Winnie had grown ghastly pale.
“What is it?” Catherine asked.
“Claybourne, and he’s coming this way.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I knew we never should have spoken of him in Lady Charlotte’s garden the other day.”
Catherine spun around. It was indeed Claybourne and Frannie. It was quite evident that they were strolling toward them—as though Catherine and her party were themselves an exhibit to be studied. She felt a little shiver of anticipation. She was safe here with people about and Frannie at his side. He’d not tempt her into thoughts of wickedness with a kiss. It would all be very formal, very proper.
“Ignore him,” Winnie said, digging her fingers into Catherine’s arm.
Ignore him? How could she when he looked so exceedingly handsome in his dark blue jacket and trousers. His cravat was also blue, but his shirt and waistcoat were a gray that almost matched the silver of his eyes. One leather-clad hand held his black top hat and walking stick. She knew what that walking stick was capable of. It was nearly as dangerous as its owner.
“I won’t give him a cut direct he hasn’t earned.” Although she could feel Winnie’s horrified gaze on her, Catherine acknowledged Claybourne with a smile and wondered how to best handle this situation without causing Winnie to suspect that she and Claybourne shared more than a passing acquaintance. She should have known Claybourne would have the situation well in hand.
“Lady Catherine Mabry, as I recall,” he said lazily, a hint of teasing in his eyes that she doubted Winnie would notice. She suspected Winnie feared the man so much that she wouldn’t lift her gaze above his neckcloth. “Our paths crossed at a ball once, some years back, but I don’t believe we were ever formally introduced.” He bowed slightly. “I’m Claybourne.”
“Yes, I recall that ball. It has been some years. What a surprise it is to see you here today.”
“I have it on good authority that the Great Exhibition is not to be missed.”
“I daresay they’ll be talking about it for years to come.” She turned to Winnie. “Duchess, allow me to introduce Lucian Langdon, the Earl of Claybourne.”
Winnie’s fingers were still digging into her arm, and Catherine could feel her trembling. What was it she feared? The man had done nothing threatening.
“My lord,” Winnie said succinctly, and Catherine doubted that Claybourne had missed the rudeness in her tone, yet he didn’t seem bothered by it.
“Your Grace,” he replied. “Allow me to introduce Miss Darling. An acquaintance.”
Frannie was dressed very much as she had been last night. Her dress a drab gray as though she wished to draw no attention to herself. Even her bonnet had very little color in it, almost as though she were in a later stage of mourning.
“Yes, quite, I’m sure,” Winnie said, haughtily and suspiciously.
Claybourne narrowed his eyes, and Catherine was certain he’d taken offense. It was one thing to slight him, but to slight the woman he loved—
“Have you been here long?” Catherine asked, trying to make up for Winnie’s impoliteness.
“No, not long. Miss Darling wanted to rush through and get a lay of the land, as it were. I prefer a leisurely pursuit. Which do you recommend?”
“I believe it’s impossible to see everything in one go. At least by going slowly you see everything in more detail.”
“My thought exactly.”
Whit began rocking against her, his short legs kicking her backside and hip. “Go! Go!”
Catherine set him down before her arms gave out.
Claybourne immediately crouched in front of him. “And who are you?”
Winnie gasped.
“The Earl of Whitson,” Whit said, mimicking his mother’s earlier haughty tone. As young as he was, already he recognized differences in the classes.
“Did you know they have lemonade, pastries, and lollipops over there? Would you like to buy some for you and your mum?” Claybourne asked.
Whit nodded enthusiastically, his weariness suddenly cured.
“Hold out your hand,” Claybourne ordered.
Whit did.
“Fold it up.” Claybourne demonstrated, closing his hand into a fist. Then he snapped his fingers. “Open your hand.”
The boy did, his eyes growing wide at the ha’penny resting on his palm. Winnie gasped again.
“Hmm. I’m not certain that’s enough,” Claybourne said. He looked up at Frannie. “What’s your opinion on the matter, Miss Darling?”
“Definitely not enough. I should think he’d need at least a shilling.”
“I suspect you’re right.” He turned back to Whit. “Close your hand around the coin and say, ‘Please, sir, may I have more?’”