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What had she expected?

In point of fact, she wasn’t certain.

Captain Steele had been so kind and considerate—except for those moments she’d wanted to pinch him for being highhanded. The truth was, she wanted to see him again—still hoped to see him again.

All Landry would say about his discussion with Jason that afternoon he’d seen her home was that he’d thanked the captain for his assistance and that he believed Captain Steele was to take an extended voyage soon.

How soon? To where? How long, precisely, was extended?

None of that was her business.

Lenora’s stomach tightened at the idea she might never see Jason again. When she’d first opened her eyelids while lying on the pavement and looked into his mesmerizing gaze, she felt as if she recognized him. As if her soul or spirit did.

It made no sense. It was silly and ridiculous and nonsensical. Lenora and Jason’s meeting was happenstance. A coincidence dictated by unfortunate circumstances.

Taking a sip of her tea, Lenora perused the drawing room. She only knew half of those here. The result of her indecorous public display was that an unusually large number of guests had joined the Keyworths for tea today.

Four more curiosity seekers had arrived within the last fifteen minutes.

Poor Mrs. Cox—the cook—and the kitchen maids must be running ragged.

If Lenora wasn’t mistaken, the key-shaped brass knocker had echoed a few moments ago, proclaiming another inquisitive member of le beau monde. It seemed all of London was touting Lenora as a heroine. Hardly. She had done what any decent person would’ve done.

She’d wager Lady Darlington-Pope had something to do with all of the hullaballoo and notoriety. Lenora sincerely liked the elderly matron and admired her gumption and perspicacity.

Raising the teacup to her mouth again, she took another sip of the tasty brew and caught the eye of Lady Olivia Wimpleton, who stood near the fireplace speaking to Lady Gambill. Lady Olivia’s gaze traveled between Lord Phillips and Mr. Pew, whose conversation had grown so animated that they both gestured wildly.

Lord Phillips nearly poked Lenora in the eye. Only by swiftly leaning backward did she avoid the mishap.

Her blue eyes twinkling, Lady Olivia arched a winged red eyebrow in silent inquiry.

She must’ve seen the desperation in Lenora’s eyes. No rescue would be forthcoming from Landry or Celestia. Their backs were to her as they, the Earl and Countess of Wainthorpe, and Mr. and Mrs. Faulkenhurst, listened intently to something Viscount Kingsley was saying.

Lenora furrowed her brow, trying to remember the connections there. Viscount Kingsley was Lady Olivia Wimpleton’s brother, and Ivonne Faulkenhurst was her husband’s sister. Of the many members of the ton she’d met since coming to London, they were amongst the nicest.

Mama and three of the ladies from her sewing circle were huddled together at a table near the fire. The weather had turned peevish and bitingly cold as October melded into November.

Do you need rescuing? Lady Olivia asked silently across the distance.

Lenora gave an imperceptible nod. Please.

Lady Olivia murmured something to Lady Gambill, who smiled broadly—Lady Gambill always presented a rather horsey-toothed smile—and nodded before finding her way to a small cluster of guests. Every now and again, one or two would peer in Lenora’s direction before they put their heads together again.

One needn’t profess the second sight to know her name was on nearly every tongue.

She disliked being on display.

Lady Olivia made straight for Lenora. “Gentlemen, please do excuse Miss Audsley. I simply must speak to her. It’s a matter of some urgency. I’m positive you’ll understand.”

At once, Mr. Pew and Lord Phillips rose.

After murmuring her excuses, Lenora accepted Lady Olivia’s outstretched hand and permitted her to lead her toward the bay window on the other side of the room. The area was only slightly less crowded, and every eye turned in their direction.

Lenora pretended not to notice.

“Those two could bore the bark off of a tree,” Lady Olivia said with a broad grin. “What were they discussing so exuberantly? Their latest merino wool tailcoat ordered from Mr. Weston on Bond Street?”

Lenora grinned back. “No. Today’s stimulating subject centered around cravats.”