I wasn’t sure if I would ever reveal my true self to Phelan after it was all said and done, but one thing I knew for certain: things were going exactly as I hoped.

13

By five fifty-eight that evening, I was walking Auberon Street, rapidly approaching town house eleven. I hadn’t gone home that afternoon but wandered the southern quadrant of the city until I worked blisters on my heels, waiting for the sun to set.

I had imagined Phelan’s home to be drab and a touch eldritch, with an unpainted door and narrow windows and weeds in the garden. Town house eleven turned out to be unfortunately charming. It was three stories of gray brick with ivy growing up a trellis. The windows shone as if they had just been washed, framed by dark red shutters, and there was a gate off to the sinister side of the house, which led to a back garden.

The shadows were growing hungry on the street, and the lamps were being lit when I made my way to the door and knocked at six sharp.

It opened instantly, like someone had been waiting just behind the indigo-painted wood.

To my shock, it was an older woman. Her thistledown hair curled beneath a lacy cap, and she was dressed in a starched black dress and lace-trimmed apron. “You must be Anna Neven! Welcome, welcome!” She smiled and beckoned me to come inside, as if she had known me all my life. “We’re so pleased you are going to be joining us!”

“Ah, yes,” I said, and felt a brief flash of annoyance, because Phelan must have assumed that I would accept his partnership and told his housekeeper. But I swallowed the objection and stepped into the brightly lit foyer.

“By the look in your eyes, I don’t suppose he told you about me,” the woman said with a chuckle, and shut the door behind me. “I’m Mrs. Stirling. I cook and clean for him, and my grandson, Deacon, runs errands.”

“How lovely,” I said, thinking that Phelan didn’t deserve such a cheerful woman to do his chores. Although if I was honest . . . I did have Imonie all my life to wash my clothes and ensure I was fed. So perhaps I shouldn’t judge, although I was looking for something—anything—to give me reason to add another mark against Phelan. “And I suppose he didn’t tell you that I’m still undecided in my decision of partnership?”

“He told me you were in the midst of deliberation, Miss Neven,” said Mrs. Stirling, and her smile deepened, revealing a slight gap between her front teeth. “But after I beheld what you did to his clothes today . . . I do hope you will accept.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, true and heartfelt, even if there was only half a heart beating within me. “Then I am one step closer in accepting the offer, Mrs. Stirling.”