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McGann strolled into Nowhere with Alistair Crawford on his heels. The two men didn’t get far before they were stopped by Esmee, arms akimbo and green eyes blazing with fury.

Alistair couldn’t understand a word of the torrent she let loose upon them, but the snarl in her voice and the anger in her face told him more than enough about her mood.

“Alistair Crawford,” McGann said, when he could get a word in, “you remember my sister, Mrs. Esmee Callender.”

Esmee narrowed her eyes at McGann. “You daft eejit. You’ve brought him back here after I told you not to. We don’t serve the Sassenach.”

McGann ignored that. “Esmee,” he said. “I’d like to properly introduce you to Lord Alistair Crawford.”

The emphasis he’d placed on the title was unmistakable, but Esmee blew right past it.

“I don’t care about your friends, Andrew. You can’t bring them here again.” She turned to Alistair. “You’ll have to go, English. And take that lass inside with you.”

“What lass?” Alistair asked, amused by her utter disregard for his lordship.

He was normally the only person who disregarded it, courtesy title as it was, which made him immediately like McGann’s sister all the more. That and her absolute thrashing of her brother.

“You can serve him,” McGann said, ignoring his question. “Crawford here is going to partner with me in a shipping and trading company. One that can find new places to sell your whisky, I might add.”

“And how’s he to do that?” Esmee asked.

“It’s what I’ve come to speak with you about, sister. If you’d hold your tongue for even half a moment and let a man talk. There’ll be a lass that comes by tomorrow or next week, Thursday. She’ll be looking for a medical clinic, and we’ll give her one.”

“She’s already here, ye eejit! And,” at this, Esmee jabbed her finger into McGann’s chest, “you may have noticed we are not standing in a medical clinic. You lied to her, Andrew. We’ve naught but whisky here, because this is a tavern and not a hospital!”

“Violet is here?” Alistair cut in once more, an urgency filling his voice, but the siblings kept arguing as if he were not there at all. “I’m going to get her.”

He would not leave Violet sitting alone in some Scottish tavern where anything could happen to her. But McGann laid his beefy hand on Alistair’s arm to stop him.

“Not yet,” McGann said. “The lass is early. Must have got the day wrong. I need a moment to think.”

Esmee rolled her eyes. “The moment you’re searching for happened yesterday. Before you lied to her, you daft cove. Not now. Now ‘tis too late.”

“I didn’t lie,” McGann said. “I told her you feed those who need it, and you occasionally hand out bandages and such. ‘Tis all true, that.”

“Andrew! I run a tavern, as you well know. A Gaelic tavern. For Scots!”

“I’ll go see Violet now,” Alistair said, trying and failing to remove McGann’s large hand from his arm.

“That’s enough from you, English,” Esmee snapped. “You stay right where you are until I understand what manner of mischief you two have caused.”

“Listen, Esmee,” McGann said. “We’ll tell her there’s no clinic today, but you can put the word out for next week, can you not?

There’s plenty here in Covent Garden that need help.

Hold one of your feed the hungry dinners and tell the sick to come as well.

It’s what we need, sister, to make things right. It’s not mischief in the least.”

Esmee sighed. “Nothing will make things right, Andrew. When will you learn it?”

“Not today. But having my ship repaired and a functioning company would help, don’t you think?”

Esmee barely constrained a second eye roll. “If that lass in there can be of use, I can’t exactly say no, can I?”

“Wonderful.” McGann grinned. “Let’s go speak with Miss Goodwin, shall we?”

“I’m going,” Alistair said.

McGann shook his head. “It’s not a good idea, Crawford.

Let her cool off a bit and then offer to help her with the clinic when it’s open.

She won’t be able to turn you away then because she’ll need you.

In the meanwhile, I’ll go with Esmee and speak to her.

You don’t want her to know we’re in cahoots anyway. ”

“Nay.” Esmee shook her head. “I’ll speak with the lass first. Andrew, you can join us in a moment. But not you, English. You stay here.”

McGann looked at his sister and nodded.

“I don’t like lying to her,” Alistair said as they watched Esmee depart.

“You didn’t,” McGann replied. “I did.”

Sometime while the woman was gone, Violet had made her way to the bar and spoken with the bartender, another Scot. When she asked him if there was a clinic at the tavern today, he said “nay” and gave her another drink for her trouble.

By the time Esmee approached her, she’d drunk half of it and had a slight case of the hiccups.

“Oh dear,” Esmee said and slid her lithe body into the booth opposite Violet.

“Hello,” Violet said cheerfully. “You are very tall.”

Esmee tried and failed to suppress a laugh. “That I am. McGann will be here in a moment.” She paused. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you want a medical clinic?”

“He said you needed a nurse.” Violet pointed proudly at her chest. “I am a nurse.”

“I see. Unfortunately, there’s no clinic here today. ‘Twill be next week. There’s been a misunderstanding.”

Violet noticed the woman slid her eyes away but paid the movement little mind.

“That’s what he said.” She pointed to the bartender. “And he gave me this whisky for my trouble!”

Esmee scowled at the bartender, who shot her a grin. “I’m sure he did, lass. I do have to tell you that McGann may have exaggerated about the clinic a wee bit.”

“You don’t need a nurse?”

Violet felt the disappointment thrum through her.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d been missing her vocation, how badly she had needed to practice medicine until the week she’d been left with nothing to do but sit inside all day.

Nursing was what she did. It was who she was, and she felt empty without it.

“Oh, we do need a nurse,” Esmee corrected, looking at Violet’s crestfallen face. “‘Tis only that what we do now is feed people, but we could serve the sick as well if we had a nurse.”

“So, you don’t have a clinic yet?” Violet asked hopefully. “But you want one?”

“That’s it exactly,” McGann said, strolling over to the table and placing a kiss on Esmee’s cheek. “I see you’ve met my sister, Miss Goodwin.”

“I did,” Violet said brightly and put the card he had left her on the table. “Thank you for bringing me here, Mr. McGann. I’m delighted to start a clinic with you both.”

She squinted her eyes at the two of them. “You don’t look alike.”

Esmee said, “We’ve the same eyes,” at the same time as McGann said, “We’re both tall.”

The two statements, plus the whisky and a half, made Violet giggle. She was feeling slightly tipsy and very happy.

“I’m sorry we’re not ready for you today, lass,” McGann went on, “but next week, Thursday, we will be. Esmee will find you a hack and see you home now.”

He turned to his sister, who nodded and excused herself.

“No.” Violet smiled sweetly at him, like she’d seen Catherine do.

“What do you mean, no?”

“No.” Violet shook her head. “I won’t go. I don’t want to sit by myself in that big, empty house.”

“Be that as it may, respectable lasses do not drink whisky in taverns in Covent Garden. I’ll see you home.”

“I,” Violet said, and pointed to her chest, “am not respectable.”

The Scot grinned. “You are, lass, whether you know it or not. Let’s go.”

“No.” Violet shook her head resolutely. “I’m not leaving, unless—” Her eyes grew bright with an idea.

“Unless what?” McGann asked, voice wary.

She leaned across the table. “Unless you kiss me.”

McGann froze. “How many whiskies have you had?”

“One and a half,” Violet said, pleased with herself and her new idea.

If she couldn’t satisfy her restlessness to practice medicine today, she could satisfy the other restlessness she’d been facing down all week. The one that was specifically about Alistair Crawford and how he made her body tingle when she thought of him.

She’d been kissed once before, the night James had died, but it had felt nothing like Alistair’s kiss. It had been awkward and dry, the young man’s tongue jamming into her mouth and gums. She grimaced slightly at the remembrance.

She didn’t know if James’s death had colored her memory of that kiss or if most men were like that and Alistair was different. There were too many variables; she needed more test cases to know for sure. And now she had an opportunity for just that.

McGann, meanwhile, was looking over at Esmee, who’d replaced the lad behind the bar. She raised her eyebrows at him as if she’d heard Violet’s demand to be kissed. He frowned at her and then turned back at Violet.

“Come now, let’s go home.” He held out his hand for Violet to take.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Aye, you do.”

“No.” She stood and jutted out her chin. “I don’t want to go. I want to be kissed!”

She said it loudly enough that heads in the bar swiveled toward her to hear more. She’d said it loudly enough that Alistair, hovering in the hallway shadows and watching, heard it too.