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Violet awoke the next morning with a lightness in her heart and a skip in her step. She was up early, before the rest of the household except the servants. She dressed in her most sensible dress, gathered two bags of supplies, and scrawled a note for her mother that she was headed out for a walk.

The mothers and her cousin had a full day of social calls ahead of them, so she didn’t worry they would make note of her prolonged absence from Chester House.

And even if they did, she wasn’t sure she minded.

She was giddy with anticipation at the thought of practicing medicine, and she didn’t think she could squash it even if she wanted to.

Violet needed something to do, and a long day of work was exactly the thing to ease the restlessness and boredom of the last week.

And, if she were honest, to erase the memory of Alistair Crawford from her mind.

The look of him standing in front of her, so desperately trying to make apologies for something he had not understood had kept her up for too many nights.

She knew she should not dwell on him though, and she counted off the reasons in her head as she prepared for the day:

First, he drank too much.

Second, he was erratic. Always pulling her toward him and then pushing her away.

Finally, and most importantly, he could not give her what she wanted.

That night at Waverly House showed her that he could never understand what her profession meant to her. And the ache in her chest at this realization would not let her ignore it.

Nor could she forget the ache between her legs that came every time she thought of the time they’d spent together in the garden. But that was a different matter entirely.

Violet nodded to the butler and slipped out of the house quietly so as not to rouse the others. She longed to immerse herself back into her own world of study, work, and medicine. Those were all she needed.

Those and perhaps a better grasp of London’s geography.

The twisty, turning streets confused her, so unlike the organized layout of her Manhattan.

She walked and walked, her supplies growing heavy in her hands and a faint line of perspiration forming on her upper lip.

Her feet ached something fierce, and she had just begun to worry that she might never make it to her destination, when she finally spotted a hack to flag down.

“Are you sure, miss,” the driver asked when she read the address to him. “That’s not a part of town for the likes of you, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I’m sure, thank you,” Violet said and slipped him an extra coin to quell any further questions.

“As you like.”

He shrugged as his fingers wrapped around the money. It was enough to keep him silent until they reached Covent Garden. But when the hack pulled up in front of the low, dark building that matched the address Violet had given him, the driver asked once more if she was positive of the address.

Violet said she was, although peering outside of the hack to the dirty street below, she questioned herself.

She didn’t know who this Andrew McGann really was, and it was potentially very foolish of her to stroll into this building on his word alone that his sister ran a medical clinic.

She was unaccompanied. Her family had no idea where she was.

She couldn’t find her way back to Chester House without help.

Well. You’re already here. So, you may as well get on with it.

She really couldn’t take yet another day of sitting inside, jabbing herself with embroidery needles. Nor could she miss the opportunity to do what she loved.

She alighted from the hack and jutted out her chin, glancing up at the sky as a menacing wall of gray clouds rolled in and obscured the hot morning sun that had been out when she left Mayfair.

She hadn’t brought an umbrella, as Catherine was always urging her to do, and she suddenly felt very alone, standing on the filthy street in an unfamiliar part of town when it was about to rain.

There was nothing for it but to brush away her misgivings, square her shoulders, and resolutely approach the building in front of her that matched the address on the card. She pounded on its door until a small upper section slid open and a pair of impossibly green eyes stared at her.

“Hello,” she said to those eyes. “I’m looking for a Mr. McGann. Is he available?”

The green eyes blinked once and then a voice from behind the door said something completely unintelligible.

“I’m sorry,” Violet said. “I can’t understand you.”

The voice said something again that was even harder to understand.

“Could you let me in?” she asked. “I believe it’s going to rain.” The sky had darkened to an angry shade of gray.

“Please,” she added as the first of the big, fat raindrops began to fall on her head.

The voice said something once more that Violet could at least tell was disgruntled, and the door swung open.

“Come inside then,” the woman standing behind it said.

Violet had to crane her neck to look up at her—she must have been nearly six feet tall, with flaming red hair and those green, green eyes. They seemed even greener somehow when they were attached to the whole of her rather lovely face.

“I can’t very well leave you out here in the rain, though it would serve him right.”

“Thank you,” Violet said, ignoring whatever the last part of that sentence meant as she stepped into the long dark hallway.

“Follow me. McGann will be around eventually.”

Violet hadn’t known if the address on McGann’s calling card was his place of business or his residence, but she suspected now that it might not be either. This woman hadn’t spoken of him like he was her employer. Rather the other way around.

“Name’s Esmee Callender,” the woman called over her shoulder as she led Violet into the dark interior of the building.

“I’m Violet Goodwin,” Violet said. “Are we Nowhere?”

“We are.”

Esmee opened another door to a bright and cozy interior filled with mixed company, all crowded together and drinking in the same warmly lit room.

“Oh,” Violet exclaimed, looking around her in wonder at the convivial atmosphere. “Nowhere is wonderful!”

Esmee turned to peer at her and, seeing Violet’s genuine delight, let the corner of her mouth lift in a grin.

“Thank you,” she said. “Now, what can I get you? We only serve whisky.”

“Then I’d love a whisky.”

The woman settled her into a comfortable booth and a few minutes later set a glass of amber liquid in front of her. Violet took a small sip so as not to be rude. She didn’t drink much as a rule and especially not on a day she was to practice medicine.

“Do you like it?” Esmee asked.

Violet did, to her surprise. The alcohol tingled her lips and then burned her chest as it made its way down into her stomach.

“It’s delicious.” She grinned before taking another tiny sip. “But I’m afraid there’s been some mistake. I didn’t come for whisky. I came to help with your medical clinic. Can you tell me about it?”