Free The Fairest of Them All by Cathy Maxwell

said.
    The servants bowed and left. Sarah closed the door behind them. She walked forward as if entering the presence of greatness. She threw her arms about Char and swung her around the room. Lady Baldwin did her own jig, the half-­empty sherry bottle held high.
    â€œYou did it,” Sarah said. “You did it, you did it, you did it. Oh, sweetie—­” She used a pet name for Char. “Our luck has changed.”
    Char prayed she was right.

Chapter Six
    J ack woke the next morning in one of Menheim’s very comfortable beds and his first thought was of the lovely pickpocket.
    After their confrontation, he’d gone out of his way to walk that particular section of the city, looking for a slender lad hiding hair kissed by the moon under an overlarge hat.
    Of course he didn’t find her. She was clever enough to avoid him. And he had more important matters to consider than a petty criminal, even a lovely one.
    He’d forced her out of his mind. He was ­singular of purpose and focused on what he needed to do . . . until this morning, and he wasn’t certain why he thought of her now.
    Something had prompted his curiosity about her and Jack couldn’t fathom what it was.
    Gavin had sent footmen the night before to the Horse and Horn for his belongings. Jack now dressed himself and, seeing the time, left his room bound for a meeting of his delegation at the inn.
    Menheim was quiet when he went out the door, which was not unusual considering the ball the night before. Not even Henry, their ever-­present butler, guarded the front door.
    â€œI hear you created a stir last night,” Silas ­Lawrence commented in greeting as Jack sat down at his table in the public room. The Horse and Horn was a busy posting inn and accessible to wherever one might wish to go in London, or in England.
    The room charges were also reasonable. Jon­athan Russell, the United States chargé d’affaires to the Court of St. James, had recommended it to Jack’s delegation. He’d also warned that the United States government was notoriously slow with paying travel vouchers. Matthew Rice might have enough money to lose his purse and replace it, but Jack didn’t. He wasn’t certain about Silas’s financial standing, but the man had offered no protest at the choice of residence.
    â€œAnd you heard this where?” Jack said.
    â€œThe papers.” Lawrence spread his hands over the paper he had been reading. “They are full of stories about your brother’s ball last evening. I didn’t realize you had gone missing and had been believed dead.”
    â€œI am more resilient than most consider me,” Jack returned.
    Lawrence gave him one of his tight smiles. “­Apparently. I knew you were well connected but I didn’t realize there was so much family ­spectacle involved. You are all anyone can talk about. I’ve been sitting here for an hour and your name is on everyone’s lips.”
    â€œI am not here to discuss my family history. Where is Matthew?” Jack nodded as the ­serving girl, a buxom lass with more swagger to her hips than a sailor, gestured to see if he wished a ­tankard. He pointed to whatever Silas was drinking. “I sent word we should all meet at this hour.”
    â€œAnd I am here.” Lawrence began folding the paper. “I did notice you didn’t return last night.”
    â€œI’ll be staying with my family.”
    â€œAh.” Lawrence had a way of making that one syllable sound a condemnation. “Well, our young friend may not be joining us. He is sleeping it off.”
    â€œSleeping what off?”
    â€œRelax, Whitridge. Matthew is young. He took in too many of the sights, if you understand my meaning.” His gaze lingered appreciatively on the serving girl as she placed a pewter mug in front of Jack.
    Leaning forward to block his view, Jack said, “We are not here for