Holly barely knew what to believe. On Saturday she holed up in her room to give herself time to form a better clarity on the events of the past days. With legs folded beneath her, a breakfast tray at her side and still in her nightgown, Holly reread the love letter. As she read, she stuffed a massive bite of scone into her mouth, not worrying about crumbs.

Her brows were knit together in deep concentration. With the scone held between her teeth, she straightened the wrinkles from the page. After last night's encounter with David, Holly felt uncomfortable adding his name to the list of possible authors. He had seemed a better sparring partner that a lover, and they had only ever spoken casually up until their conversation when he'd come to dinner. If he hadn't detested her already, he did now.

That left Victor and Archibald. Holly would have been happy with just one suitor. Two was more than she could handle. Or was she just flattering herself — mistaking interest for affection?

She would have to rely on her own intuition to know whose intentions were honorable but she would let her heart have the final say in who she chose. Bully for them if they wrote the letter.

Holly put aside the scone and took a large swig of tea to wash it down. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling there was something she was missing. She thought to reread the letter but she hardly needed to. It was already burned on the backs of her eyelids, but a fresh glance gave her another fact to consider: the writer had chosen to remain anonymous.

"Anonymous!" she exclaimed to herself.

If it was someone after her fortune they would have signed their name. They would not have relied on her to find them by chance! The motive of the writer could only have come from the desire to profess a pure love. It was a declaration without expectation.

Holly pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, her task decided. She had to discover who wrote the letter.

Holly washed, and with Augusta's help, put on some simple daywear. She headed straight for her father's study, a small oasis tucked deep within their house and away from prying eyes and unwelcome distractions. The door was closed, which meant he was in, but she was the only one allowed to disturb him.

Rapping her knuckles on the door, she heard her father rustle about on the other side.

"Come in," his low voice replied to her knock.

Holly pushed open the heavy door. "Good morning," she said, moving to occupy the leather chair in front of her father's desk.

"Last night's party seemed to go well," he offered.

"Relatively," she replied, her mind on David but also on the fleeting look he had given Victor.

"Oh dear," Colonel Ambrose sighed, putting down the receipts he had been filing. "Anything on your mind Holly?"

Holly wrung her hands as she tried to figure the most tactical of discussing suitors with her father. "It's Mr. Embry," she said. "I know how much you all like him, and I do too... but we know so little of where he has been these many years."

Colonel Ambrose watched her with lips pursed. He tapped the nib of his fountain quietly against a pad of paper on his desk. "I see. The same concern has crossed my mind as well. I can write to my partners in London if you want to put your mind at ease. If he was indeed the popular man he claimed to be, they would likely have crossed circles."

Holly nodded. "That would be wonderful," she said. "Thank you."

Colonel Ambrose gave Holly a comforting grin. "I like him. I hope for your sake they only have good things to say."

Holly shared that hope. Between Archibald Colston and Victor Embry, she could easily see herself falling hard and fast for Victor's charms. But she knew well that a wide array of failings could be hidden behind an easy smile and a handsome face. In time she'd ask him about the letter and all would be understood.

But she still couldn't understand David. As Holly left her father's study and headed back towards her room, her blood boiled at the thought of him and made her face warm with heat. His compliments. His insults. His insults meant as compliments. She ran through everything he'd said to her until she crossed paths with her mother.

"Oh, Holly!" Mrs. Ambrose exclaimed as she caught sight of her daughter. "Come quick! I have an errand for you to run." She carried a large wicker basket in hand, which she pushed into Holly's arms.

"Oof! What's in here, mother?" Holly asked as she grappled to keep the basket from tumbling to the floor.

"Old clothes and toys from Miles and Anne. I need you to take the carriage, it's already being brought round, and deliver these to the orphanage," Mrs. Ambrose said, turning to leave, the matter seemingly settled.

"What? All alone? Do I need an escort?" Holly called after her mother.

Mrs. Ambrose laughed with a snort. "You want to climb Mount Everest but you need an escort into town?"

"Well — I don't know the rules for this sort of thing now that I'm officially being courted for marriage." Holly shifted the basket to her hip.

Mrs. Ambrose brushed her off with a wave of her hand and bustled off in the direction of the kitchens.

"Fine!" Holly called after her mother.

She found a maid who retrieved her overcoat and helped her load the baskets waiting at the door into the carriage. The footmen objected to her moving the baskets herself, but Holly insisted on helping.

"I'm perfectly capable," she said, offering them a hand before giving the driver instructions and hopping into the carriage.

The winding country road into town was short, but slow going with the fresh dusting of snow. Once they reached the main streets of Hillbury, the orphanage was easy to spot. It was a newer building to town, a large, nondescript, brick square built to hold a large number of orphans that only seemed to increase each year.

The carriage stopped in front of the fenced yard, the arrival of a guest stopping a number of children in their games.

Holly descended and grabbed a basket along with the footman. Together they stumbled up the snowy walk and into the long entry hall of the orphanage. Somewhere in the house, Holly could hear the laughter of children and the pitter patter of tiny feet on bare wooden floors.

"Hello?" Holly called out. "Mrs. Botting?"

Holly had stopped by the orphanage on many occasions, offering her services where they could be used whether it was darning socks or helping to teach the older girls to sketch.

"Mrs. Botting?" Holly called again, moving deeper into the house.

"Miss Ambrose?" A tired voice carried down from above them. "Hello, dear!" Mrs. Botting bellowed from the second floor landing, her shallow cheeked face and the upper half of her leaning over the railing.

"I've brought some donations. Clothes and toys my nephew and niece have grown out of," Holly replied.

"Bless you and your family," said Mrs. Botting as she tottered down the stairs to meet them. She was haggard looking woman with wild, grey hair and kind eyes. Years of tireless dedication to the poor had aged her prematurely, but she had all the spirit of a youth when it came to the welfare of Hillbury's orphans.

"It is the very least we can do."

"You can take them into my office." Mrs. Botting replied, taking one of the baskets from Holly and leading them down a dark hall.

Holly noticed the sconces remained unlit.

"In here." The mistress of the house turned into a room and set her basket on a desk already piled high with papers.

"You can place them over there," she gestured to a meager pile of donations. "I'm setting aside what we can spare to give the children on Christmas."

"That's a marvellously kind thought, Mrs. Botting. If I had known, I would have wrapped them myself," Holly replied, setting her donation with the others.

The footman deposited the third basket and excused himself to return to the carriage.

"Would you like a cuppa tea?" Mrs. Botting offered, gesturing for Holly to take the threadbare armchair that sat across from the desk.

"I don't want to impose, but-" Holly gave the woman a playful smile. She crossed to one of the baskets and pulled out a colorfully painted tin. "My mother did send some tea. I'd be remiss if we didn't try it out first."

"Wonderful!" Mrs. Botting exclaimed. "If don't mind waiting here I'll go put the kettle on." She took the tea tin and left the office to make the preparations.

In Mrs. Botting's absence Holly paced the small office, studying the photos on that hung on sun faded wallpaper. It looked like it hadn't been changed since the orphanage was built. After a time, a kettle whistled in another part of the house and Holly heard the heavy plod of boots in the hall. For a moment she thought the footman might be returning, but a familiar voice startled her.

"Lainie says you sent her to fetch me for tea, Mrs. Bott-" David Bishop stopped at the door of the office, his eyes widened. "Miss Ambrose," he said, giving her a curt bow.

"Mr. Bishop," Holly greeted him with similar shock. She felt her cheeks burn at the sight of him. From the waist up he was in a rather shocking state of undress. His waistcoat was completely open and he had loosed several of the buttons on his white shirt beneath. Despite her best efforts, her eyes fell on the faint sheen of sweat that marked his brow and neck.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, keeping her eyes above his shoulders.

He moved into the room and raked a hand through his sandy, unkempt hair. "There was a leak in the roof and Mrs. Botting asked for my help." He lifted a small pail of pitch for Holly to see.

"That's kind of you," Holly said quietly.

"Please excuse my appearance. It was warm up in the attic." David moved into the room, skirting around Holly to place the pitch on the floor behind Mrs. Botting's desk.

Holly averted her gaze when David began to refasten the top buttons of his shirt. Having seen enough of his figure to make something knot in her stomach, she kept her eyes on the ceiling while a strange tingling sensation traveled through her fingers. Thankfully, Mrs. Botting shuffled back into the office with a tray of tea in her hands so they wouldn't have to avoid looking at each other a moment longer.

"Mr. Bishop, you're here. Do you know Miss Ambrose?" Mrs. Botting asked, perhaps sensing a bit of discomfort.

"We're acquainted," David answered kindly, taking the tray from Mrs. Botting and setting out cups for tea.

"How splendid! Mrs. Ambrose has just dropped off some donations." Mrs. Botting motioned for them all to sit.

"It wasn't a roof was it?" David threw the woman a wary smile as he passed cups of steaming oolong to the two women.

"Is it really that much in need of repair?" Mrs. Botting asked with sudden concern.

David nodded and moved to lean against the door frame. "I can keep patching it, but it will need to be replaced. Soon." He took a sip of tea.

"That is terrible to hear," Holly said, turning to Mrs. Botting. "If there is anything I can help with, you will let me know?"

"Of course—" the woman began but a loud crash from upstairs stopped her. "If that is the boys again... excuse me." She rose from behind her desk. "I'll be back in a moment."

As soon as Mrs. Botting's footsteps disappeared, Holly turned to David. "Mr. Bishop, I am terribly sorry for offending you last night. It was the farthest thing from my intention."

There was color high in David's angular cheekbones as he met Holly's gaze. "Please. No apologies are necessary. My reaction was less than genteel and I immediately regretted it."

"I should have known not to say such things, even in jest. I saw you left the party early. I do hope I wasn't the cause." Holly offered David a smile — anything to make him feel less uncomfortable.

"No. No. I knew I would be here in the morning so I didn't want to stay out late," David replied, stirring another sugar cube into his tea. From the tightness in his shoulders Holly sensed that there was something else the matter and she had a strange inclination she knew what about.

"I noticed your reaction to Mr. Embry," she said, watching him for any sign of discomfort. "If you don't mind my asking... do you think ill of him?"

David pushed off from the doorframe and replaced the teacup on the tray. He didn't return to where he propped up the wall, but instead sat in the empty chair beside Holly. His brows pushed together as he seemed to consider how he should respond. He ran his thumb over his lip, his eyes studying Holly in a way that made the tingling return to her own fingers.

"Do I think ill of him?" he finally hazarded to say. "No. Would I say I distrust him? Yes."

Holly felt herself leaning in closer to David. "How do you mean?"

David looked unsure of how he wanted to answer, but he stroked his lip thoughtfully until replying. "I know how charming he can be. Everyone loved him at University. Professors. Students. And I know he used that charm to advance himself in the world — now that isn't to say advancement is inherently bad — he just did so without regard for anyone but himself." As he said all this, there was a decided hesitance to his voice. "But that is all I have to say. The rest I know of him is based on rumor and assumptions and I would hate to speak false of him."

Holly wished David would say, but she respected his decision not to. Still, this news concerned her greatly. "He seems to have put quite the charm on everyone," Holly mused, finishing her tea. "But I thank you for your honesty."

David nodded but didn't reply, still giving Holly a questioning look.

Mrs. Botting was still missing and Holly knew her footmen were likely ready to return home.

"I should be on my way or my mother will be wondering where I've been," Holly said, rising from her chair.

"I'll escort you out," David offered, setting his cup aside.

They headed towards the door, unspeaking, but Holly felt minutely aware of David's every movement. Why did she even care that his elbow brushed the sleeve of her coat?

David stopped at the door, his lack of attire preventing him from venturing into the cold.

"Good day, Mr. Bishop. Give Mrs. Botting my regards," Holly said, her tone formal. She turned without waiting for a reply to head to her carriage, but David's hand reached out and caught hers.

The gesture rattled Holly to her core and her heart all but stopped as she turned to face him. His clear eyes were marked with such concern that Holly's breath stopped.

"I know how smart you are," he said. "Just... be guarded around Mr. Embry. I know you wouldn't have asked if you didn't prefer him," he said solemnly, keeping his hand firmly around Holly's.

"I will," she replied breathlessly, "And I will say I enjoy Mr. Embry's company, but I don't prefer him over anyone — not yet at least," she added with a faint laugh.

"Good," David replied a shadow of a smile flickering over his lips.

Holly moved to leave, but paused. "My hand please?"

"Right," David smiled, quickly releasing her from his grasp. His hands immediately flew to his hair, fingers burrowing themselves in the sandy waves. "Good day, Miss Ambrose."

As Holly rode back to Ambrose Manor she felt her stomach sour. With everything David had said to add to her considerations regarding the letter, she now wondered all the more what her father's partners would have to say about Victor Embry.

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