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Sara froze. What new turn was this? His eyes were serious, his tone as unyielding as a judge delivering a sentence. As though it had all been decided.

“James, surely not.” Andrew Ridley spoke, his voice filled with horror.

Sara dragged her eyes away from James to the man beside him.

The initial panic she’d felt on seeing Andrew Ridley had subsided once it became clear that he didn’t recognize her.

Perhaps not surprising, since the last time she’d seen him, she’d been spying on her father’s guests from the upstairs landing of her home.

He was still handsome. Certainly, as a girl of fifteen, she’d thought him so. His soulful eyes and the overlong dark hair that flowed across his brow recalled every romantic hero. Today she saw another side of him, an icy disdain that judged and dismissed her on sight.

He was right, of course. The role of governess wasn’t for her. Sara rose, intending to say just that until Andrew’s next words froze her in her tracks.

“You don’t need a governess. Evie should go to Miss Strachan’s academy, just like Amelia did.”

A wave of sick panic washed over Sara at the name of the school.

Her year with Miss Strachan had been a nightmare.

She imagined Evie under the care of that strict, supercilious woman, her actions critiqued, and her creativity and joy squashed.

Even more soul-shattering than the criticism of Miss Giblin, for at least then Evie had returned to her father’s love every day.

Mrs. Hobbes returned to the kitchen and sent a curious glance at the occupants. “I’ll have your breakfast out in a moment, Mr. Kinney.” She stopped in front of Sara. “I thought you were leaving.”

Leave. Yes, she had to leave, no matter how much Evie’s uncertain future might tear her heart in two.

“Wait.” James grasped her elbow just as she would have turned to go.

The contact shocked her into stillness. She searched James’s face for a sign of his intentions.

“Please, just a moment of your time, Miss O’Connor.

” He sent a harried glance at Mrs. Hobbes and Andrew who watched the tableau with avid curiosity, then tugged her out the back door onto the stoop.

Once they were alone, he didn’t seem to know where to start. He grasped the back of his neck, his eyes searching the backyard as though the answer to his problems lay somewhere in the kitchen garden.

“I can’t neglect my work much longer,” he finally burst out. “I need someone to teach Evie. Keep a close eye on her. Someone who understands her.”

Sara searched his face. Did he really want to hire her? It seemed unbelievable. “But before you said—”

He reached for her hands, squeezing them gently. “I didn’t understand how much you meant to her until she was sick. She called your name.” He shook his head. “Then you spoke French, and the poems, and... I realized how wrong I’d been about you.”

She looked down where James’s capable hands cradled hers.

His long, ink-stained fingers were light as a butterfly’s wing, yet they seared her right down to her toes.

She felt the pull of him, drawing her in until she wanted to lean her head against his shoulder and forget her worries.

There were a dozen reasons why staying was a bad idea.

She was already too attached to Evie.. . and her father.

“Unless, of course,” James continued, “you have another situation.” He released her hands to run his fingers through his short brown hair, making it stick up in all directions and reminding Sara of his daughter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think of that. Is your employer expecting you back?”

The thought would be laughable if it wasn’t so terrifying. “No, I—I haven’t found a position yet.”

“Then take this one. You’d be well paid.”

It was tempting, but life in the Kinney home held its dangers, too. She’d live so close to the world she once knew. What if she were recognized? Just because Andrew Ridley hadn’t a clue who she was didn’t mean she was safe.

“I know you’re worried about Granny,” he continued. “I could send over a package every week. Meat, tea, whatever she needs.”

His thoughtfulness took her breath away. They hadn’t had fresh meat in years. “That’s very kind, but—”

“I’m in a difficult position,” he said, his voice stronger and more persuasive, as though he sensed her weakening.

“A governess is hard to come by and Evie has become quite a handful. Miss Strachan’s seems like my only option.

Unless...” His eyes searched hers. “Unless you’ll stay, Sara O’Connor. Please.”

All her attention focused on the man in front of her, the warmth pouring out of him and the answering rush of tenderness that bubbled up inside her.

“Yes. I’ll stay.” She bit her lip against the rush of happiness the words unleashed.

The tension left James’s body, and his smile broke out. “Thank you.” He reached out for her hands again.

She tucked her hands behind her, avoiding his clasp, her joy already giving way to foreboding.

The man in front of her could destroy whatever peace and contentment remained in her life and she scrambled for a way to protect her heart.

“I’ll need my evenings to myself, and a half day to visit Granny.

And... and it’s only until you find a proper governess. I won’t promise anything beyond that.”

His smile dimmed. “Very well.” His voice was earnest, his eyes serious and steady on her. “But I hope you’ll decide to stay.”

She had to get away from the warmth radiating out of James Kinney. He was handsome enough when he was cool and logical. Smiling, he threatened to chase every coherent thought from her mind.

“I’ll just go put my things away.” She lifted her bag and gestured to the back of the house. James followed her into the kitchen.

Mrs. Hobbes paused, her hand hovering over a half-filled platter of sausage.

“It’s decided. Miss O’Connor will stay on as Evie’s governess,” James said.

“What?” Andrew Ridley’s voice was incredulous.

James held up a staying hand. “Not now, Andrew.”

He turned to Sara, his voice apologetic. “There’s a maid’s room in the attic. It’s quite small, but I’m sure Mrs. Hobbes can make it comfortable.”

“It will be fine.” Sara wondered at her choice of words.

Very little about this situation felt fine.

Not Mrs. Hobbes’s sidelong glances, nor Andrew Ridley’s open hostility.

Even James’s strange about-face left her mind spinning.

A week ago, he’d demanded she stay away from his daughter. Now he invited her into his home.

James gestured to the dining room as though he invited her to precede him.

Sara’s eyes widened. She was an employee, destined to take her meals in the kitchen, or perhaps upstairs with Evie.

Not with the guests. She shook her head and stepped back until she felt the solid weight of the kitchen table behind her.

His hand dropped to his side and a frown formed on his brow. Sara turned to the housekeeper before he could protest. “Please tell me what I can do to assist you, Mrs. Hobbes.” There. That ought to make her position clear to him.

Mrs. Hobbes picked up a platter loaded with sausage and eggs. “Watch the toast there.” She nodded in the direction of the toasting rack and Sara hurried to the stove. From the corner of her eye, she saw James hesitate a moment longer before he followed the food into the dining room.

Sara released a long breath, knowing she’d made the right choice. If she had any hope of protecting herself, James Kinney needed to go back to his world. She’d stay here in hers.

Mrs. Hobbes returned to the kitchen. Sara risked a glance at her face, expecting to see disdain, but the woman’s eyes were thoughtful. Curious, even.

Sara gave her a tentative smile. “Is my room up there?” She gestured to the narrow stairs that dropped down from the attic above the kitchen.

Her question set Mrs. Hobbes into motion. “Needs a good dusting, I imagine. It’s become a storage room of sorts, but it should do.” Her voice wasn’t exactly warm, but Sara took heart that her open hostility had mellowed.

“I’m sure it will suit me admirably,” Sara said, climbing the stairs.

The ceilings were low, the air thick with the lingering smell of smoked meat.

Shelves of preserves lined one wall and a bedstead sat opposite, stacked with linens.

She set to work, moving the piles of fabric to a shelf.

In the process, she uncovered a slim, paper-wrapped rectangle, tucked between the wall and the bed.

She lifted it out, feeling the thick carved frame in her hands. A picture?

Curiosity won and she peeled back the brown paper to reveal the portrait of a woman with dark ringlets and creamy skin.

She recognized Amelia Ridley from their school days, though she’d had little to do with the girls in the upper classes at Miss Strachan’s.

The woman in the painting was just as beautiful as Sara remembered.

James Kinney had married the belle of Toronto.

If she hadn’t left home, she might have become friends with Amelia. Perhaps even gone to her wedding. But by then, of course, she’d left her father’s world for good.

Sara stared at the haughty tilt to the woman’s chin, searching for a resemblance to Evie. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there in the line of her brows and the soulful depths of her dark eyes.

Is this what it feels like to have a mother?

Evie had no sense of the woman who’d given birth to her and that broke Sara’s heart. It wasn’t right to keep this likeness hidden away. Sara hadn’t known her mother, either, but she’d spent hours staring up at her portrait in the library and confiding all her girlish heartaches.