The first stop was a butcher. We exited the carriage and the smell of blood hit us immediately.

My eyes gravitated from her grimace to her fancy shoes and back again.

With her back stiff and shoulders out, she marched towards that shop. The doorknob alone gave her pause. I hurried to retrieve my handkerchief to guard against what appeared to be blood. But as the only one I carried was the gift she'd given me with the fox, I resolved to use my bare hands.

The door swung open before I touched it, revealing a burly man, at least ten years our senior and twice my size across.

Beyond him was less of a shop and more of an open...situation. One thing came to me immediately. She'd selected houses hit by scandal. Although I was unaware of this particular household's transgressions, I took one look at that crime scene and grabbed her under the arm.

"I'm sorry, my good man," I told the killer, "wrong address."

As was the governess's stubborn way, she fought to slow me down so that she could talk to the man. The nerve.

The death glare I shot her shut her up and she entered the carriage at my urging.

Embarrassment wafted off her as she shuffled her letters and began to tuck one into her purse. I snatched it and tore it in two.

The action had her clearing her throat. Now with four letters. She scrutinized yet another and handed it over to me. When I sneered at her over the letter's top, she plucked it from my fingers and tore it on her own.

From five to three; things weren't looking promising.

The tailor by far had the best shop. But the man was nearly thirty years older than her. So while she listened with intent, I watched her. The moment that dirty old man touched her leg, I dragged her up and marched her out.

"What are you doing?" She fought to keep up. "It's good and clean."

"And he'll probably be dead in five years leaving you a fortune. Yes. But as of now, the only thought in my head is that the day after your wedding night, I'll find myself behind this blasted shop with a pistol in my hand to shoot him then myself. Get in."

She sat in a huff but snatched the letter from my hand when I made the attempt to render it to pieces.

"I'll put it at the bottom of the list," she insisted, as if that would placate me.

But as we went to the next location, I couldn't look away from her.

"You wouldn't care?" I demanded. "Even one bit? You wouldn't care about...about him physically?"

She lowered her gaze, muttering into the next two letters when she admitted, "I cannot afford to be picky as of now. Not with the prospects so shaky. I do not care what you think of me. I've never been physically intimate with anyone, so anything first will be fine because there's nothing to compare it to."

I took insult. "And my kissing you isn't intimate?"

"Well, he had fewer teeth," she shot back, "so no, I doubt I'd remember your kisses after a few years in!"

Silence filled the carriage save for the clopping of the horses' hoofs.

A laugh spilled out of me before I could stop myself. She glowered at first then smiled. Finally, we both chuckled.

"This is in no way funny," I said, in stitches.

"I know." She hunched over, holding her sides. "This is pathetic."

I held her shoulder, then slid down to grip her hand and assured her, "It's not pathetic. It's bad luck. But I don't want to know what his scandal was."

With a shudder, we were off. The next was a publishing house and it put me at ease upon seeing it.

All the more so, because I knew the scandal.

"Plagiarism?" I asked.

"Unpaid wages," she insisted.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Sounds like plagiarism."

The family house was above the printing press. Other than the stink of ink, it wasn't a terrible structure.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"I wonder if it's up to fire code," I muttered to myself.

She was already up the stairs. I had to sprint to catch up. I got there in time to open the door for her. Beyond the ink, the noise of the machines reached even the foyer. It was dreadful. And would the press run at night also?"

"Oh, this is lovely," she said.

My irises slid to focus on her between my eyelids which were then slits.

She opened and closed her mouth then insisted. "No, really. My father was a toy-maker, so I'm used to the smell of varnish. This ink is not so bad."

"And the noise?"

Her shoulder touched mine as she grinned. "I can hear your snore all the way upstairs."

My mouth snapped closed. The nerve of this woman.

"That is my father," I corrected.

When she smiled, I fell in love all over again. All the more because she hardly had a reason to seem happy usually.

I took the shelves of books in and deep down, I could feel it, I knew, there was no need to visit the final location, she would be a good fit here.

The would-be bachelor was a little man with few strands of hair. He hunched but I'd wager he wasn't much older than us, maybe not yet thirty.

He looked like a frog, though, but he was the only frog who didn't leer at her bosom so I took it as a good sign. As the entrance to his home doubled as an office, he sat behind a large mahogany desk, his diminutive size swallowed by mountains and mountains of paper.

A pair of black spectacles hung from the bridge of his stubby nose. Overall, I wouldn't trust this pest with catching mice much less caring for the woman I loved but he had one thing in his favor—he didn't scramble for her. the other men, though reserved, in their own way looked predatory. This one looked like he was more in love with ink and words than actual physical people.

Perfect.

I wouldn't have to shoot him on his honeymoon.

After bestowing a deep curtsy, the governess presented him with her letter as well as a recommendation from my mother.

He offered me a seat and I took it. Once I realized there wasn't one for the governess, it was too late to stand—she shook her head without looking at me. The hand held up told me to stay put.

"You're very direct," the man said.

His high-pitched voice had me biting back a laugh. It was all I could do not to run out of there to escape the giggling fit threatening to bust from my mouth.

"I value directness," the governess replied.

Times like these when she stood tall and proud, thriving in her element, I was smitten all over again.

For the last few weeks she'd played Angelique's lackey and it was hard to stomach.

The man's glasses caught the sunlight as he adjusted them to get a better look at the list. He scanned it twice then sat back.

Despite the papers on his desk, he had a clear view of me and he scrutinized me with such earnest that I found myself closing my jacket. There was no need to check my person, the governess had already made me presentable and I trusted her without fail. That meant nothing was wrong with me, but perhaps a bit...too right?

"And who are you to her?" he asked.

Good question. Oh, no one. Just the lovesick fool making the biggest sacrifice known to man.

"He is my employer—"

"I hadn't asked you."

All fell silent. Then I could see it. A tiny man, in a tiny career, with a tiny office, and a tiny home, but king so long as he remained within those confines.

"I am her employer," I echoed.

My father'd taught me about business. I was always instructed to not think of others as I would myself. We were honest folk and honest folk were weak. Instead, we should view all potential business engagements as a heist taking place.

From where I sat, I could see clearly that this little man had received the same advice.

The way he checked the governess's skillset told me why. She looked too good to be true.

"Says here you speak three languages." He looked up and focused on her for the first time. "Fluently?"

Eyes cast low, she nodded. "Yes, sir. I can also write and edit in said languages. In fact, I have several essays with me."

But when she rummaged through her bag, he opened his mouth and gibberish fell out.

I hadn't the slightest idea that it was a language until the governess nodded and answered in a similar vein. They continued for some time. Her smile grew, but his frown deepened instead.

My mind worked overtime, trying to figure out why he was displeased. The governess was a perfectionist. She would never highlight something she could not do well and even the slightest mistake had her reeling for hours.

Her look of satisfaction said she was doing well, but why wasn't the little froggy pleased?

"I'm not interested," he said, throwing her letter down.

A gasp left her—in fact, one left me as well. Mine might have even been higher in pitch than froggy's voice.

"Now see here," I said, sitting up. "That is no way to talk to a lady."

"What lady? Have you ever met a lady who didn't play the piano?" He flopped back in his old tattered chair. "It's actually the one thing I enjoy."

The piano.

Inwardly, I cursed.

A glance at the governess to find her focused on the floor troubled me. This meant a great deal to her.

I had to defend her honor. "The piano is a trifle compared to her other skills. What good is the piano in a printing press? That would be daft."

"Are you calling me daft?" he demanded.

No. I was calling him a moron but I'd save that big reveal for a later date.

"I do not enjoy the piano," she admitted.

He asked, "Did I ask if you enjoyed it?" When she failed to answer, he affirmed, "So you do play?"

She hesitated but nodded.

"Very well. Let us see."

He shuffled to the door behind his desk, opened it and motioned for her to follow.

I shot to my feet. "Wait—"

"Please," the governess begged, her head still bowed, "please don't cause any more trouble."

And she followed him and I let her.

Nothing happened for about two minutes. Till now, I'd considered my hearing keen. There was some sounds from a piano so at least that meant she was safe from any unwanted advances. It almost sounded nice, despite the faint melody meshing with the menacing grinding gears of the press.

But when the governess returned, she trembled.

They were both silent, as if they'd witness a travesty. After sitting down at his desk to scrutinize the letter once more, he asked her, "And you didn't include this? Why?"

A shiver ran through her and she shook her head.

He shook his head also and said, "I don't know what this game is, but I'm still not interested."

"But—but I played my best piece," she argued.

What he answered had me on my feet and she had to shove me out the door lest I knock his block clear off.