along the same corridor. By the time they arrived there, Alice pushing open another well-concealed door, Mr. Gardiner was breathing heavily. To carry a boy, even a small one, as far as he had, and climb steps while burdened, would challenge anyone’s stamina.
“We are nearly there, sir.”
He did not waste breath to respond, instead he nodded tightly.
When she opened the door to the room where the little boy had a cot made up, and Mr. Gardiner brushed by her, he said not a word of complaint. He took the little fellow to the temporary bed and laid him down.
“Here we are, Master Geoffrey.” The gentleman backed away at last and sat in a narrow wooden chair against the wall.
Alice hurried to remove the boy’s shoes to make him more comfortable, then tucked an extra pillow beneath his head. “Are you well, Geoffrey?”
He nodded, wincing, then turned to face the wall and curled up tightly. Alice’s heart ached for him. At his age, she had already learned to rarely be seen and never heard. She had already learned to keep her tears to herself, lest she upset people around her. Perhaps all orphans had to learn those lessons.
She smoothed away his curls from his forehead, as gentle as she could.
Alice went to the washstand and used the pitcher and bowl to dampen her own handkerchief. She folded it into a long rectangle, then took it to lay across the boy’s forehead. Until the doctor arrived, there was nothing else to be done.
“Geoffrey, you have been very brave,” Mr. Gardiner said from his place against the wall, his head tilted back, and eyes closed as he spoke. “I would have howled like a wounded pup when I was your age, lad.”
That was a positive way to look at it, Alice supposed. She took up another of the chairs, a match for Mr. Gardiner’s, and placed it by the boy’s side. “You appear rather done in yourself, Mr. Gardiner. If you wish to leave, I will not hold it against you. You have already done a great service.”
He cracked open one eye to look at her. “I am not about to leave until I am certain our patient has been seen. To be honest, I am rather surprised the baroness hasn’t appeared yet.”
The little boy shifted, curling further in on himself. “They won’t come.”
The three whispered words bruised Alice’s tender heart. She knew the truth as well as he did. “A servant will be sent to carry back news. The baroness is busy, perhaps. This is an important visit for the baron’s family. A chance to strengthen their political alliances with His Grace.”
Both of Mr. Gardiner’s eyes opened, his expression incredulous. “Surely not—”
A knock on the doorframe interrupted his denial, and Alice turned at the same moment as he to see an older woman in the modest clothing befitting an upper servant. The baroness’s maid.
“My lady sends me to look in on Master Geoffrey.” She curtsied to Mr. Gardiner, then came to stand by Alice. “His Grace sent for a doctor, I am told. There is one staying nearby.”
Swallowing her disappointment, Alice nodded her understanding. “You may tell Lady Addington that he is well enough for now. He has an aching head and is in poor spirits, but I am certain it will pass.”
“I will inform her, of course.” The maid, whose name escaped Alice in the moment, peered down at the boy and a softness stole over her features. “I will send up tea for you both and ask the cook if she might have a remedy for the boy’s aching head.” After another abbreviated curtsy, she left.
Mr. Gardiner’s deep frown further testified that he had grown up in a better way than she. His childhood injuries and wrongs had likely been addressed with love and affection. Perhaps his mother had joined a sweet-tempered nursery maid by his bed to see to his hurts and cheer him.
He had been fortunate.
Alice brushed aside her envy. She knew well enough that the emotion served no purpose except to make her unhappy.
It is better to choose happiness over misery. She had decided upon that course long ago.
"Miss Sharpe?”
Alice turned her attention to Mr. Gardiner, adjusting her spectacles upon the bridge of her nose. “Yes?”
With a weary, crooked smile that made her heart thump a mite harder, he tipped his head to her. “Your work on the flower sketches—you are quite talented. They’re remarkable likenesses. I did not expect so many in such a short time.”
She