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Sara took the tray to the kitchen, unwilling to hear more. Colin had promised her joy, too, once upon a time. I don’t think you’ve ever really lived in that stuffy mansion. Come with me, Sara. We’re going to live, and I’ll make you happier than you’ve ever been before.

She’d followed him, away from everything she’d ever known. Only he’d been wrong. Three years in the lumber camps had broken his health and his dreams. The year after that, he’d died in her arms.

Granny O’Connor was wrong, too. She’d never be rejoicing again.

Henry materialized out of an alley as they left Irish Town. Evie turned to the boy with the familiarity of an old friend.

“Henry, have you heard of Tír na nóg?” Evie trotted up to Henry’s side.

“Nope,” Henry said.

It was all the encouragement Evie needed. She started in on a version of Granny’s fairy story that had Henry at turns fascinated and incredulous.

“You must be loopy if you think I believe in fairies.”

“Well, if you don’t believe me, ask Granny yourself.” Evie stuck her nose in the air and turned to face the front.

“All right, I s’pose it might happen.” Evie didn’t spare him a glance. “C’mon, Evie. Tell me the rest.”

“Fine, I will. But don’t interrupt this time.”

Evie prattled on, leaving James to wonder at their easy rapport. He wouldn’t encourage a friendship with a street-smart stable boy, but at least Evie was absorbed enough to put Sara O’Connor out of her mind.

Henry gave them a cheerful wave when they reached Cooper’s Inn. “Reckon I’ll see you ’round,” he said to Evie.

“Maybe.” Evie shrugged, her eyes darting to James. Perhaps she thought he would put a stop to this friendship, too. Maybe he should.

Silence stretched between them as they headed home. James glanced down at Evie, who seemed deep in thought. Or deep in resentment. He searched for something that would cheer her up. “You can write to Sara if you like.”

Her chin shot up and she grabbed his hand, bringing them to a stop on the boardwalk. “Papa, listen. I’ve thought of something even better.”

“What is it?” James wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, especially if it had something to do with Sara O’Connor.

“Well, Sara needs work and I need a teacher.” Evie’s voice grew animated as the idea took shape. “Why can’t we hire her?”

James shook his head. How could he make her see that Sara wasn’t the answer? She’d set the laundress up on a pedestal. “Sara was a good friend to you when you were in a difficult spot, but a teacher needs certain... qualifications.” He put his hands on her shoulders to steer her home.

“Sara is qualified. More qualified than Miss Giblin.” Evie’s chin jutted out in a way that warned James he had a battle on his hands.

“She speaks French, she can name every capital of Europe and she knows all about the kings and queens. And the Magna Carta,” she finished with relish, as though that fact alone should end all discussion.

“I know I made a mistake with Miss Giblin, but there are other teachers. We’ll do better this time.”

Evie lifted her eyes to his and James inhaled sharply at the ferocity of her expression. “You think she’s just a washerwoman. She’s not good enough to be my teacher, but you’re wrong.”

“I don’t think it. I know it,” James said, his calm beginning to unravel.

He hadn’t realized how much she wanted a younger woman in her life.

A mother. Today’s dangerous venture into Irish Town only confirmed what she would do to get it, and it sent a chill down his spine.

“A laundress from Irish Town cannot teach you what you need to know.” He pushed her down the street, her feet dragging with every step.

“You don’t understand.” Evie’s toe caught on the edge of a board, bringing her to a stop once again. “Sara was my teacher. The best teacher in Upper Canada. She—”

“Evangeline Amelia Kinney.” James cut her off with a slice of his hand. “We will not discuss this any further.”

Evie’s face crumpled, and James draped an arm around her shoulders and guided her through the gate and up the steps of their home.

It killed him to say no to her, even for something as patently impractical as hiring a laundress as her teacher.

Men have no business raising a child on their own.

He could almost hear Mrs. Hobbes’s knowing sniffs of disapproval.

Maybe she was right. Evie was vulnerable to a friendly face and Sara O’Connor was a kind woman.

Clever, too, for she’d picked up a little learning somewhere.

But a woman like Sara O’Connor couldn’t teach Evie how to dress and dance and take her place in Toronto society.

A laundress as her governess? Evie would be a laughingstock.

As soon as they reached the front hall, Evie slid out from under his arm and sent him a stormy glance before pounding up the stairs to her room. He didn’t try to stop her.

There was no future in this friendship and nothing to be gained by prolonging it. The sooner Evie came to terms with this truth, the better off she’d be.