Page 76 of The Dueling Duchess

Child and dog glared at Guy.

He raised his hands. “No, no, of course not. But I’ll get in touch with Marianne. You know she’s wild about this sort of thing. In fact, that was where I was planning to take the girl all along—to one of Marianne’s whosey whatsits.”

Cecile gave him a withering look. “This is your responsibility, Guy. Take charge of it instead of shuffling it aside.”

Guy thought his head might explode. “Look, darling, I just wanted to—”

“Play the hero, but at no cost to yourself?” she asked innocently.

“Er . . .” Guy looked from Cecile to the girl—Cat. She was quite a taking little thing now that she was all cleaned up. Seeing her looking like a real little girl made it even more appalling that she’d been digging through rubbish for food. Had he only taken her inside because he wanted to be a hero?

His gaze flickered to Cecile, and something uncomfortable unfurled in the pit of his stomach.

The love of his life stared back at him with an unyielding look. She didn’t need to say anything—he could see the truth in her eyes. She thought he was a dilettante and that taking Cat off the street was yet another of his thoughtless, careless actions.

Lord, was she right?

Guy sighed again and yanked his gaze away from Cecile, forcing himself to smile at his new responsibility.

He gestured to the tiny room. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

* * *

Guy learned many, many things over the next few hours.

Cat was eight, or perhaps nine—she couldn’t quite remember. Her father had died when she was little, and she’d lived with her mother until she was seven, of that she was positive.

Guy still didn’t know what had happened to her mother and was afraid to press the matter when Cat’s eyes grew huge and glassy and her lower lip trembled.

She had met George the first month she’d lived on the street, when he’d bitten a man who was trying to drag her into a scary house.

Horror, fury, and shame swirled inside him when she’d told that part of her story.

Cat had been very, very lucky to last as long as she had, unmolested. Although she had not said it explicitly, life became somewhat easier for her when she got so dirty that her gender was no longer apparent; fewer people had tried to lure, entice, or capture her.

An old woman had taken pity on Cat and George not long after the harrowing experience with the man, and she had given them little bits of food and allowed them to sleep on her porch on the coldest nights.

But the woman had died a few weeks ago and Cat and her dog had been scavenging full-time since then.

“Nobody hardly came into your alley, so me and George didn’t have to hide,” Cat confided over a breakfast of porridge swimming in cream, currants, and honey.

Guy suspected nobody came into that particular rubbish alley because the pickings were so slim. Judging by the way girl and dog devoured their food—yes, Cook had even found a meaty bone for the trusty hound, not to mention the food that made its way from Cat’s bowl down to the floor—both were half-starved.

Amazingly, Cat knew how to read, having been fortunate enough to attend a day school in a small village whose name she couldn’t recall.

Guy suspected her mother had come to London seeking better wages, like many agricultural and rural folk. There had been constant waves of disease in the poorer parts of London, and the poor woman must have succumbed to one without making any arrangements for her daughter.

Cat’s last name was Smith, a singularly unhelpful surname when it came to tracking down relatives. According to Cat, her mother was a princess and her father a knight who’d died while fighting trolls.

Since the girl had been living by her wits for the past two and half years, Guy couldn’t blame her for creating a more satisfying life.

That said, he suspected tracking down such people might prove more difficult than one would think, given the dearth of either princesses, knight protectors, or trolls.

* * *

Cecile spent the day swinging from one extreme to another. She’d felt righteous this morning when she’d woken Guy and forced him to face his responsibilities.

But as the hours passed, she questioned whether she’d done the proper thing. After all—what did he know about taking care of a little girl?