The morning in the ward was chaotic. The influx of patients had begun before dawn, and by the time I arrived, the air was thick with the sounds of bored breathing and muffled coughs. The acrid scent of vinegar used liberally to cleanse the floors and ward off further infection, stung my nostrils as I made my way toward the nurse's desk. Sister Sedgewick stood beside a young woman with pale blonde hair pinned neatly beneath her cap. Her uniform was freshly pressed, and though her posture was straight, I caught the nervous tremor in her hands.

  “This is Miss Levingston,” Phillipa said, turning toward me. “Constance, this is Elizabeth Geldart.”

  I offered the new nurse a small smile. “Welcome to King’s.”

  Constance dipped her head slightly. “Thank you.” Her voice was steady, but there was a flicker of apprehension in her eyes.

  “She’ll be working under my supervision today,” Phillipa continued, casting a measured gnce at Constance. “But if I am occupied, she may come to you for assistance.”

  I nodded, adjusting the cuffs of my sleeves. “Of course. The first few days can be overwhelming, but you’ll find your rhythm soon enough.”

  Phillipa gave a curt nod and turned back to Constance. “Come now, Miss Levingston. I’ll show you how we prepare the morning rounds.”

  As they moved away, I turned back to my tasks, adjusting bnkets and soothing fevered brows. The hours passed in a blur of ministrations, notes taken, and beds straightened. The weight of exhaustion pressed upon me, but I forced myself to continue. The patients had no choice but to endure; I would endure with them.

  At midday, as I carried a bundle of used linens to be undered, I took the opportunity to step outside for a moment of respite. The cool air was a welcome relief, a brief escape from the suffocating closeness of the ward. The moment was fleeting—there was too much to do to linger.

  On my return, I paused. Across the room, Benedict stood at the foot of a bed, speaking in hushed tones with Phillipa. The warmth in his expression, the quiet attentiveness with which he listened, sent an unfamiliar pang through my chest. I didn’t understand it—not entirely—but the sight of them together unsettled me in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

  I hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward. There was work to do, and I had no time for foolish feelings. Still, as I approached, my heartbeat quickened, and I forced myself to maintain my composure. Whatever was stirring within me, I would not allow it to distract me. Not here. Not now. As I busied myself with straightening a side table near one of the beds, I could feel my gaze flickering toward him, trying to be discreet but failing miserably. Constance, who had been making up a bed beside me, let out a quiet, knowing hum.

  “Oh dear,” she murmured, leaning in slightly. “You’re not very subtle, you know.”

  I snapped my head toward her, my cheeks warming. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Constance smirked, tucking a pillow into its case. “Of course you don’t.”

  I huffed, focusing intently on wiping the wooden surface, scrubbing at an invisible spot with perhaps more force than necessary. “I was merely making sure he wasn’t needed elsewhere.”

  “Ah,” Constance said, her voice ced with amusement. “How very responsible of you.”

  I shot her a quick gre, but she only grinned, shaking her head as she returned to her work. Just as I exhaled, forcing myself to dismiss the conversation, I felt it—a weight, a presence. From the corner of my eye, I saw Benedict looking in my direction, his gaze lingering just a moment too long before shifting away.

  My breath caught slightly, my hands stilling against the cloth. Constance, catching the shift in my expression, let out a barely contained giggle. “Oh,” she whispered. “He was looking, wasn’t he?”

  “Go and fetch more linens,” I muttered under my breath, my face burning.

  Constance ughed but obeyed, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and the unmistakable awareness that, for whatever reason, Benedict had been watching me too. I shook off the lingering warmth in my chest and turned toward the back of the ward, making my way to the nurse’s desk. I focused on each step, on the soft swish of my skirts, willing my heartbeat to steady. Benedict was leaving, walking past with his usual composed stride. Without breaking pace, he turned his head slightly, met my gaze, and offered a small, easy smile.

  "Good day," he said simply. And then he was gone, disappearing out of the doors before I could even think to respond.

  I blinked, caught somewhere between surprise and something else I dared not name. My fingers curled slightly around the rag I had just used, and I forced myself to inhale, to keep walking, to pretend my stomach hadn’t just flipped in the most ridiculous manner.

  Phillipa, who had been bent over the desk scribbling notes, suddenly looked up, her eyes wide. “Oh, did you see that?” she breathed, practically bouncing in pce. “He smiled at you.”

  I rolled my eyes, trying—and failing—to suppress the growing heat in my face. “It was just a greeting, Pippa.”

  Phillipa let out an exaggerated sigh, resting her chin on her hand. “But such a nice greeting,” she teased. “So charming. And directed at you.”

  I shook my head, turning back to my work. “You’re being absurd.”

  “Am I?” Phillipa smirked. “Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he quite likes looking at you.”

  I refused to dignify that with a response, but the traitorous flutter in my chest made it clear that, despite my best efforts, I wasn’t entirely immune to the thought. I focused on my tasks with renewed determination, gathering used dishes from trays and stacking them neatly. My hands worked methodically, scraping remnants of porridge into the waste bin, and wiping the surfaces clean before setting the trays aside for washing. The ctter of tin against tin was a welcome distraction, drowning out the lingering warmth of Benedict’s smile in my mind.

  Between rounds, I refilled the water pitchers lined along the bedside tables, ensuring each patient had fresh water to drink. The work was familiar, almost soothing, yet my thoughts betrayed me. Benedict’s voice, the easy way he carried himself, the way his gaze had lingered—all of it hovered at the edge of my mind, impossible to shake off.

  Constance, ever perceptive, sidled up beside me as she adjusted the folds of a patient’s bnket. “You know,” she began, voice light, “Benedict is rather handsome.”

  My grip wavered, nearly dropping the water pitcher. “I—” I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral. “I suppose he is.”

  Constance hummed in amusement. “And do you suppose he’s aware of how often you look his way?”

  My cheeks fmed instantly. “I do no such thing.”

  She raised a brow, an insufferably knowing smile pying on her lips. “Oh, Miss Geldart. You’re a terrible liar.”

  “I’m not lying,” I said quickly, though my words cked conviction. I turned to smooth out the sheets of the next bed, focusing on the precise movement of my hands.

  Constance leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “So, you don’t find him attractive?” I opened my mouth to deny it, but the words caught in my throat. My hesitation was all the answer she needed. She gasped softly. “You do.”

  “I—” I pressed my lips together, inhaling sharply before exhaling in defeat. “Fine. Yes. I suppose I do.”

  Constance beamed. “Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I muttered. “There’s no time for such things.”

  Constance merely smirked, tucking an errant strand of hair beneath her cap. “Time or not, you can’t ignore it forever.”

  I ignored her, turning swiftly to retrieve another pitcher. But as I moved about the ward, as much as I tried to push it from my mind, the thought lingered. I had admitted it—if only to myself and Constance. And the weight of that admission settled deep within me, refusing to be ignored.

  The ward had quieted by the time my shift neared its end. Phillipa and Constance had long since left, leaving me to complete the final rounds alone. I moved from bed to bed, ensuring each patient was settled for the night. I checked that they had enough water, smoothing out bnkets where needed and making note of those who would require additional care come morning. The scent of candle wax mixed with the lingering medicinal tang in the air as I methodically repced the stubs of spent candles with fresh ones.

  Satisfied that everything was in order, I returned to the nurse’s desk, retrieving my cloak from the cabinet behind it. The weight of exhaustion pulled at my limbs, but there was comfort in knowing that, for a few short hours, I could rest. Drawing the fabric around my shoulders, I stepped away from the desk, my footsteps echoing softly down the dimly lit corridor.

  I made my way through the familiar halls, each step measured and steady, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows against the stone walls. As I reached the servant’s entrance, I pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped out into the cool night air. The crispness of it was refreshing after the stifling warmth of the ward.

  And then I saw him. Benedict stood a short distance away, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his posture rexed yet alert. The gaslight from the nearby nterns cast a golden glow over his features, sharpening the edges of his face in the darkness. He hadn’t noticed me yet—or perhaps he had and was merely waiting for me to acknowledge him.

  I hesitated, my fingers curling tighter around the edges of my cloak. What was he doing here? “Sir?” I finally said, my voice quieter than I intended.

  He turned at once, his eyes settling on me. “Oh, it's you.”

  v“What are you doing out here?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light, indifferent.

  He hesitated for only a moment before offering a small smile. “I could ask you the same.”

  My lips parted in surprise, and for a beat, neither of us spoke. The night stretched quiet between us, and I found myself acutely aware of the way my heartbeat quickened in the stillness. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "We haven't been properly introduced, have we?"

  I shook my head. "No, I don't believe we have."

  He extended a hand toward me. "Benedict."

  I hesitated only a second before taking it. His grip was warm, steady. "Elizabeth Geldart."

  His smile deepened just slightly. "A pleasure, Miss Geldart."

  The way he said my name, with that same quiet intensity he carried throughout the day, sent a shiver down my spine. I swallowed, unsure of what to say next, unsure of why he was lingering here when his duties had ended hours ago. I released his hand quickly, tucking mine back beneath the folds of my cloak. "Likewise, Benedict."

  The silence stretched between us again, but this time, it carried something else—something almost expectant. Benedict's eyes flickered over my face as if searching for something in my expression. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted him to find it. He exhaled lightly, then tilted his head. “How was your day?” he asked, his voice steady, though there was something softer in it now.

  “Fairly busy,” I admitted, pulling my cloak a little tighter around my shoulders. “There was much to clean, and I lost count of the number of times I had to refill the pitchers. And, of course, we had a new nurse start today—but you probably already knew that.”

  Benedict gave a small nod. “Miss Levingston. She seems capable, if a little overwhelmed.”

  “She’ll find her rhythm soon enough,” I said. “We all do. And you? How was your day?”

  Benedict let out a quiet breath, his gaze momentarily shifting away. “Busy, as well. The hospital saw a big spike in admissions today. There were so many people needing charity—it was overwhelming at times.” His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he spoke again. “And what of your family?”

  I hesitated briefly, caught off guard by the shift in topic. “My father was a journalist once, though now he manages our family estate. My older brother assists him. My mother and younger sister have been busy preparing for my sister’s debut.” I gnced at him. “And you?”

  A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he straightened slightly, adjusting his gloves. “Oh, nothing of note,” he said dismissively. Then, before I could press him further, he turned his attention to the darkened streets. “It’s getting te. You should be getting home. Your father will be wondering where you are.”

  I blinked, suddenly reminded of the hour. “You’re right.” I stepped toward the waiting carriage, and he moved forward, offering his hand. Hesitating for only a second, I accepted it, his palm warm against mine as he helped me up. As I settled into my seat, I looked down at him. “Oh and I don’t live with my father,” I told him. “I live with my aunt—an hour outside the city.”

  His brows lifted slightly as if he hadn’t expected that, but before he could respond, the driver flicked the reins. The carriage lurched forward, and the city began to slip past in the dim glow of the gaslights. I sat back against the cushioned seat, feeling the weight of the day settle over me. My mind, however, remained restless, lingering on the way Benedict’s expression had shifted when I asked about his family. There was something he wasn’t saying—something he had deliberately kept from me.

  And I had the unsettling suspicion that, in time, I would come to find out exactly what it was.