Page 4

A slim book caught her eye, nestled against a barrel.

She picked it up, flipping to the first page.

Ivanhoe. Her fingers tightened around the volume as a wave of longing swept through her.

Once upon a time, Ivanhoe had fueled her dreams of adventure and the beautiful Rowena had been her model.

She swallowed, tracing the title with her finger.

She had more in common with practical, persecuted Rebecca now.

Perhaps she could keep the book and find a way to get it back to Evie tomorrow.

She cast the thought aside as soon as it entered her mind.

She’d be accused of stealing if anyone found it among her things.

Hurrying inside, she ignored the curious glance of the scullery maid as she darted through the dark, warm depths of the kitchen.

She slipped through a side door that led to the front hall where Evie waited, shawl and bonnet in hand.

Sara bit her lip. If Mrs. Cooper caught her here, she’d be accused of shirking her work. Evie jammed her bonnet on her head and tied a lopsided bow as she stood on tiptoes to see out the window that flanked the wide front door. Sara’s heart contracted, propelling her forward.

“Evie,” she whispered. The little girl tensed, then relaxed when she turned and saw Sara’s face. “You forgot your book.” Evie bit her lip, her gaze sliding sideways. “It is your book, isn’t it?” Sara searched Evie’s face, wondering at her reluctance.

Evie tucked Ivanhoe under her arm, hidden from sight in the folds of her shawl. “Thank you,” she muttered.

“Mind if I fix your bonnet?” Sara motioned to the haphazard bow and Evie shrugged and returned her gaze to the street. “He walks, does he?”

“Oh yes, his chambers aren’t far from here. And we live just around the corner, on Duke Street.”

Sara recognized the respectable address. As Evie described their walk home, Sara straightened her bonnet and tucked in the flyaway strands of hair. She should get back to the laundry before she was seen, but...

“Evie, have you told your father?”

Evie’s eyes flew to her face and Sara held her gaze until the girl shook her head. “I don’t want him to worry. I’ll say it to myself, just like you said.”

She’d wanted to help and only made a mess of things. “There are times when you shouldn’t keep things in. If you aren’t happy—”

“It will only make him feel bad,” she said with a fierce frown. “I’ll show Papa I don’t need these silly lessons. I just have to prove I know how to be a lady. It can’t be that hard.”

Sara almost smiled. It seemed Evie didn’t need her help after all.

“There he is!” Evie squealed and gave a little hop.

Sara peeked out the window over Evie’s head.

A man approached the inn with long, purposeful strides, his fine suit setting him in contrast to the farmers plodding down King Street on their way home from market.

Her stomach tightened with wariness. She knew enough of barristers and fathers to keep her distance.

Sara stepped back into a dark, deserted parlor as he bent his head to enter through the massive oak door.

He tucked his fine beaver hat under his arm, revealing a faint sprinkling of gray in his close-cropped brown hair.

His nose was too long for fashion and his sharp jawline gave him a fierce look that reminded her of his little girl.

Then his gaze fell on Evie and a smile lit his face, softening the sharp angles. Sara’s breath caught as the stern father transformed into a tender papa before her eyes.

“Hello, poppet.” He placed a swift kiss on her forehead. “All done with your lessons for today?” His voice was deep with a hint of Scots in its lilting cadence.

Evie looked down. “I’m ready to go.” Her voice was wooden, and though she didn’t lie outright, Sara saw the smile fade from her father’s face, as though he knew she was hiding something.

Ask her. Take the time to find out what’s going on. The man’s lips thinned, but he said nothing. He gripped Evie’s elbow to guide her to the door and Ivanhoe tumbled out from beneath her shawl.

Evie froze. Sara could read the panic in every tense line of her body. Her father bent down and picked up the book.

“Ivanhoe?” He didn’t raise his voice, but the word cracked like thunder through the front hall.

Sara pushed her hand against her roiling stomach. She recognized his tone. Disapproval. Judgment.

Evie shuffled her feet. “I needed to see how it ended.”

“I forbade you to read this book.” His voice hardened, each word slicing through the air and making Evie’s shoulders slump until her head hung low. “How could you disobey me?”

Evie’s back was to her, but Sara was close enough to see the tear that balanced on the edge of her chin before dropping to the floor.

Couldn’t the man see that Evie didn’t need censure?

Someone needed to tell him how unhappy his little girl was at Cooper’s Inn.

Someone, yes, her mind told her heart, but it doesn’t have to be you.

Sara checked an unconscious step forward, biting back the words that bubbled to the surface and stifling the urge to barge into the entry and force this man to show his daughter compassion.

She needed to keep her head down and get her work done.

She needed to take care of Granny, not a poor little rich girl who would probably be just fine on her own.

Besides, she was the laundrywoman. Why would he listen to her?

A group of men entered the hall from the noisy common room. Sara knew a moment of panic. What if they were headed here ? A frantic glance around the parlor revealed a table and chairs. A hearth. No place to hide.

She gave her head a shake as the men moved to the front door.

A group of farmers wouldn’t pay for a private parlor, which she would have known at a glance if she hadn’t let panic take over.

Just as her heart rate slowed, she caught a glimpse of fine wool amid the homespun.

Silver-blond hair. There was something familiar about the man that made her retreat further into the shadows.

He stopped to talk to Evie and her father, turning so she had a view of his profile. Pale, chalky skin, strangely smooth. Her hand came up to cover her mouth, stifling her gasp.

“Kinney? Didn’t know Cooper’s Inn was one of your haunts.” It was him. She recognized the mocking challenge in the man’s voice, though she hadn’t heard it in years.

“Didn’t realize it was one of your haunts either, Mr. Osgoode.”

Heart racing, Sara pressed her back against the wall of the darkened parlor. She stood, scarcely daring to breath as the men took their leave. The cool draft from the opening and closing of the door ruffled her skirt and woke her from her terror. She couldn’t stay here, frozen against the wall.

After a peek to assure herself the hall was deserted, she scurried back to the laundry, willing her galloping mind to focus. It would be dark soon. She needed to get the clothes off the line. Fingers trembling, she reached for the first pin.

She didn’t know how a man of Osgoode’s fastidious standards ended up at a simple coaching inn, nor how he came to know Evie’s father, but her vulnerability struck her anew. Whatever security she thought she’d found at Cooper’s Inn was an illusion that could come tumbling down at any moment.

James sighed, surveying his desk. He’d stacked unanswered letters and half-finished arguments in two tidy, intimidating piles, yet he still couldn’t focus on his work. Something was wrong with Evie.

She didn’t chatter his ear off at the supper table, nor try to debate court cases with him as he tucked her in at night. Lessons at Cooper’s Inn were supposed to make her happier. He rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he’d been too hard on her about Ivanhoe .

He picked up the first letter on the pile, recognizing his brother-in-law’s scrawling, extravagant hand at once. He turned the letter over. Surely Andrew wouldn’t— He ripped open the page, his stomach clenching as he read the note. Andrew had to leave the city. Could James handle the case alone?

James crumpled the note in his hand. It was the second time Andrew had left him in the lurch this month.

He’d handle the trial. He owed his brother-in-law that much, but covering up his absence from the keen eyes of others was another matter.

As though James conjured him with his thoughts, a knock sounded at the door and a clerk ducked his head in, his curious eyes darting around the office.

James braced himself for a question about his absent partner, but the clerk had another mission.

“Mr. Ballantine is here to see you, sir.”

“Ballantine?” James stared. The richest man in the colony was an old family friend of Andrew’s, but he’d never called on James before. “Of... of course. See him up.”

James rose and paced to the window, wracking his brain for what might have prompted the visit. Ballantine certainly didn’t seek a lawyer, for Stephen Osgoode had handled his affairs for years.

Thomas Ballantine didn’t keep him wondering long. He strode in a moment later, closing the door with a firm shove of his hand and turning to face James. His countenance, always serious, was drawn in forbidding lines and his crisp silver sideburns quivered.

James greeted the older man and invited him to take a seat, indicating the simple straight-backed chair in front of his desk.

Ballantine hesitated, and James suppressed the inclination to offer him his own larger, padded chair.

He didn’t often have guests with the prestige and wealth of Thomas Ballantine, but that didn’t mean he had to grovel.

Ballantine removed his elegant top hat and, after a moment’s hesitation, sat.

James breathed a sigh of relief and joined him on the other side of the desk.

Although he was nearing sixty, Ballantine was still a tall, imposing man. Seated, he was less intimidating.