Then he turned to Lottie. “You…you did this? For me?”

Lottie nodded and gave him a shy smile. It was such a small thing. And she would do so much more, if he would only let her.

His expression transformed to something else, something her young mind couldn’t quite decipher. He seemed both terribly happy and incredibly sad. Then he grabbed her hand and kissed it before her governess could intervene. “Forgive me, Lottie,” he begged. “I’ve—I’ve been so awful to you.”

“Of course,” she said easily.

She could forgive him anything—endure anything—as long as she had his friendship.

Alec was right. Lottie had been a silly child.

She set down the half-eaten tart, no longer having a taste for it.

Just then Alec’s deep voice floated through the house. He was talking to someone out front. Lottie left behind the tart and went outside. A horse and cart that both looked far past their primes sat in the drive, while a boy who couldn’t be more than ten held the reins. He was speaking to Alec in rapid Italian. Alec smiled and patted the boy’s arm, then began to lift Lottie’s trunk onto the back of the cart. He wore the same pants and jacket from yesterday afternoon, but both had gotten a good brushing at some point, as they were now entirely free of road dust.

“What’s this?”

Alec grunted as he pushed the trunk onto the bed of the cart. “Our transportation to the rail station.”

Lottie lowered her voice, even though the boy likely didn’t speak much English. “He’s a child.”

“Lorenzo is twelve,” Alec said. “I was about the same age when I took us to the village in the dogcart for the harvest festival.”

Lottie did not return his amused smile as the long cherished but deliberately suppressed memory surfaced. It had been the first of many outings for them. He bought her a roasted apple, and they had their fortunes told: Alec would become a great explorer, while Lottie would make a name for herself on the stage. Then she fell asleep against his shoulder on the ride back to Uncle Alfred’s house. She hadn’t felt so safe since her parents died. Or so cared for.

“This is hardly the same.”

Alec sighed and turned serious. “Marta says he’s a responsible lad, and this is a good opportunity for him. He’s the man of the house and his mother is ill.”

“Oh.” She could hardly deny the boy the chance to earn some coin.

“It will be fine. He’s only taking us to Pistoia. We’ll spend the night, then take the express to Venice from Bologna.”

“Bologna?” She had assumed they would travel through Florence, as the city was much closer.

Once again Alec seemed able to read her thoughts. “We can’t go back to Florence,” he said as he focused on strapping her trunk to the cart. “You spent weeks there. It’s possible an acquaintance might see us together, which would only fuel the speculation I am trying to snuff out.” Lottie couldn’t help blushing at the idea of Alec as the dashing Italian suitor she had ruined herself over. “It’s a slight chance, to be sure,” he continued, “but I’d like to avoid it all the same. Bologna is closer to Venice anyway.” Then he met her eyes. “Are you nearly ready?”