But as they all settled down to eat the modest meal that had been prepared, cabbage soup with boiled potatoes, it was easy for Cornell to understand why Pleasant wanted to give them the moon and the stars. It was apparent that they were a close-knit family, even if Mrs. Hill wasn’t in the best health, excusing herself halfway through the meal to retire early.

As a peach dessert was served, the boys regaled them all with tales from their adventures as a pair of chimney sweeps and how one of the boys had gotten stuck. While it was a humorous tale, Cornell found that most of his interest was focused on Pleasant and her inhibited responses in an atmosphere that was familiar to her. Her laughter was free and easy, and her emerald eyes sparkled with true mirth.

It suddenly made Cornell wonder how different things might have been if…

No. He wasn’t going to go down that path. He never had, and he swore that he never would. His mother had been enough, and he’d never regretted not knowing his father. The fact that he’d sent her packing once he had seduced her and gotten her with child had been all Cornell needed to know. Whether they were from different social classes or not shouldn’t have mattered. He was a firm believer in taking responsibility for one’s actions regardless of one’s upbringing.

Here, in these small, cramped quarters in the heart of London, it didn’t matter how one held a fork, or how starched one’s cravat was. What mattered was the depth of a person’s character. While he could relate to Pleasant and her family much more than he could withstand the outward appearances to be had in Mayfair, he was still that boy who had held himself back from the rest of the children in that modest village, because no matter what occurred, he would always be an earl’s bastard son, who didn’t truly belong anywhere.

Pleasant could see that Mr. Reed was becoming more withdrawn as the evening wore on, so she instructed her siblings to clear the table. Once she did, he rose to his feet. “Thank you for an enjoyable evening, Miss Hill, but I should be taking my leave.”

She stood as well. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

As he shrugged on his overcoat and then donned his hat, he gestured to the ropes hanging from the ceiling rafters. “Dare I ask what those are used for?”

Pleasant smiled. “We hang the wash to dry inside during the winter.”

“Ah. I see. That makes sense. I’m surprised I didn’t have to dodge any linens this evening.”

She laughed, for it seemed he was actually teasing her. “Even the hardest working ladies take an evening off now and then,” she said, not wanting to tell him that she would have to collect her basket from the butcher’s after he’d departed.

“You’re standing under the mistletoe!”

Pleasant and Mr. Reed both glanced at Fiona, who had run into the room and pointed at the sprig of greenery above the front door.

“Indeed,” he rumbled deeply, and for a moment, Pleasant found it hard to breathe as she looked into his eyes.

She cleared her throat and turned to Fiona, lest she get drawn into the spell even further. “Do you know the story behind mistletoe?”

Her sister shook her head, so she gestured for Fiona to come to her side. She bent down to her level, putting even more distance between Mr. Reed and herself and said, “Mistletoe is meant to represent peace and love, but people don’t always have a small bit of greenery like we do. Sometimes mistletoe is placed through evergreen branches, which are woven into the shape of a sphere and adorned with ivy to symbolize a lady, holly to represent a gentleman. At times, even fruit, nuts, and ribbons are added for more decoration. These are called kissing boughs.”

Fiona’s brown eyes widened. “Can we get a kissing bough, Pea?”

Pleasant reached out and ruffled her hair. “I’ll do my best.”

As she scampered off, likely to share her latest information to Connor and Niall, Pleasant stood up straight once more.

“Pea?”

She glanced at Mr. Reed and her face warmed considerably in embarrassment. “She had trouble saying Pleasant when she was younger, so it was shortened to sort of a nickname. It kind of stuck.”

He reached out and touched a strand of her hair. “It suits you.” His gaze warmed. “We’re still under the mistletoe, you know.”

Pleasant couldn’t reply, speech had promptly deserted her. And when he lowered his head to hers, she closed her eyes, anticipating his kiss. But just as her heart was about to pound out of her chest, his lips landed softly on her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He opened the door on a gust of cold, December wind, and disappeared into the night.

Pleasant jerked awake the next afternoon. She readjusted herself on the stool and narrowed her eyes on the stitch she’d been trying to make for the past ten minutes, but again, her eyes started to grow heavy. By the time she’d collected the laundry and hung it up to dry, it was nearly three in the morning. She didn’t even make it up to her bed, but collapsed in her mother’s chair by the fire and managed to catch a couple hours of sleep.

She had regretted the dark circles that were shadowed beneath her eyes, but since there was no help for it, she had pinched her cheeks to try to heighten the color and set out for the shop. Sleep could wait. Work could not.

“Miss Hill.”

Pleasant was in the midst of a rather lovely fantasy involving a particularly handsome man with mesmerizing green eyes when she heard her name being called. “Hmmm,” she sighed.

“Miss Hill.” This time the voice sounded annoyed.

Strange. In her dream—

Her eyes popped open and she quickly lifted her head from the table where she’d been caught napping. “Mr. Reed!” she gasped. “I’m terribly sorry, I—”

He was staring at her in that intimidating way he had, his arms crossed over his firm chest. “You went out after I left last night, didn’t you?”

Attacked by a sudden, wide yawn, she covered her mouth with her hand and didn’t even try to deny it. “Yes.”

“You lied to me.”

She blinked, her mind obviously still hazy.

“You told me ladies take an evening off now and then,” he clarified.

“I’m sure they do if they are part of society,” she returned. “Unfortunately when every shilling counts, there’s no such thing as a holiday.”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a sizable purse and tossed it on the table next to her. “Cancel any more wash that you have from now until Christmas. I can’t have you neglecting your duties here because you can’t even stay awake.”

“I can’t do that, Mr. Reed. I’ll lose all the customers I’ve tried to obtain—”

“I’ll make sure you have gainful employment when your services here are no longer required,” he cut in. “As you say, I have some rather influential contacts.” He gestured to the purse. “Consider that an advance of your wages.”

Pleasant was tempted to accept his offer, more than tempted, really. If she never washed another soiled piece of linen in her life, it would be too soon. But as experience had shown her through the years, kindness always came with a price. “What do you want in return for your help?”

He snorted. “Should I require anything?”

“No, but I just thought—”

“You’re welcome, Miss Hill.” He turned around, but said over his shoulder. “I trust you can complete at least one pair of shoes by the end of the day.”

Pleasant smiled, although he couldn’t see it. “Yes, Mr. Reed.”

That night, after Pleasant left, Cornell had a surprise guest.

He had just finished putting his tools away where there was a knock at the shop door. “We’re closed,” he called out, but the patron was persistent, for they didn’t go away, merely knocked even louder.