Page 61 of A Lady of Conscience

“Then, yes. I will.”

She stifled a pleased smile. “It is to be in Italian. And very beautiful too, I’m told, even if one doesn’t speak the language.”

“If you’ll permit me to sit beside you, I shall be happy to provide a translation.”

Her cheeks glowed. “I will save you a seat, of course.”

A smile edged James’s mouth. “How else have you been occupying your time since last I saw you?” he asked. “Aside from entertaining callers.”

“There have not been so many of those. Indeed, it’s my correspondence that’s taken up the bulk of my free time. I’ve fallen terribly behind since the start of my season.”

“Ah, yes. As I recall, you’re a capital letter writer.”

“I am,” she said, on her mettle. “At least, I was before having to devote so many hours to balls and concerts and the like.” She adjusted her shawl. “I had a letter just this morning from my friend, Miss Winthrop.”

“The publisher of the Animal Advocate?” James asked, looking at her.

Hannah warmed under his regard. One of the things she liked best about him was that he didn’t affect a polite curiosity about the subjects that meant something to her. Whenever she spoke, he showed a genuine interest. And he listened. Really listened. “She has become a good friend since I arrived in Bath.”

“I look forward to making her acquaintance.”

“I hope you shall, in time.” Hannah hesitated. “Did I mention that she’s agreed to publish my cat article? Indeed, she has published it. The new journal went out to its subscribers several days ago.”

“Which makes you a multipublished author?” James smiled. “I congratulate you.”

Two riders trotted by along the avenue. One of the men touched his hat to them in acknowledgment as he and his companion passed. James inclined his head in return.

It was a lovely day out, and there were several people in the park taking advantage of it. Mothers and their children, nurses and invalids, and even a few couples like Hannah and James.

“You’re not scandalized by the fact?” she asked him.

“Should I be?”

“You might be,” she said.

James gave her another look.

Hannah was steeling herself to explain about her name being printed in the Animal Advocate when she heard a faint, but entirely distinctive, noise emanating from a patch of woodland that ran alongside the path. She came to an abrupt halt. “Is that…?”

James stopped alongside her as the noise came again. “It sounds like a kitten.”

“Several kittens,” Hannah said. There was no mistaking the plaintive cries. She entered the stand of trees, moving toward the sound with a cautious step. She didn’t wish to startle the poor creatures. Unless she was mistaken, they were in distress. Either hurt or hungry.

Or worse.

James followed her, just in time to see a man hunched over the underbrush. He held a burlap sack in one beefy hand and a struggling gray kitten in the other.

Outrage rose in Hannah’s breast. “I beg your pardon, sir!” She strode toward the man. “Just what is it you think you’re doing?”

The man straightened. Dressed in brown homespun and a tweed cap, he had the look of a groundskeeper or gamekeeper. He kept hold of the kitten’s scruff, ignoring its cries as it thrashed in his grasp. “What someone shoulda done days ago,” he said. “Disposing of these creatures to save ’em from suffering.”

There were three more kittens huddled in the undergrowth—all of them varying shades of gray, and all of them crying pitifully. They couldn’t have been more than four weeks old.

“Where is their mother?” Hannah asked.

“Dead,” the man said. “And they ain’t old enough to fend for themselves.”

Hannah’s kindling gaze flashed from the kitten in the man’s right hand to the burlap sack in his left. “You surely aren’t going to drown them?”