“Please know this, Miss Wilkins. I am most reservedly saving my affection for one woman only, the woman I plan to marry. When God brings that woman into my life, I pray I shall be found worthy of her love. That for having refrained from giving my love away to others, I might have an overflowing abundance to bestow upon her alone.”

Her long lashes lifted to reveal eyes full of wonder. “’Tis beautiful, sir. She’ll be lucky to have you.”

“I pray you are right.” Though he’d never put his marriage aspirations into such eloquent words before now, and had most certainly never spoken them so openly, he felt no shame in sharing with Mercy, rather only satisfaction.

“Thank ye for your kindness, sir. And now I must be asking for your pardon, for wrongly assuming things that weren’t to be. I should have known better—”

“Mercy,” he said, interrupting her, “there is no need for you to apologize.”

Her lips curved into one of her rare smiles. He wanted to commission a portrait of her at that moment, wished he’d gone with his inclination to purchase one of those new machines that took a likeness—the daguerreotype camera.

“You ought to smile more oft.”

She turned and peered out to sea, the smile turning wistful and nearly fading. “I suppose I’m sorely out of practice.”

He leaned both arms on the rail next to her. “Forgive me. You have likely not had much to smile about in recent weeks.”

“I haven’t had much to smile about in all my life, sir.”

His thoughts returned to Shoreditch, to the wretchedness of the place. He’d served at the dispensary with Dr. Bates enough to grasp the difficult life there for the poor. But the truth was, he’d never taken the time to get to know the people the way Bates had. He’d never bothered to see beyond their afflictions, hadn’t wanted to. Rather, he always looked ahead to leaving so that he wasn’t able or willing to truly look around him.

Even when Bates had needed him for the partnership, he’d refused to acknowledge just how desperate the situation there was. It had taken courage for his friend to humble himself and ask for help. And Joseph had probably done exactly what Bates had feared—he’d rejected him without even the slightest hesitation. The realization of his callous response to his older mentor brought a measure of shame.

And yet now, with this beautiful woman standing next to him, maybe he could begin to make up for what he’d missed. Maybe he could try to understand what life had been like for so many in London’s slums. What kind of abuse and pain had she known? What were her scars? And what had shaped her into this amazing woman?

“Would you tell me what your life was like?” he asked. “I’d like to understand.”