“Are we to raid Lord Norrington’s storehouses?”

Nicolas shakes his head. “You have an interesting idea of what I do, crécerelle, and the risks I take. No, I fear it is not a midnight raid. Not even a meeting with smugglers. The goods are already obtained, and I simply need to fetch them. It is where I must fetch them from that you may find interesting, if you are feeling—”

“Yes.”

“We must go under cover of night. You may not wish—”

“I do.”

He smiles. “All right, then. The day is already growing late, so I will suggest we rest.” He holds out a waterskin, and when I shake my head, he has a sip and says, “As we rest, I will expect some reciprocation for my own history-telling. Let us begin where we left off as I asked after your parents.”

I hesitate, and then I say, “I fear they passed when I was thirteen.”

He chokes on the water. “Oh! I am sorry. That was very clumsy of me. I did not think— Well, I did not think, and I apologize.”

“No need. I am quite accustomed to both the question and the response. They perished in an accident.”

“And you had family to raise you, I hope.”

“My eldest sister was nineteen, and she kept me from the worst of our situation. Our parents were very kind and loving but not the most prosperous of people. Our father, like you, was a doctor, and he did not believe in charging more than people could afford.”

“Charity is a temptation that does not always lead one along the safest path.”

“True, but it is still a virtue to be admired and pursued. I would rather look back on my father as a good man than as a rich one. His daughters have done well in spite of their lack of money.”

“Or perhaps because of it.”

“Yes, that is my feeling exactly.” I take the waterskin from him and drink. “Rosalind—my eldest sister—opened a bakeshop in London. Terribly scandalous, but she is an incredibly talented baker, so society allowed it. My other sister, Portia, pursued our father’s profession and yours.”

“She became a doctor?”

“No,” I say. “Like you, she has the training but not the formal education. In her case, being a woman, that education is not possible, so she is a nurse who pursues further education however she can.”

“And you?” He takes the empty waterskin and refills it. “Do you have a profession as well?”

“I am a writer of novels.”

I say it before I can stop myself, and I brace myself for the inevitable response, the verbal equivalent of a pat on the head for a child intent on mastering a craft beyond their capabilities.

You are trying to write a novel? How lovely!

You are scribbling stories in your journal? How lovely!

Perhaps someday, you can polish them and share them with your children as bedtime stories.

“A writer of novels?” Nicolas says. “Might I find one in the bookshop?”