"Your Grace." a voice rang out, calm yet sharp.
Cavendish paused, his hand on the carriage door, and turned to see the figure standing in the middle of the street. He was calm, almost casual, but his piercing eyes cut through the tension like a blade.
"Who might you be to interrupt me?" Cavendish asked, raising an eyebrow. His tone suggested he was more amused than annoyed, but there was an edge of curiosity in his voice.
Maverick tilted his head slightly. "Just a Merchant from London. I can't help wondering why a man of your stature would need to push aside the pleas of a desperate mother instead of simply dismissing her with grace." His tone was polite, but the subtle jab didn't go unnoticed.
The crowd murmured, and Cavendish's eyes narrowed slightly. "Careful with your words, Merchant. I am not a man to be lectured."
