Page 29 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
Stopping beside a small lad sitting against a lamppost, she bent down and held out one of her wooden disks. The boy simply stared at it. She said something Thorne couldn’t hear. Then with a wide grin, the imp snatched it from her fingers and tore off down the street. When she straightened, he asked, “What are those?”
Seemingly embarrassed by his question, she slipped her hand into the pocket of her skirt, causing the clatter of other tokens, and carried on. “They can be swapped for a bowl of soup at the back door of the tavern.”
She’d handed them out to men, women, and children. “How do you know who is in need?”
She shrugged. “It’s the eyes. The eyes tell you when someone is hungry.”
So caught up in his own worries, he hadn’t been paying attention, while this woman was incredibly aware of her surroundings, seemed to notice everything. “Did you go hungry as a child?”
“More times than I could count.”
He couldn’t imagine it. His belly had always been full, more than full actually. “How do you know people aren’t taking advantage of your generosity?”
Stopping, she met his gaze head-on. “If you weren’t in need, would you take charity?”
He gave a long slow nod of understanding. It had bothered him when she’d refused to take payment for tending to him after he’d been attacked. He didn’t much like being in debt. He owed her for her assistance today as well. It would no doubt take a bit of creativity to ensure he repaid her properly, a payment that might provide him with an excuse to spend more time with her. “No, I suppose not.”
“There you are then,” she stated briskly. “Let’s inquire here.”
Without waiting for him, she marched up a path, climbed three steps—steps she might have scrubbed as a child—and knocked smartly. She was without a doubt the most independent woman he’d ever known. She didn’t require his arm for support or his permission for action.
The door opened, and a hunched-over woman gave him an excruciatingly slow perusal before turning her attention to Gillie.
“Hello, Mrs. Bard.”
“Gillie.”
Did the tavern owner know everyone? Did they all know her?
“Any new lodgers of late?”
“Me rooms have been filled for a couple of months now. No one new.”
“And in your common room?”
The old woman shifted her feet as though she’d been caught in a lie. “They comes ’n’ goes. ’Specially them what sleeps on the ropes.”
He was still trying to process what she was referring to when Gillie turned to him. “Did you bring the miniature?”
“Ah, yes.” Reaching into his pocket, he removed the tiny portrait of Lavinia that she’d given him a few weeks after their betrothal. He’d assumed she’d been marking her commitment to him.
His search partner took it and gave it a passing glance, before holding it near Mrs. Bard’s nose. “Has she slept here?”
Narrowing her eyes, the older woman leaned nearer and shook her head. “Ain’t seen ’er.”
“Are you certain?” he asked.
One eye narrowing even further, she glared at him. “Ye questioning me eyes or me tongue?”
“Neither,” Gillie said quickly as she handed the portrait back to him. “He’s simply striving to find her.”
“Run off from ye, did she? Ye beat ’er?”
“What? No! Of course not. Don’t be ludicrous.”
“Oh, a man of big fancy words. ’E ain’t your sort, Gillie. Too much of the posh in ’im.”
“Will you let me know if you see her?” Gillie asked.
