Harriet turned toward the stairs. She held the steaming bowl in one hand, then gathered her skirts and began the slow, steady climb up the narrow stairs.

That was one thing she’d change if she had the money, the main stairs. They were treacherously steep. The front hall was large enough to hold something more impressive, not to mention safer.

But that change, just like the others she dreamed of, would have to wait. Though hopefully not for long. Harriet paused halfway up and moved the bowl to her other hand, her fingers stinging from the heat. The door to the guest chamber was ajar and two soft voices trickled into the hallway.

“Well, I think he’s handsome,” came Sophia’s breathless voice. “I don’t know how you could think otherwise.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t handsome,” Ophelia replied in a sulking tone. “I said he was striking, which means he’s handsome, only a little more so.”

“Oh. Well. That’s all right, then.”

Silence reigned as if the two were considering something. Harriet continued her climb.

“The doctor said he could awaken at any time,” Sophia said finally.

“I hope so,” Ophelia answered.

There was another second of silence, then, “Ophelia, do you think he might awaken quicker…with a kiss?”

Harriet, her foot over the top step, almost stumbled.

Ophelia, however, seemed intrigued. “Like in that play you did last year?”

“Exactly,” Sophia said with obvious excitement. “Let’s try it, the both of us! I’ll go first. Then, if he does not awaken, you may try.”

“Why should you go first?” Ophelia said, outrage in her now-ringing tones.

“I should go first because I’m older than you.”

“By only eleven months! That hardly counts.”

Harriet hurried down the hall to the first doorway.

“Ready?” There was a strained silence, then a smothered cough.

“Oh for goodness sakes, Sophia!” Ophelia burst out. “That’s no kiss! Let the poor man breathe!”

Harriet shoved the door open. “What is going on in here?”

There, on either side of the stranger’s bed, stood her sisters. Sophia hastily straightened, her face pink. She met Harriet’s gaze and flushed darker. “Why…nothing is going on. Nothing at all. We were just…talking.”

Ophelia stood on the other side of the bed. A fierce frown marred her round face. “Talking? You call that talking? It’s a wonder he didn’t expire!”

Sophia’s hands curled into fists. “The problem is that you’ve never seen a real kiss.”

“Neither have you! You nearly smothered the poor man!”

“Enough!” Harriet said. “Both of you!”

Ophelia eyed the bowl of steaming water in Harriet’s hands, her eyes suddenly alight. “Are you coming to bathe him?”

Sophia brightened as well. “Oh good! Ophelia and I would be glad to assist you.”

“I daresay you would,” Harriet asked, setting the bowl of water on the side table, the china clinking loudly. “But I don’t need your help. I am just going to wash his face and arms.”

Ophelia’s shoulders slumped. “Well. That is unfortunate.”

Sophia sighed her agreement. “I suppose if you don’t need us, we’ll go to the barn. We’re working on A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”