When it occurred to him that his failure to kiss her might have offended Dot, he almost stopped dead in his footsteps. He’d rather sever a limb than hurt her. He might not be in love with Dot, but he most certainly had come to care about her. She was eminently admirable.
Because she had consented to marry him, it must mean that she fancied him. Therefore, it would stand to reason she would wish to be kissed by the man she favored.
What a complete oaf I’ve been! Kissing shouldn’t be something one had to contemplate. Just like back at her house, he’d kissed her because he bloody well wanted to, because he enjoyed being with her, and being with her made him happy. That’s why he’d so spontaneously leaned over and pecked her on the cheek.
He vowed that henceforth he would make a conscious effort to kiss her when leaving her each night.
A pity he didn’t lust after her. It would have made the prospect of their marriage much more appealing.
He looked down at her delicate hand resting on his proffered sleeve, and he covered it with his. The idea of being married no longer revolted him. He could have done far worse than marrying Miss Dorothea Pankhurst.
She looked up at him with those soulful dark eyes and smiled.
Then he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to it. “I am happy that the woman with whom I’m going to share life sees eye to eye with me much of the time.”
“And I’m happy that the man with whom I’m going to share my life does not treat me as if I’m empty headed.” Her amused gaze met his. “Most of the time.”
“When have I not?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “That day when you picked Annie and me up from the lending library.”
An aggravated expression on his face, he nodded. “Forgive me for initially thinking your taste in books would parallel that of most maidens—many of whom are empty headed. I should have known if Annie got on so well with you, you couldn’t be stupid.”
“Surely you haven’t forgotten all my father’s accolades,” she said with a laugh. “Does he not sufficiently praise me?”
“I have found his praise to be well founded.”
“I believe you’re prevaricating again, my lord. And now that you’ve been properly chastised, I must make a confession.”
He turned to her. The chilled air had turned her cheeks red, something he hadn’t expected to see in one with her dark colouring. He thought again of that Italian opera singer whose colouring was very similar to Dot’s and to whom he’d been so attracted. “You thought I would be stupid?”
She shrugged. “I hadn’t actually considered whether you’d be intelligent.”
“But you were expecting me to be . . . surely you didn’t think I was as bad at that blasted Bath Chronicle paints me?”
She nodded sheepishly. “I thought you would be quite dissipated. A profligate, to be sure.”
His stomach dropped. She’d no doubt read that he kept a mistress. He hoped to God she did not bring that up. He cleared his throat. “So, it’s certainly a cold day today.”
She laughed at his efforts to redirect the conversation. “Indeed. I believe we’ll welcome a ride in your carriage.”
Once they were in his coach, they arrived at Lower Richard Street in just a few minutes. She turned to him. “You did bring your calling cards?”
“I’m a most obedient husband-to-be.”
“I shall take comfort in that.”
“Where do you think we should begin? I’m sure you’ll have thought it out.”
“Indeed. We ought to start at Mrs. Thorpe’s next-door neighbors on either side.” As she spoke, she peered from his coach window. “I see that the arrival of your coach has already resulted in more than one curtain being lifted.”
“Good.”
A moment later, he was knocking upon the front door of the house west of Mrs. Thorpe’s. Customarily, one of his rank employed his coachman to knock and announce him, but he thought these working class people might not be acquainted with the ways of the nobility. Better to come himself. That might even establish a more casual atmosphere in which to question the neighbor.
A middle-aged woman whose brown hair was streaked with gray opened the door warily.
Appleton presented her with his calling card. “Good day to you. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Lord Appleton, and I wished to make inquiries about a young lady who resided next door to you.”
It seemed apparent to him the woman did not know whether she should invite him in, or if she should keep him on the step. She chose the latter. “The pretty one what was murdered?”
“Yes.” He bowed his head reverently. “My fiancée,” he indicated Dot, “and I were acquainted with the lady and distressed over her death. We wondered if you ever saw her with a man.”
The woman shook her head. “Never. And I wondered about her not having a fellow, seeing as she was such a pretty girl.”
“Did you ever see any man loiter around this street?”
“Loiter?”
This neighbor must not know the meaning of the word. “Did you ever see a man hanging about?” he asked.
She pursed her lips. “I don’t think so. I believe I’d have noticed if there was some deranged sex maniac ’anging about.”
He wasn’t surprised. “Do others reside here, others whom we could question?”
“Just me husband now, and he has trouble walking. He’s a shut-in and can’t even make it to the window to peer out.”
“Well, we thank you for your time,” he said.
“If you should think of anything,” Dot said, “please contact his lordship.”
The woman looked again at his card. “I’ve read about Lord Appleton in the Bath Chronicle! Fancy getting to meet you myself!”
“I beg that you not judge me by what is written in that
