And wrong. No matter how right it actually felt. Gently disentangling herself, she made her way to the desk, pulling up her own chair. “Susannah said you had a sheaf of letters for me to write.”

Sebastian shrugged out of his coat and flung it over the back of his chair, leaving him in the waistcoat and shirt-sleeves he preferred to work in. His hair was ruffled—he had a habit of running his hand through it when he was thinking. “I even have a bit of good news to share, too, for once,” he said, taking his seat.

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense—good news is always welcome around here.” Margaret sat down, leaning her elbows on the desk because Mama wasn’t there to reprimand her for doing so.

“The workhouse board have finally agreed to permit Sunday visits to the infirmary.”

“That’s marvellous news.”

“That last appeal you wrote on the matron’s behalf was masterly. I reckon that was what swung the decision in our favour.”

“I only highlighted the case she described to me regarding one of her patients. That poor old woman knew her time had come. To deny her daughter the chance to say goodbye because of an arcane rule is barbarous.”

“Tell that to those pompous fools on the Board of Guardians. Or my bishop, for that matter.” Sebastian slammed his hand down on a stack of letters. “They don’t realise that people would rather suffer than ask for help, especially if they are then subjected to an interrogation or a bloody sermon. I’m sorry. My language. I shouldn’t have . . .”

“Don’t be.” Margaret reached across the desk to touch his hand. His fingers curled around hers. There were shadows under his eyes. “The injustice of it all must be difficult to bear,” she said gently.

“Many of my parishioners are no angels, but even fallen angels are still angels.”

“I’ve never heard that expression before.”

“It means there’s some good in everybody.”

“Why is it that we talk of the deserving poor, but no-one ever suggests there might be undeserving rich?”

“A very good question. I’ve a mind to pose it in my next sermon. Have I told you lately how very much Susannah and I appreciate all the help you’ve given us? I used to dread coming here to face the mountain of paperwork, but now I look forward to it. On the days you are here, at least.”

“You work too hard.”

“Unfortunately there aren’t enough hours in the day, but it doesn’t feel like work when you are here with me.”

The warmth of his smile made her feel as if she was being heated from the inside. It made her heart flutter. It made her feel giddy. “I’m simply happy to be of service,” Margaret said. Did he feel the same? She couldn’t be imagining it, could she, the intensity of his gaze?