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A week. She’d bought herself one week more of security.

The reminder of the promise she’d made, the one her future now hung contingent upon, managed to penetrate her relief.

One more week to find a man who’d no wish to be found. And reveal a story that her employer—and all the world—wanted told.

A bolt of lightning zigzagged across the afternoon sky, nearly black from the ominous storm threatening. With that, reality came streaming back in as it invariably did.

Cursing, she ran back inside, fetched her worn brown cloak, bonnet, and leather satchel, and stepped back outside.

The moment her feet touched the pavement, the skies opened up. A deluge of unrelenting rain poured from the heavens, and in mere moments it had flattened her bonnet and sent water running in rivulets down her face.

Sputtering around a mouthful of water, Verity raced the short distance back to her apartments. Her boots sank into a large puddle, the grime and cold penetrating the thin, breaking soles. So that when she climbed the stairs of her apartments, every part of her and her garments was sopping.

Her sister immediately opened the door.

“I got caught in the rain,” Verity muttered the obvious.

Her sister took her by the arm and pulled her in. “I see that. You look terrible,” she said.

“I—I c-can always c-count on you to b-be truthful,” Verity said gently through teeth that chattered. She dropped her bag, and it hit the floor, immediately leaving a small puddle on the hardwood.

Her sister returned her smile. “Of course you can.” Smiling. Always smiling. Would she still be so if tossed out of their apartments and forced to live on the streets?

Dread slithered around Verity’s belly. If anything were to happen to her, what would become of her sister? It was something she’d not given thought to—until now. Until she hung on the cusp of being unemployed. In her quest to care for Livvie, she’d left her vulnerable: a woman of seventeen, unable to properly care for herself.

Livvie’s brow dropped. “What is it?”

Her sister missed nothing. Verity made a show of wringing out her skirts. “I’m cold,” she lied, because soggy skirts were far easier to speak to a girl about than the possibility that they’d find themselves homeless.

“Here,” her sister murmured, falling to a knee beside her. She proceeded to help Verity from the too-tight boots that were all but falling apart. “These won’t do you much longer, Verity.” Livvie struggled with the ancient footwear.

“I kn-know.” There weren’t funds. Certainly not now. Not when their future remained up in the air.

“Oh, bloody hell,” her sister whispered.

“Livvie,” Verity gently chided. “You should not ...” She looked down ... and her stomach sank. Livvie held the threadbare boot aloft, a small, circular scrap of leather that had once been attached to the sole in her other hand. Closing her eyes, Verity leaned against the door. “Bloody hell.”

“We’ll fix it,” her sister hurried to reassure her.

Only they wouldn’t.

“It’s fine,” Verity said tiredly. There were far greater concerns—at the moment anyway—than her stockinged feet being exposed to the London elements.

Livvie scoffed and set to work helping Verity out of her other boot. “You can borrow my pair when you go to work.”

When you go to work ...

Verity bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m not worried about my boots.”

That snagged her astute sister’s notice. She sharpened her gaze on Verity’s face, and then slowly stood. “What is it?”

She hesitated. “It is nothing.”

Fire immediately flared to life in Livvie’s eyes. “Don’t you dare do that.”

“Wh—”

“Consider withholding truths. We don’t do that. Not in our family.”