“Henrietta! Touch my boy! Touch my son!”
Men doffed their caps and bowed. Women curtsied and sighed. They were gazing as if she were a saint, as if she’d been raised from the dead, and in a way, she supposed she had been.
She and Fish had only been in the facility for a few days, and it hadn’t exactly been a horrid experience. Nor had she been mistreated. An important person wasn’t meant to suffer. She and Fish had each brought a trunk of clothes, plus plenty of money to pay bribes and purchase amenities.
In fact, as her identity had spread, they’d been moved to an even nicer apartment than the one that had originally been supplied. Jailers had constantly stopped by to ask if she was comfortable and if they could be of service.
She had no idea how the news about her being Henrietta had spread in the general population. She hadn’t spoken a word about it, but with the story disseminated, it was as if a dam had broken. People were absolutely agog.
“Do you hear that?” Fish leaned in and murmured.
“No, what?” Libby asked.
Then the noise hit her. A crowd had gathered outside the walls, and a chant of, Let her out! Let her out!, filled the air.
“You like being the center of attention,” Fish said, “so this is the perfect conclusion.”
“Would you rather no one knew who I was? We’d have been common prisoners with common privileges.”
“Gad, no.” Fish scoffed. “I’m content to grab onto your coattails and stay tightly attached.”
“Our bail must have been posted,” Libby said. “Who do you figure managed it?”
“I’m betting on Simon. I can’t imagine who else would have bothered. It wouldn’t have been that philandering dog, Lord Barrett, or that treacherous fiend, Lord Roland.”
“Neither of them would dare show their sorry faces in our presence.”
“I like to think they wouldn’t,” Fish said, “but they’re both so arrogant. They probably assume we’d be glad to see them.”
“I wish our jailers would have allowed me to keep my pistol,” Libby told her. “If it’s one of them, I’d be delighted to use it to indicate how glad I am.”
They were being guided to the main office located near the front entrance. The inmates they’d passed surged forward, anxious for a final glimpse of her.
“We’re on your side, Miss Carstairs!” they cried repeatedly.
“Lord Roland is a monster!” others added. “Don’t forgive him for this! We certainly won’t!”
She hadn’t mentioned Lord Roland having her arrested, but there must have been gossip about it. She was terribly hurt by his tactic, and she received enormous consolation from learning that others were outraged on her behalf. His ploy to lock her away hadn’t worked. Evidently, the rumor about her being Henrietta had circulated far and wide, so his attempt to silence her had been pointless.
She wondered if he regretted his decision. Or—now that his first scheme had imploded—would he implement a different penalty? How desperate was he to prove that she wasn’t Henrietta? What other methods might he employ to thwart her? Would she always have to look over her shoulder?
She hoped he’d simply leave her alone. His message had been loud and clear. He didn’t believe she was Henrietta, and he had no desire to welcome her into the family. Since he was obviously opposed to any reconciliation, she wouldn’t push herself at him. She was a very proud woman, and she wouldn’t put herself in a position where he could spurn her ever again.
From the moment she’d opened the box of Harry’s letters, she’d comprehended how hard it would be to have Lord Roland accept her. It was why she’d shut her mouth for so many months, but she wasn’t a glutton for punishment, so she intended to continue shutting it.
They were led into the warden’s office. It was a small, unadorned room, with a desk, three chairs, and some filing cabinets along the wall. He was seated at the desk, and he stood and smiled a fake smile. He came over to her, his hands extended in greeting as if they were old friends.
“Ah, Miss Carstairs!” he said. “There you are! May I call you Libby? Or should I call you Henrietta? Which would you prefer?”
“You may call me Miss Carstairs,” she imperiously replied.
Apparently, he’d presumed she’d be grateful to have been summoned, so he was taken aback by her haughty tone. His smile slipped, but he pasted it on again. “I’ve seen you on the stage several times, and we’ve been so honored to have you lodged in our establishment.”
Libby was afraid she might slap him, but Fish saved her by asking, “Why were we brought to you? Has our bail been posted? Is that it?”
“Yes.” His cheeks flushed as if he was embarrassed. “We apologize for the delay, but there was an issue over the amount and who would pay it. The problem has been rectified though.”
“How?” Fish caustically inquired. “Did someone browbeat Lord Roland until he stopped acting like an ass?”
The warden scowled. “Let’s not disparage our betters, shall we?”
“Are we free to leave?” Libby asked, too impatient to endure their bickering.
“Yes, you’re free,” he said. “We’re just waiting for your escort. There’s such a crowd on the street that it was difficult to maneuver your carriage up to the gate.”
Suddenly, they heard many men approaching, as if it would require a phalanx of guards to whisk her out to her vehicle. Then Simon burst into the room, which she was thrilled to observe, but when she realized who had accompanied him, she grimaced with distaste.
“Lord Barrett?” she said to Luke. “Why are you here?”
“Are you all right?” He looked frantic and concerned. “I’ve been worried sick.”
His expression was warm and fond, as if they hadn’t quarreled, as if he hadn’t mocked and grievously wounded her. Had he forgotten their prior conversation? Could he assume she had forgotten it?
He reached out as if he’d hug her, and she scooted behind Fish so Fish could be a barrier. He frowned, appearing confused and
