Felix inclined his head. “Good evening, James. I’ve not come on a call. I was waiting for Raphael Klonimus.”
James stepped back with a quiet sweep of his arm. “Then you needn’t stand in the rain. Come in, sir.”
Felix crossed the threshold, the tiled floor catching droplets from his coat. His boots left dark tracks on the black-and-white marble.
“I didn’t realize you’d been waiting outside,” James said.
“I’m not anymore,” Felix replied dryly, his gaze falling to the damp trail at his feet. “I only meant to tell him I was leaving. My puppy’s likely pacing by now.”
James’s mouth tugged wryly. “So you’ve a dog now? Feeling lonely, Doctor?”
Felix let out a small smile, nothing more. “Would you mind telling him I’ve gone? Just wish him good night for me.”
James gave a butler’s nod—half an answer, half an evasion. Then: “You’re soaked, sir. Allow me to fetch a carriage. You’ll reach your puppy faster that way.”
Felix inclined his head. “Thank you.”
He waited, water pooling beneath his soles. The Pearlers’ home stood around him—quietly grand, every detail deliberate. He’d known of them for years, by reputation and by brief professional encounters. Wealth had not hardened them. They were spoken of kindly, even by those with little.
Maisie would have liked them and trusted them.
If life had bent another way, he might have brought her here—stepped into a dining room like this with her hand looped in his arm. The thought landed sharp, too sharp, and he brushed it aside like rain off his sleeve. Yet some of it clung, soaked through.
He was steadying himself when Raphi came striding down the corridor.
“Forgive me,” Raphi said, clapping his shoulder. “That took longer than I meant. They’ve guests. I left as soon as I could.”
Felix gave a dry half-smile. “I told you—it wasn’t for me to intrude.”
Raphi tilted his head, eyes alight with curiosity. “An odd lady, their guest. Lady Eleanor Spencer. Sister of the old Marquess of Stonefield. The one who vanished on the Continent.”
Felix blinked—the boy. The marquess is only a child.But confidentiality bound him. “I’ve heard the name,” he said evenly.
“She looks younger than her reputation suggests,” Raphi went on. “Much younger. Something about her struck me as… unusual.”
Before Felix could answer, James returned, holding a black umbrella with measured dignity. “The Pearlers’ phaeton and driver can see you home, Doctor. The landau is engaged with other guests.”
Raphi accepted the umbrella with a nod of thanks, the offer closing the moment.
But Felix was still caught by Raphi’s words. “What do you mean—odd?”
Raphi shrugged into his coat. “She didn’t seem like an aristocratic spinster. She could be one of us.”
Felix turned sharply. “One of us? What are you saying?”
“She’s young. Pretty. But… warm. Too young for the history they’ve given her. There’s a vulnerability in her face, a softness. She reminded me of Rachel. Or even Laila.”
Felix almost laughed, though it came rough in his throat. “You think an aristocrat could resemble your wife or your sister-in-law?”
Raphi gave him a level look. “You know what I mean. She didn’t seem… removed. She felt like someone who could belong at a table with us. Like family.”
Felix shook his head as the butler held the door for them. He stepped into the damp air, letting the rain spatter against his face before slipping under the umbrella.
Like family? No.That couldn’t be. Aristocratic women were shaped by distance—by closed doors, by cool glances across polished drawing rooms. Not by Shabbat tables. Not by song and easy laughter.
And yet exceptions existed. He’d known them. And that’s what unsettled him.
Warmth in her gaze. From Oxfordshire. Lady Spencer.
