“I’m afraid my husband passed away five years ago.”

Mrs. Erskin looked over at Lucas. “And it is just you and your son?”

The question was phrased carefully enough, with just right amount of lightness and inflection to make it sound innocent. Caroline hadn’t remained so out of touch as to not know the second question that lurked in it.

Lucas was a typical boy of his age. That age, as near as she could discern it, was no older than four. Mrs. Erskin seemed to know that too.

“Yes, it is just the two of us.”

“Have you made plans for Christmas?” Lady Abigail enquired.

Caroline glanced over at Reverend Camp who, with the denizens of St Luke’s Mission, were handing out the last of the pamphlets while Mrs. Camp directed the rest of the ragtag choir in another carol.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the—”

“Then I insist you join us at least once. It’s been too long since we’ve had the pleasure of your company, and there are some new and interesting people I think you ought to meet.”

Before Caroline knew it, she found beginning to nod in agreement. How odd it was that no one could actually say ‘no’ to Lady Abigail Ridgeway…

Perhaps it would be no bad thing to re-enter society; her time of mourning was long past and reclaiming her position would mean she could speak to those who had influence in the House of Commons and House of Lords. Among them, she could make a great difference to the plight of the poor. And her position could only benefit Lucas as he grew older.

In the end it was easy to justify to herself a decision she was coerced into making. If only she could ignore the traitorous little voice that whispered also how nice it might be to spend more time in the company of Julian Winter.

“Then I gladly await an invitation,” she said. The look of pleasure of Julian’s face made her surer of herself than she had felt in years.

“And I look forward to running into you again – but under much more pleasant circumstances than out first meeting,” he said.

Was he flirting with her? A twinkle in his grey eyes seemed to suggest so. She felt a frisson of pleasure she had not experienced since the days of courting with Tristan. An unbidden blush grew on her cheeks.

Julian and his party took their leave of her and she watched them cross over to Park Lane and climb into the carriage that waited for them. The last of the afternoon light was fading away and so too had their audience. The final verse of Hark the Herald Angels Sing came to an end and Mrs. Camp’s makeshift choir started to disperse.

Caroline called Lucas to join her. The boy scampered up to her with at least three variations of paper darts and they made her way over to Reverend Camp.

“That was a splendid afternoon, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Well, we certainly distributed all of the pamphlets and I don’t see too many of them discarded.” She glanced down at Lucas then sheepishly back up at the reverend. “A few turned into playthings, yes… In any case, hopefully we have done some good.”

“I’m sure once people have read The Nightingale’s next article, today’s effort will not return void.”

“About The Nightingale…” Caroline hesitated. “I chose to use a pseudonym deliberately. I think it would be best if no one beyond you, Mrs. Camp, and the editor of The Argus know I am the author.”