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But the honest-to-God truth was, she did not want him to leave. She very much feared the stranger she had given her bed to might also have wiggled his way into her spinster’s heart.

What she ought to do and what she wanted to do with that unforeseen conundrum were two vastly different things.

Twelve

Kelston Hall’s drawing room

That same evening after supper

The suspense nearly drove Zander mad.

Would Lilly hire him?

Charles had not remarked upon the subject, and Zander had been reluctant to pry, in case it appeared he was attempting to manipulate the situation.

Zander observed Lilly from beneath hooded eyes as she sat on the settee embroidering a handkerchief, as if his very future did not rely upon her decision to hire him.

When faced with the empty cavern that was his memory and hence his life, this place provided him with the security and peace he desperately craved. He would bite off his tongue before admitting it, but the truth was, he was scared.

He had no past, so he yearned for a future.

Lilly gave no hint in demeanor or expression regarding how he had scored on the examinations.

Earlier, he had been confident he had performed well, but little sprouts of doubt tried to rear their bothersome heads. Like weeds in a flower garden, he rooted them out, but the troublesome misgivings kept creeping back.

Never was a woman so impossible to read. She had mastered masking her emotions and, no doubt, through much practice had perfected the skill to a fine art.

Only when surprised did her soft brown eyes reveal her feelings. Then merely long enough for her to marshal her composure with the efficiency and discipline of a combat general in His Majesty’s army before the bastions slammed closed.

A soft snore escaping him, Charles shifted in the armchair. His lanky legs stretched toward the hearth, his chin resting on his chest, and an open periodical laying in his lap, he dozed.

Zander canted his head and read the publication’s title before crinkling his forehead into a dubious frown.

The Edinburgh Medical and Surgical Journal.

Poor chap.

Even in his off hours, he was ever the physician.

If the contents of the magazine had not put Charles to sleep, his late nights had likely caused his unintended nap. Perpetual violet circles rimmed his eyes beneath his spectacles, and he often yawned, mid-sentence.

According to Mrs. B, Charles rarely slept through the night.

For, though he was one of three doctors in the area, he was the only physician who did not demand coin for his fees but accepted items in trade. Hence, his services were in constant demand from the poorer residents, and the children’s home regularly received interesting, if not useful, products.

Perhaps, it was his humble beginnings, Mrs. B. speculated, but Charles could not refuse to help anyone in need.

Upon further contemplation, that is likely where Lilly had acquired the hideous fabric for her gown.

After setting aside the travel book Zander had selected from the library earlier today, authored by Leonidas Westbrook—why did that name seem familiar?—Zander stood.

Lilly raised her gaze and regarded him for an extended moment with that unfathomable mien.

What went on in that brilliant mind of hers?

He could almost hear the cogs grinding and the wheels whirring.

The edges of her mouth quivered the merest bit when he nervously cleared his throat.