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dimple appeared as she smiled. “Mr. Bodford has spoken of you.”
    “Has he now? And what could the bounder possibly have told you to call forth such a smile? I personally never believe a word he says.”
    “How unfair, Cranford!” declared a sturdily built young man who appeared at his elbow. “I need all the credibility I can muster with Miss Margaret and don’t you go spoiling it. Told her nothing but that you were top of the trees, I promise.”
    “And that you collect broken tombstones,” Margaret added, her eyes twinkling.
    “I never!” Mr. Bodford protested. “You must be thinking of Rusholme. He is the one who thinks you’re a ghoul, like Selwyn, but I have never known you to chase after funeral processions or frequent Tyburn. The man must have been dicked in the nob—Selwyn, I mean, not you, Cranford.” Bodford eyed Margaret with mock reproach. “Now see what you’ve done, my dear. Gotten me all twisted up. Cranford is the best of fellows even if he does like to grub about in ruins. Just don’t talk to him about old fortifications and you will find him a charming conversationalist. But be warned! One mention of the moldering past and he’s off! I tell you only for your own protection, I assure you.”
    Cranford laughed. “It is no more than the truth, Miss Margaret. Once I get on my hobby horse, I am like to forget that my audience does not perhaps share my fascination with antiquities. Mrs. Reed has a habit of squelching my enthusiasm rather effectively, however.”
    Mrs. Reed regarded him affectionately. “You need do no more than call him ‘Professor,’ Margaret. It has the most wonderful effect on him.”
    The young woman dimpled again and said solemnly, “I shall remember.”
    “Come, Cranford,” Mrs. Reed urged, linking her arm with his, “You’ve had no chance to speak with the others and it’s nearly time for dinner.”
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Chapter 3
    When the gong sounded, Cranford offered his arm to the young woman standing beside him, an elegantly tall, fair-haired beauty named Kitty. It was not the first time he had escorted her to dinner; in fact, when he came to Mrs. Reed’s he invariably sought her out. There was a refinement about her wholly at odds with her way of life. Soft-spoken and surprisingly dignified, she was not the choice of most of the men who came, but she was a favorite of Mrs. Reed’s because of her decided air of class. Mrs. Reed ran a very distinguished establishment and tolerated no ill-mannered ruffians amongst her guests, nor unseemly public behavior from her girls. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays her doors were open to those privileged few whom she deemed worthy of entry; if any man dared treat her house as a common gaming house or brothel, he was quickly escorted from the premises and denied future entry. Her standards were high, and Miss Kitty, in her opinion, helped to set the tone of the house.
    Lacking the vivacity of Margaret or Claudette, and, though well endowed, not nearly so provocative as Marie or Susan, Kitty yet had a fascination of her own for those who appreciated her calm personality and reserved demeanor. Mrs. Reed was protective of her prize asset, as one might expect, but Kitty’s natural warmth stilled any resentment there might have been amongst the other girls. A shrewd businesswoman and a clever judge of character, Mrs. Reed had no girls who resented their way of life, even Kitty.
    “Come and sit by me,” Mrs. Reed urged Cranford as they entered the dining parlor, which sparkled with crystal and silver. “And Tony shall sit on Kitty’s right to amuse her just in case you should backslide.”
    “Never fear. Between the two most beautiful women in the room I am more like to pour forth poetry,” Cranford assured her. “‘Not marble, nor the gilded monuments, Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmear’d with sluttish time.’”
    Mrs. Reed pursed her