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she was not likely to have the opportunity to ask him that question herself.
     

Chapter Three
     
    “No, Harry, I dare not. She might find out.” Sally, the upstairs maid, who was usually agreeably inclined toward a roll in the hay, had the audacity to resist this time when Harry tried to pull her into his arms.
    “She, she, I’m getting rather tired of that blasted woman.”
    “Aye, I can believe you’re tired. Made you walk all the way from town, or so I heard.”
    “I’ll get even with her for that, see if I don’t. Who does she think she is, telling everyone here what to do?”
    “Miss Hemsworth is Quality, that’s what she is. You just have to listen to her talk to know she ain’t like us.”
    “She’s a freak, that’s what she is, and no matter how well born she is, she’s nothing but the governess, which makes her a servant just like us, so by what authority is she bossing the rest of us around, making us all shave every day? Why she even took the keys to the wine cellar away from old Chorley, and as the butler, it’s his responsibility to take care of the liquor.”
    “Well, his idea of taking care of the brandy was guzzling it down as fast as he could. Regular old tippler, he was, usually so soused he couldn’t walk straight.”
    “That ain’t the point. The point is, who gave her the right to interfere in other folks’ business? Like you—why do you care if she does catch you having a tumble in the hay? It’s not as though everyone here don’t know already how quick you are to spread your legs.”
    “Harry, you know, you’re right. She got no business saying who I can cuddle. It’s my own business to decide who I want to kiss and who I don’t want to kiss.”
    “That’s more like it. Come here and—”
    With all the force in her arm, Sally slapped him across the face, almost knocking him off his feet. “And I say I ain’t going to have no more to do with you, Harry. You’re a lazy good-for-nothing and a sorry excuse for a man. Miss Hemsworth says I can do anything I set my mind to, even learn to read, so I don’t need you. I can do better than you.”
    “You? Learn to read? That’s a laugh.”
    Before he realized what she was about, Sally had made his second cheek sting like the first. Then, sticking her nose into the air, she turned and walked back to the house.
    Both hands pressed to his face, which still stung from the slaps, Harry watched the maid disappear from sight. That was one more account he had to settle with Miss High-and-Mighty Hemsworth, who was no better’n him, no matter what airs she gave herself. By the time he finished making a fool out of her, all the rest of the servants would realize it, too.
    * * * *
    It had been a long evening. Bronson had dined privately with Lord Grenville and Mr. Fox, who had quizzed him for hours about the slave trade in Africa. He had been able to give them much detailed information, which they proposed using in Parliament, where it appeared the anti-slave-trade bill might soon be passed.
    They had tried to persuade him to remain in London and take his seat in the House of Lords, where they could count on his vote, but he had declined. Although he had been in London less than a month, he was already starting to feel the boredom he always felt when he remained long in one locale.
    Arriving finally at the town house belonging to his wards, which he normally used as his residence for the few days a year he had business to conduct in London, Bronson was met at the door by his manservant, Daws, who traveled with him and took on whatever role was required, whether that of valet, groom, or even butler.
    Taking his top hat and cane, Daws said in an undertone, “There is a man waiting to see you.”
    “At this hour? The devil you say.” It was past two in the morning, and Bronson was not in the mood to play the convivial host.
    “He didn’t give his name, but I believe he’s the same Bow Street runner what you dealt with earlier.