“Yes,” Bryony said the moment Mr. Spaulding was gone and the children were abed. “Absolutely. I like him.”

“I didn’t ask,” Dahlia muttered, as she poured two cups of tea.

There were no cakes or scones to go with the tea, but she couldn’t have eaten anyway. Her stomach was too full of butterflies.

“He’s dark and handsome and gruff,” Bryony continued with a little shiver. “My three favorite qualities in a man.”

“You can’t have him,” Dahlia snapped, before she realized that was precisely the reaction her sister had hoped to provoke.

Bryony clapped her hands in triumph. “I knew it. What are you waiting for?”

“Everything,” Dahlia blurted. “Bryony, I’m not sleeping. I’m barely eating. I spend every moment of every day here at the school, looking after the girls, the accounts, the upkeep. I have no time for a beau. Nor can I afford the distraction. Not now. Not when the future of the school is so uncertain.”

Especially not when the man in question was a Bow Street Runner and Dahlia was a thief.

Fortunately, he had no reason to suspect her. That was the beauty of being who and what she was. Her peers among le bon ton would never suspect one of their own. Particularly not a debutante with titled parents. And working-class men like Mr. Spaulding would never suspect a simple headmistress would be granted access to fancy places in the first place. It was the perfect ruse.

Dahlia just wished she didn’t have to resort to such measures in the first place.

“I understand your passion. Honestly, I do.” Bryony stirred her tea. “But while it’s noble to have a passion in life, you can’t let it be your life. No matter how worthy the cause. You are just as important as your students are.”

“We’re all equally important,” Dahlia agreed. “But my future isn’t in jeopardy. If the school fails, I can simply move back home. My days might not all be filled book clubs and high teas, but personal needs would be more than met. My students don’t have that luxury. And before you preach at me that working myself to death won’t help them either, I am working on a solution.”

Bryony lifted her brows. “What kind of solution?”

“Financial and administrative.” Dahlia rubbed at a stain in the tablecloth. “For one, Faith Digby has taken a half-partnership interest that I hope will become permanent.”

“But that’s wonderful!” Bryony exclaimed. “Faith is perfect. She’s thoughtful and clever, and her family has more gold than Midas. All those cotton mills in Yorkshire—”

“It’s not Faith’s cotton,” Dahlia reminded her sister with a sigh. If only it were that easy. “But perhaps her father can be convinced to donate. In any case, Faith’s assistance will be invaluable.”

Bryony grinned. “Particularly if she can manage your schedule to accommodate more time for Mr. Spaulding.”

Dahlia rolled her eyes to show her complete dismissal of the topic and lifted her tea to her lips.

The unfortunate truth was that she was far from disinterested in the idea of spending more time with Mr. Spaulding. She had meant every word about not having the time for courtship, nor even the luxury of being able to devote her private thoughts to what could have been, had circumstances been different.

And yet her brain was ungovernable. If it decided to evoke memories of his smile instead of sums for the accounts, or to conjure the feel of his strong hand guiding the small of her back instead of letting her sleep—what was a headmistress to do?

Especially one as desperate as Dahlia.

“There will be no romance with Mr. Spaulding,” she informed her sister firmly.

Bryony sighed. “Because he isn’t ‘one of our set.’”

Yes, but not for the reasons Bryony supposed.

Mr. Spaulding was a Bow Street Runner. Moral, ethical, honest. He believed in clear distinctions of right and wrong. He believed in law, in punishment, in justice. In letting the system dictate everyone’s future.

Dahlia, on the other hand, would pilfer the Prince Regent’s peaches and roasted meats right from the Carlton House royal buffet tables, if it were the only way to keep her students from starving.

She didn’t need a flirtation with an officer of the court. She needed the support of people like her, who would do anything in their power—laws be damned—to save the lives of others.

If Mr. Spaulding learned of the risks she’d taken to keep bread in her students’ bellies, he would stop more than his flirtations.

It wouldn’t matter that the stolen baubles made their way back to their rightful owners, or that she only went to such lengths when the pantry was empty and the overdue rents couldn’t be another day late. His oath to the court would require he treat her no differently than every other thief whose necks were stretched in the gallows.

As a nonpareil of moral uprightness and the sort of good, caring man the world deserved far more of, Mr. Spaulding was a perfect model for destitute young girls who had seen little reason to have faith in men.

But as for Dahlia… She could not dare indulge feelings that would risk far more than her heart.