After seeing an exhausted Esme to bed, Sarah couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t tired. Her mind was too actively parsing out what had happened tonight, all the new things she’d learned, not only about London and society but about Simon and Esme. Throwing her cotton robe over her chemise, Sarah left her room and tiptoed downstairs, making certain not to disturb any of the other members of the household. In the corridor outside the library, where she was intending to find a dull book to read to help her fall asleep, she stopped short. There was a line of light along the bottom of the door. Someone was inside. It had to be Simon. Who else would still be awake at this hour? Before she could think, before she could talk herself out of it, she’d knocked on the door. “Come in.” Simon sat on a chair by the hearth at the far end of the long, narrow room, which was sparsely furnished except for the rows of bookshelves along the walls and two carved wooden chairs and a table near the hearth. He looked toward the door with a bemused expression that relaxed when he saw her hovering on the threshold.
