Imonie began to gather the plates, carrying them to the wash bin. I thought the silence would continue to hang between us, but then she looked at me and said, “He doesn’t want the countess to find him.”

I was relieved to see the countess’s carriage was gone when I returned to Auberon Street. The minute I stepped into the foyer, Mrs. Stirling met me with a sigh of relief and a tray of tea and biscuits.

“There you are, Miss Neven. Gave us all a fright, wondering where you had gone!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, flushing when I realized I had been absent most of the day. I’d honestly thought no one would care. “I went for a walk.”

I was worried that Mrs. Stirling would have that reserved gleam in her eye, the same from that morning, when she found me in Phelan’s bed. But she only nodded and extended the tea tray to me.

“Do you mind carrying that up to Mr. Vesper?”

I accepted it and carefully ascended the stairs.

Phelan was sitting upright in bed, loose papers spread before him. He was intently reading, his hair damp from a bath. He was wearing clean clothes, my stitches hidden beneath his shirt. It almost felt like I had merely imagined the events of last night. As if it had all been a dream.

“Did Deacon find her yet?” Phelan asked, presuming I was Mrs. Stirling.

“He didn’t need to,” I replied, drawing his attention.

I stood on the threshold holding his tea tray, and for a moment, he and I stared at each other. Words seemed to be lost between us.

“I thought . . . ,” he began, but his voice faded.

“That I had run away?” I finished with a teasing cadence.

He hesitated—where, indeed, did he think I had gone?—but withheld whatever he wanted to say or ask me.

“Come in, Anna.” He dropped his gaze to the papers before him.

That afforded me the chance to slip past the mirror, and I set his tea tray down on his bedside table, mindful of the new jars of herbs that now sat by his glass of water.

“I see the doctor has been here,” I remarked, watching as Phelan gathered his papers into a heap.

“Yes. And my mother.”

“I know. I met her this morning.”

Phelan’s eyes darted back to mine. “Did you? She failed to mention that to me.”

“No, I don’t think she would have,” I said, wandering to the window. The curtains were tasseled back, the shutters were open, and I stood in a stream of sunlight, watching the street below. “I was in bed beside you when I met her.”

“Oh.”

I couldn’t resist glancing back at him, how he flushed and hurried to pour his cup of tea, thankful for the distraction.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” I asked.