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However, Ronan rather thought it was her fiery independence he admired most. Her fortitude and resilience. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met, and the more he grew to know her, the more he wanted to know her. To know everything about her.

Ronan wasn’t in the habit of repining about females but found his mind returning to the governess numerous times throughout the day and night. Wondering what she was doing that very moment. If she’d enjoyed her day. If she was enjoying London.

And…what her worries and fears were.

Didn’t Mercy want to know her origins?

Want to know who her parents were…are? If they were still alive?

He pulled his ear and nudged the door open another two inches with his boot toe.

Would he want to know?

Ronan supposed that would depend upon why he’d been cast aside and how much his life, as well as others, would be disrupted by the knowledge.

The females at Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women weren’t exactly foundlings. What Hester Shepherd charged for her silence and absolute discretion was nearly criminal, according to Father. And that the facility was always full spoke to how much the establishment was sought after by those who could afford her fee.

No wonder.

There was no shortage of illegitimate progeny amongst the upper ten thousand.

Was there an equivalent institution for unwanted sons?

Likely there was.

A sour taste filled his mouth. Those were the children who were cared for. Many more, most of the lower classes, roamed London’s streets, filthy, hungry, and without hope.

Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women wasn’t a well-kept secret, Ronan had learned after a few discreet questions. Neither was the place openly discussed. Yes, the haute ton knew of the facility, and yet not a single person he’d spoken with revealed how they’d come by that knowledge.

Indeed, there were lots and lots of proverbial skeletons in elite closets.

One thing was for sure. No adverts were needed to keep the foundling home operating. There were an abundance of clients—and most, he would wager, were members of the ton or, at the very least, well-heeled and influential individuals.

Mercy’s lilting singing had turned to humming, interrupted intermittently by a mumbled word or two.

Where, pray tell, were Bellamy and Arabelle?

Not that Ronan was genuinely concerned.

By no means was Mercy negligent in her duties. If anything, she was too diligent.

He doubted she’d take a second for herself on her own accord.

Arms folded and one shoulder propped against the doorjamb, Ronan unabashedly took in a delicately turned ankle as the hem of Mercy’s navy-blue gown lifted.

“It must be here somewhere,” she said, a tinge of impatience in her tone. “I should think a nobleman’s house would have some sort of peerage lineage…”

Mercy’s words were unintelligible as she reached out and grasped a book high above her head. Straining to reach what must be a seldom read volume, given its inconvenient placement on an upper shelf, she balanced on her toes atop a sliding ladder.

“Aha!” She released a soft, triumphant cry. “I knew it. And not just one volume, but annual editions too. Thank the Lord.”

She giggled, her unfettered glee adorable and contagious.

Ronan found himself grinning widely just because she was so giddy. Although what she’d discovered to cause such joy, Ronan couldn't imagine.

By now, he’d advanced inside the library, a trifle worried she was so high up the ladder.

So absorbed in her task, Mercy hadn’t realized she was no longer alone.