certain, she always left the carriage on the next street over from the Lyon’s Den.

Her sister had employed the same ruse in those dark days when it seemed inevitable that the two of them would end up destitute.

Minty had sought Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s help then, but Belinda had been so wrapped up in her own pain, she’d barely been aware of what was going on.

The end result—however it was attained—had been to everyone’s benefit, and there could be no happier couple on earth than the Earl of Aylsham and his new countess.

Was there any hope that the scandalous, over-emotional, deeply sensitive—and possibly a little unhinged—Belinda Bellamy could achieve the same happy ending?

She had hoped that Lieutenant William Coyle would provide everything she could ever need, but in the end, all that remained was emptiness and grief.

It wouldn’t do to get attached to another person.

An arranged marriage might serve because she needn’t love her spouse and wouldn’t be devastated by his loss.

Such a pity that her attempt to employ Mrs. Dove-Lyon to find her a husband had proved an abject failure.

She shook herself, aware of the signs of melancholy creeping up on her. This was not acceptable. The new Belinda Bellamy was no longer at the mercy of her inner demons. She needed something more cheerful to think about.

“I read in yesterday’s Gazette that there’s a tethered hot air balloon ascent planned at Vauxhall Gardens,” she said. “I know we don’t have time to linger, but I’d love to just see what a balloon looks like.”

Caroline tugged irritably at her glove. “Oh. I thought we were going straight to...” She glanced at the carriage driver, but he was busy avoiding a handcart sticking halfway into the street. “...going straight to the Lyon’s Den,” she finished in a hushed voice.

Why did her cheeks look pink? Caroline had never been keen on going to the place, so why the hint of annoyance?

Poor woman—she must get so bored waiting while for Belinda to finish work in the kitchen.

There was nothing for her to do but sit in a room by herself with a book or a journal to hand.

The Lyon’s Den wasn’t the kind of place a lady of good breeding would choose to explore. Was it?

“Why would you worry about that, Caroline? It’ll only be the slightest detour, and we’ve set off in plenty of time.”

Caroline glanced out the window. “Of course. There’s no reason I would want to hasten to the Lyon’s Den. No reason at all.”

Belinda noticed the carriage had slowed. “Oh, my goodness! We must be getting close to Vauxhall. Look at that crowd! I’ll ask our driver if he’ll wait a few minutes.”

The hackney driver agreed to take a turn or two around the block but exhorted the ladies not to linger too long. Belinda took Caroline’s arm to ensure she wouldn’t lose her in the crowd.

As was usual at this kind of event, the street leading to the entrance gates of Vauxhall Gardens was littered with hawkers and beggars, eager to melt the hearts and open the purse strings of the gentry.

As was her wont, Belinda paused a moment by a gentleman with a placard around his neck, bearing the legend, “Wounded in defense of my country.”

“Oh, you poor fellow. Did you serve as a soldier, or as a sailor?”

“In His Majesty’s Navy, miss. Fell foul of some French grapeshot and lost the use of my arm.”

Each time Belinda came across an injured veteran, she gave them whatever money she could spare.

What had happened to them could easily have happened to her beloved William, and oftimes when she saw their wounds, she was grateful that Will’s end had been swift, that he’d drowned before he even reached the Peninsula.

Better a watery grave than begging on the streets damaged, hopeless, and in pain.

“Here you are. That should be enough for a hot pie. And if you come by the servants’ entrance of the Lyon’s Den on Cleveland Row in an hour or so, there’ll be leftovers. I’ll keep some soup hot for you.”

“Bless you, miss. I’ve been working at getting my left arm up to strength, so maybe I’ll be able to work again soon. I just need a bit of something to tide me over for a while.”

“Understood.” These veterans still had their pride—they wanted to be useful again and to bring in a wage. If only gunpowder had never been invented! Shooting someone from a distance was such a cowardly thing and grapeshot was devilishly cruel, increasing the damage done to human flesh.

She shuddered and held tightly onto Caroline’s arm as they left the veteran seaman and headed through the gates of Vauxhall Gardens.

There was an incredible crush, and they were forced to elbow their way through the walls of humanity that surrounded the area of open ground from which the balloon was due to ascend.

Belinda barely had time to register the fact that the balloon looked like a drawing she’d once seen of a Court ballgown, with swathes of silk and various colors dangling from it, when she felt a twitch at her wrist.

Araminta had often accused Belinda of being off with the fairies, but this was most certainly not always the case. When it mattered, she could be quick-witted, with lightning-fast reactions. Before the miscreant could make off with her reticule, she had him by the ear in a grip that made him yelp.

Elbowing Caroline to get her attention, she eased back out of the crowd. A dutiful but puzzled Caroline followed until they came to an ornamental piece of topiary that was clear of people.

There she halted and surveyed the ragged, skinny boy she’d taken prisoner. “This young urchin has just attempted to remove my purse.”

Caroline immediately sprang into action and grasped him by the other ear, resulting in a series of expletives that would have made a soldier blush.

“Don’t struggle, child. We’re both very experienced with infants, and we know how to deal with them. How old are you? Ten? If so, you’re old enough to know better.”

The boy gaped first at one, then at the other, then muttered, “Lor’ love us. Gawd save me from well-meaning schoolroom types! You was mistaken, miss. I was just trying to get a better look at the balloon, honest to Gawd. And I don’t know me age—Ma never said.”

Belinda blinked. Then blinked again. She’d encountered this particular pickpocket before, last seen with his hand in Mr. Piers Darvill’s pocket.

“Keep a hold of him, Caroline. I want to talk to this young fellow.”

Caroline released the boy’s ear but shifted her grasp to his greasy collar. “We’re not going to turn him over to the authorities, are we?”

“We tend not to do that. We prefer to redeem them, don’t we?”

The boy looked terrified. “Redeem? Does it hurt? Don’t you have no mercy in your souls?”

Belinda smothered a smile. “Have you never thought about earning an honest living?”

He looked stunned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean not taking things that don’t belong to you.”

“But if I don’t do as I’m told I get beaten and no stew, no porridge or bread or anything.”

“However, if you change your ways, you need never go hungry again. You’re big enough to earn a good wage.

You can be apprenticed to a trade, and maybe even one day, be master of your own workshop.

Or perhaps you’d like to go and work on a farm, with horses, pigs, and cattle.

Out in the countryside, where the air is fresh, and the water clean. ”