Maisie leaned forward, voice lower still. “Would Faivish search for me, do you think?”
Rachel shut her eyes for a breath. “Perhaps,” she said, and Maisie could hear restraint in her tone. “But…”
That trailing off—meaning pulsed there. Final.
Maisie’s chest felt too tight to breathe.
Before she could say more, Deena entered the frame, pale morning backing her up. “Maisie, it’s time to go.”
Her skirts felt heavy as she rose. She smoothed the folds—an automatic gesture, a shield over the tremor that ran through her.
They moved into the hall. Rachel followed her with watchful quiet.
“Has the dentist helped the marquess?” she asked.
Maisie stopped. The question felt simple. But her mind was tangled in one man she’d never found. “He has,” she said eventually. Her voice found itself. “Very much. He’s… skilled. Perhaps more than expected.”
Rachel’s expression softened further. “They say that of Harley Street doctors. Gentlefolk queue for them—some of the highest in the land.”
Maisie’s breath clipped.Queue of patients.The idea snagged memories—her father’s waiting area filled with women every Tuesday and Thursday when Faivish was there. For a heartbeat, something wild dared to hope.
But fear followed: if the dentist learned from Faivish… then he might carry his name. And if he carried it, others would know.
Her fingers clenched around Deena’s hand behind her skirts. She managed to smile, smooth and small.
Deena tugged at her. “You promised the bookshop next.”
They moved on. Their path led them from the Pearlers’ house, down the street, toward Pall Mall. But the name haunted her step.
Harley Street dentist. Skilled. Known.Not yet familiar, though Deena said not familiar at all.
The carriage rocked with a lazy rhythm, wheels murmuring over the uneven cobbles. Maisie adjusted her gloves, tugging at the fingers to keep her hands steady. John slouched beside her—all elbows, knees, and shoes still too large for him.
“You’ll eat fewer sweets now, I hope,” Maisie said, her tone light but pointed.
“But I thought you liked it when I smiled.” He grinned wide—a flash of new gold gleaming at the back of his mouth.
Maisie’s lips twitched, but she kept her voice even. “At Eton, you’llbe on your own. I’m trusting you.”
“No more chocolates?” John asked.
“No.” She paused. “But I’ll send letters. I’ll bring you home for the holidays. I’ll always be just a note away.”
Deena leaned forward, her arm resting against Maisie’s. “We’ll be there when you need us.”
John straightened a little. “I suppose that’s better than chocolates.”
Maisie nodded. A warm ache unfurled behind her smile. “Good.”
The carriage began to slow.
“Did you get John’s uniforms?” Maisie asked.
“They’ll be ready this afternoon,” Deena replied.
“I’ll fetch them. I want to stop by the archives again.”
John looked up. “You’re not coming to the dentist?”
