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realized she was alone. “I … I came out alone,” she confessed, hanging her head. “I only wanted to be free for a little while.”
    Sebastian regarded her in silence for a moment. He understood the desire; it had often struck him that women, young women in particular, must find the restrictionson their movements unendurable at times. Even Serena, who had more freedom than most women, obeyed certain social conventions. Or had done, he amended. He didn’t know what she did now.
    “Where do you live?” he asked finally.
    “Bruton Street.”
    He nodded. As he’d assumed, a most respectable address. “Your family will be beside themselves with worry.” He hadn’t really considered the comment in the nature of a reproof, but the girl’s china-blue eyes welled with tears, and her lip trembled. She was little more than a child, he realized, and presumably had acted as impetuously as any child.
    “I don’t mean to scold,” he said hastily. “’Tis hardly my place to do so, but I will escort you home now.” He offered her his arm with a small bow that went a long way towards restoring Abigail’s dignity. “Sebastian Sullivan at your service, ma’am.”
    Abigail managed a small curtsy. “Abigail Sutton, sir. And I am most truly grateful for your assistance.”
    He laughed, but not in mockery. “’Tis a pleasure, Miss Sutton.”
    On the short walk to Bruton Street, Sebastian learned a great deal about Abigail Sutton. She had recovered her equanimity with remarkable speed and chattered as if to an old and valued friend. “I did not care for Paris particularly,” she confided, “but Mama thought it necessary I should acquire some experience of the Continent and to practice my French. I’m afraid I wasn’t very goodat foreign languages at school. My French is barely passable, but I do speak a little Italian, and my drawing is quite good, or so Miss Trenton told me at school. She said I had quite a talent. I play the pianoforte a little, and I sing, so I have all the accomplishments, although I am not at all proficient with the harp.”
    “I cannot imagine why one would wish to become proficient with the harp. It seems to be an instrument purely the province of elderly ladies with very severe coiffures,” Sebastian said solemnly, eliciting a delighted chuckle from his companion.
    They arrived at the house on Bruton Street, and Sebastian would have been prepared to leave his charge once he had seen her admitted, but the door flew open before he could even raise the knocker, and a distraught lady of ample girth seemed to explode onto the top step.
    “Abigail … child … where have you been? Your father is beside himself with worry. I have been tearing my hair out.”
    Hands waved in the general direction of her powdered coiffure illustrated the truth of this. Wisps escaped from the tight confines of hidden pins, and straggling locks tumbled around her face. Scarlet rouge stood out dramatically against the white of her powdered cheeks.
    “What on earth can you have been thinking of?” she continued, her voice rising. “And who is this? A man … you have been alone with a strange man in the public street. What kind of man would take advantageof a young girl … oh, your father will have to call him out, and I daresay—”
    “Just a minute, ma’am.” Sebastian’s crisp tones cut through Mrs. Sutton’s rising hysteria. “That seems an unnecessarily vigorous response to what was intended only as a courtesy with the best of motives. I merely escorted Miss Sutton home after she ran into some unpleasantness in Piccadilly.” He bowed, hat in hand. “The Honorable Sebastian Sullivan at your service, ma’am.”
    Marianne had been dumbstruck during this masterly speech and looked at her daughter’s escort properly for the first time. Everything about him spoke of refinement and breeding. “Oh, my goodness, sir, I didn’t mean to imply … you have done my daughter a great service, I’m sure. Will you