Page 2

And Mr. Ollie McNab was the family representative for the project. Mr. McNab came in almost daily, at his brother and sister-in-law’s request, to see how the art restoration was coming along.

“This is the one you were working on yesterday?” Mr. McNab asked while observing the completely cleaned and now freshly varnished painting on the easel before them. “I know you’ve finished a few of these now, but each time I’m in utter awe of what you do.”

There was no holding back the severe flush that overtook Evelyn’s entire body at Mr. McNab’s praise. Of course, this kind of praise from anyone would have induced a blush. But that it came from, in her opinion, the most handsome gentleman in England made it a tad more flattering.

“Thank you, Mr. McNab. I appreciate the compliment.”

Mr. McNab looked over at her and gave her his bright smile.

He always looked so friendly. Even when he wasn’t smiling, his eyes looked happy.

Evelyn reached up to touch her hair again before forcing her hand over to her magnifying glasses.

As she secured them over her ears and eyes, she blinked up at Mr. McNab through the magnifying glass and found a funny look on his face.

He seemed slightly drunk, which was silly.

Anything in these glasses viewed at a distance was warped and skewed. He probably wasn’t even looking at her.

Evelyn leaned forward to look at a particular spot of the newly restored painting. “This one is by Gustave Courbet, a French artist. See his signature here?” She pointed to the lower corner. “I believe you said your brother briefly communicated with the artist at the end of his life?”

“That’s right.”

“It’s always fascinating to me when there’s an extra bit of personal history to a painting.

” She then pointed to a spot on the artwork.

“This one, as you know, was thick with soot damage. I was able to use a vulcanized rubber sponge to remove it, inpainted any parts where the paint had flaked off, and repainted over it to make it seamless, as if nothing had happened to it.”

She pointed to another area on which she had done extensive work and Mr. McNab lowered his face beside hers to look.

His scent swept over her again and her heart galloped at his closeness.

“Dantes is especially excited to get this one back,” Mr. McNab said.

What would he say if he knew how fast Evelyn’s heart raced in the moment?

“You’re welcome to take it to him today, if you’d like.” Evelyn removed the magnifying glasses. She set them to the side.

Mr. McNab stood up to his full height and scratched at his jaw. “Unfortunately, he does not want me to do that.” He then shifted on his feet.

Evelyn noticed the reaction. “Why not?”

“He prefers to get them himself. I think because I’m the one who comes here every day, he likes the opportunity to check in every once in a while.”

Evelyn sensed this wasn’t the full truth but didn’t say anything, as McNab family dynamics were none of her business.

As Mr. McNab returned to observing the Courbet painting, Evelyn studied him.

He always dressed in bespoke suits when he visited the museum, looking far more refined than her colleagues and most of the other museum staff.

She knew he owned a working-class pub called The Harp & Thistle with his older brothers, though she had never been to it and wouldn’t dare impede on a client’s personal life.

But Mr. McNab’s sister-in-law, Lady Vivian, was the daughter of the Duke of Chalworth.

Maybe that was how he’d gotten the money for his clothing.

Like Lady Vivian, Evelyn was an aristocrat, though Evelyn was on a lower rung of their social class.

Evelyn knew many of the women in their class could be quite focused on appearances.

Surely, the daughter of a duke insisted on sprucing up the McNab brothers to keep up appearances.

Evelyn began fussing with the items at her desk. Mr. Ollie McNab was engrossed in looking over his brother’s painting to report back, most likely. Mr. McNab had been coming here for these paintings for months now, and in that time Evelyn and he had, sort of, grown to become friends.

But, tomorrow, that would all end.

If only she could stop thinking about tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow! The blasted day would not stop popping into her mind.

For the hundredth time, hot tears threatened to rise again, but she was able to force them back once more.

While Mr. McNab moved on to another of his brother’s paintings, one in the middle of restoration, she allowed herself to secretly study him from a woman’s lens one final time.

Unlike many men, he was taller than her.

Built well, as if he did heavy lifting often, which he probably did at a pub.

There was also an air about him that was simply magnetic.

She was drawn to him, but this wasn’t unique to her by any means.

Mr. McNab, being a frequent visitor to the museum, had somehow befriended every person of the museum’s staff.

If he had the time, he would make a point to visit different departments and somehow could get even the biggest curmudgeon laughing.

How he did it, she had no idea. But he was so charming, and everyone else thought so too.

Handsome. Charming. And working class.

Evelyn tried to envision what Papa would do if she brought Mr. McNab home with her tonight.

Mr. McNab’s older brother had married Lady Vivian, but as a rare independently wealthy woman and one of the highest-ranking women in the aristocracy, the duke’s daughter had far more freedom in that regard.

Though she didn’t know what the Duke of Chalworth thought about their marriage, it wasn’t as if there had been no consequences for Lady Vivian, either.

After their marriage, people had been aghast by her decision.

The Duke of Chalworth had apparently exchanged words with people at several social events.

Mama and Papa had talked about it non-stop over the summer.

Evelyn decided if she brought Mr. McNab home, Papa would, quite literally, expire on the spot.

As Evelyn envisioned this, Mr. McNab removed his suit coat and draped it over a chair beside him. “Is it warm in here or is it me?” he asked, not turning around.

But Evelyn didn’t hear him because he was in the process of rolling up his sleeves to his elbows.

His hands were large, rough and masculine, and she found herself mesmerized by them, watching the minute movements of his fingers and wrist. Immediately, she thought of Michelangelo’s statue of David, the large, veiny hand attached to a muscular forearm.

She closed her eyes to yank her mind back from the trail it was heading down.

“Are you all right?” Mr. McNab asked.

Evelyn’s eyes flew open to find him facing her fully now, concern sitting upon his brow. “Yes!” she replied with haste.

“Will you be working on this one next, then?” He indicated something with his hand.

“Mm-hmm,” she replied far too brightly, not looking at where he pointed. Because it didn’t matter. Feeling another wave of emotion, she began rifling through her desk to distract her mind.

“Miss Sparrow, are you sure everything is all right?”

She paused as she came across an unopened box of paint brushes. A box she would never have the joy of opening and finding the brushes nestled inside in a perfect pattern.

“Everything is just fine, Mr. McNab,” she said, but the crack in her voice belied the truth. She looked up and found him still watching her. “It’s nothing, really. Just some silly things going on in my personal life.”

He crossed his arms. “Anything I can help you with?”

She couldn’t help but give a small, pitiful smile. “I wish you could. But you cannot, unfortunately.”

“I find that things have a funny way of working themselves out, so please do not worry too much.”

“I don’t agree with that statement, Mr. McNab. Perhaps optimism for the future is a masculine trait. For I find women fear their futures, instead of embracing them.”

“Why is that?”

Evelyn shrugged. “It may surprise you to hear this, but even as a woman as independent as myself, the direction of my life is completely controlled by men. I don’t have the freedoms you may think I do.

” Her throat tightened alarmingly, and she immediately looked down at her feet, lest Mr. McNab see the emotion in her eyes.

He went to her and leaned against the desk, causing her to gulp. “Have I ever told you about where I came from?”

Still looking down, Evelyn shook her head.

“I started my life out as a street orphan. From Whitechapel.”

Evelyn lifted her head at this surprising revelation. Never would she have expected Mr. McNab to be the product of one of the worst slums of London.

He continued. “My father was killed in a train accident before I was born, and my mother died of a laudanum overdose when I was still a baby. My brothers and I lived on the streets for much of our childhoods. Fortunately, for me at least, I don’t remember much of those early days.”

“What happened?”

“After many years, my grandparents tracked us down. I spent the rest of my childhood growing up with them, then when I was ready, I went on to Eton, and Oxford after that.”

“You went to Eton and Oxford?” This was exceptionally surprising.

Who were his grandparents? Evelyn knew she could be scatterbrained and often didn’t listen to her parents’ gossiping, a favorite pastime of theirs.

But surely, Mama and Papa would have known about this.

Though now that she was thinking about it, she recalled what they’d said when Lady Vivian had married her husband over the summer.

Because of the stark difference between the two of then, it had put the McNabs in the newspapers.

“Oh, but they have an aristocrat in the family!” Mama had said, and she and Papa had then burst out laughing.