She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. “It’s okay, Michelle. “This ain’t no place for you. ” She breathed an inner sigh of relief. Mrs.
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