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Sara tucked the portrait away and sat down on the bed.

The emotions of the past days had left her drained and uncertain.

Was she right to stay? There was Granny to consider, of course.

Food, shelter, security for the coming winter.

But there was another reason she’d accepted James’s offer.

She’d once been a lonely, motherless girl like Evie, trying to find her place in the world.

For her, it had all gone horribly wrong.

But it didn’t have to be that way for Evie.

James came home from the courts the next day and bounded up the stairs to Evie’s room. She sat in bed, her knees drawn up to support her book. As he entered, she looked up with an absent smile.

“Papa, do you know why Queen Elizabeth never married?”

He couldn’t suppress his grin. It had been days since she’d greeted him with an unanswerable question at the end of the day. His Evie was back.

“Ah, no, poppet. I’m not sure.”

“Sara didn’t know either.” She looked up. “But she can name the reigns of all the King Henrys.” Evie lifted her brows, clearly impressed. “I’m going to memorize them, too.”

“Excellent.” He breathed easier. For a moment, lying awake in the deep of night, he’d wondered what had come over him, handing his daughter into the charge of a woman he scarcely knew. But Evie was already happier than he’d seen her in weeks.

“I’m ready to get out of bed.” Evie uttered the words like a challenge, pulling his attention back to her.

“Really?” James looked at her pale face and stalled. “What does Miss O’Connor think?”

“She said I had to ask you.” Evie’s lower lip jutted out in a stubborn gesture that told him more clearly than anything else that she was on the mend.

“Perhaps you can dress tomorrow if you promise to nap in the afternoon. And then the next day, you can try coming down for supper. Provided Miss O’Connor agrees.”

Evie crossed her arms, none too pleased. “That’s what she said, too.”

“Where is your governess, by the way?”

“I’m here, sir.”

A skitter of warmth shot through him at the sound of her low voice. He whirled to see her standing in the doorway, hands folded in front.

“Was there something you wished to speak to me about?” She didn’t raise her eyes.

James found himself suddenly, irrationally, annoyed at her formality, at the way she spoke to him like she was a servant, instead of a—a what?

A friend? She was the governess, and if he wasn’t such a fool, he’d thank her for keeping a distance.

That night when they had been partners, saving Evie’s life, was past.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Evie has been telling me she’d like to get out of bed. Perhaps we can discuss this further. Downstairs.”

“Very well, sir.” She disappeared down the hall.

“Papa, are you mad at Sara?” Evie’s anxious voice stopped him at the door.

“Of course not.”

“Then why do you talk to her like that? In your courtroom voice?”

This child noticed everything. “Well, I am a barrister. I guess I just talk like that.”

Sara waited in the front hall. Her eyes shot up for a moment, colliding with his before darting back down to her feet.

“Come to the parlor,” he said.

“Couldn’t you just tell me here?” The words rushed out of her, and she bit her lip.

“It will only take a moment.” He heard the return of his barrister’s voice.

She flushed and followed him into the room. He motioned to the settee and took a seat on the chair furthest from her. “How is Evie’s recovery? Do you think she’s ready to be up and about?”

She smiled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “It never ceases to amaze me, how quickly children recover. I don’t see any harm in her getting up tomorrow.” She glanced at him uncertainly. “Of course, you could have the doctor come, if you want to be sure.”

“Dr. Whittaker will come when he is able.” He willed her to meet his eyes. “Until then, I trust your opinion, Sa—” He cleared his throat to cover his slip. “Miss O’Connor.”

She smiled, and he glimpsed the woman beneath the formal facade.

His breath caught. When they let their guard down, when concern for Evie outweighed all the barriers, there was a thread of connection between them that tightened every time she was near.

His legs itched to rise and join her on the settee, his fingers burned with the need to hold her hand and make the connection something tangible.

She cleared her throat and looked down, breaking the spell. James took a shaky breath. This was insanity.

“Mr. Kinney?”

He looked up, his heart starting to pound at the hesitation in her voice. Was there something she wasn’t telling him about Evie’s recovery? “What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” she assured him. “It’s just... well, I found something. Something Evie might like, and I was wondering...”

James nodded, urging her to continue. If he’d overlooked something Evie needed, he wouldn’t hesitate to supply it. Surely, she knew that.

“There was a picture in my room. A portrait of Evie’s mother, I think. Would you consider hanging it—”

“No.” Though he hadn’t raised his voice, the word echoed in the room. “I don’t want her growing up with painful reminders all around her.”

She straightened, her chin taking on a stubborn tilt. “I never knew my mother, but any mention of her gave me a great deal of comfort.”

“The painting will only remind Evie of what she doesn’t have.” He crossed his arms. His memories of Amelia were a blend of love, loss, and regret that he didn’t want to relive every time he saw the painting.

She crossed her arms. “I disagree. It will give her a connection to her past.” Apparently, she only played the role of servant when it suited her.

Feelings he’d buried for years rose, tightening his chest. He’d loved Amelia, once upon a time.

Thought she loved him in return. It took him months to realize the woman he’d married was more concerned with impressing her society friends than the love he offered.

He’d foolishly thought a baby would make her happy.

But the birth of the child he’d desperately wanted had killed her.

He swallowed down the memories and focused on anger, a much more manageable state of mind.

“Miss O’Connor, I beg you to remember your place.

You are her governess, not mistress of this home.

” He winced at the ice in his voice, but it was better he stopped her now. “I know what’s best for my daughter.”

Silence reigned for a long moment before she ducked her head in a gesture he was coming to detest. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”

Her voice was wooden, as though his anger hadn’t affected her, but her hands told another story, clutching the skirt of her gown until her knuckles were white and drawing his attention to the worn fabric.

He remembered the reason he’d wanted to speak to her in the first place and he cleared his throat, glad for an excuse to change the topic.

“There’s something else. I’d like to give you an advance on your salary. You ought to have a new gown. Something more fitting for a governess.”

Her chin shot up and a slow wave of red washed up her cheeks. He realized in an instant he’d gone about the thing all wrong. Shamed her.

He fished in his pocket for a coin, searching for the words that would mend his error. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your...” He gestured helplessly at her worn gown. It was clean, but threadbare, with no pretensions to cut or style.

Pressing his lips shut, he held out the coin.

She hesitated. He watched her fingers clench as she drew in a breath. With a visible effort, she raised her hand for the coin.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, bobbing a curtsy.

The curtsy bothered him more than anything else. “It’s the least I can do. You saved my daughter’s life.” Emotion roughened his voice. Did she think about that night as often as he did?

She tucked the coin in her pocket and lifted her chin.

“You didn’t have to pay me for that.”