While Eleanora studied the plethora of family relationships that formed the fabric of Rex’s life, he thought back over the day. For the duration of ten rutted, slushy country miles, he had wallowed in the pleasure of having Eleanora snoring against his side. She’d slept deeply, necessitating his arm around her shoulders as her hair had tickled his chin.

He’d let his imagination roam, as if having her next to him anchored him bodily in a way that permitted mental flights of fancy.

Details about her were becoming so much treasure: Her valise had a Parisian maker’s mark and hadn’t been used much. She’d also brought a lap desk with her, an antique with intricate carving adorning both sides. The quality of that article bespoke an eye for finer things or perhaps a lady fallen on hard times.

Her departure from her cat had been a series of instructions: No dead mice upon my carpet, please. You will not consort with ruffians of any species in any alley. Then a cuddle—which the cat tolerated—and a kiss to her furry head.

Be here when I come home. You are my sole companion, and I would worry endlessly should you abandon me.

Rex had ignored that last admission, which he hadn’t been meant to overhear in any case, but it troubled him. Why would an intelligent, interesting, attractive female be without even a companion? He grasped that some women chose not to marry, but to be entirely alone? Where were her parents as she toiled year after year in London? What about siblings or cousins?

He occasionally resented his family’s hovering, but to have no family at all? He would not wish that fate upon his sworn foe.

“You are falling into a brown study,” Eleanora said, setting aside the family tree that traced maternal cousins and aunts. “Or I have bored you witless with my maunderings. I’m like a vicar with a sermon on my favorite obscure passage. The congregation has no choice but to indulge me.”

She seemed so happy here among the ledger books, her feet curled beneath her in the reading chair, while Rex was increasingly discontent. For all that he had little solitude in Town, he was also without a companion, not even a cat. Nonetheless, he was prodigiously attracted to a prim auditor whose coiffure was for once slipping free of its pins.

“Are we making any progress, Eleanora?”

She tucked her skirts over her toes and sent him a glance. She had not commented on his use of her given name at dinner, and she was not commenting on it now—not verbally.