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When the wine came, Edwin wasted no time placing their order for their soup as a starter.

“I like this new Edwin,” Agnes said as she held up her glass.

“Thank you,” Edwin replied, lifting his. “I do, too.”

Edwin and Agnes clinked their wineglasses together, and they each took a drink.

“It seems like things between you and Andrew must have settled,” Agnes said, “for you to be so happy.”

“Yes, I think so. I’m letting myself believe that things might work out. At least, for a while.” Edwin shrugged. “I’m trying not to worry too much about our future.”

“I think that’s smart,” Agnes said with a nod. “Allow yourself to be happy for once.”

Edwin smiled at her. He took a second sip of wine.

“So,” he began, “how have the orders been this week?”

Over the next fifteen or so minutes, the two of them chatted about work. Agnes lamented the low pay for her myriad of orders, though she knew she couldn’t charge more without putting herself out of business, what with the factories churning out cheap clothing these days. Understandably, she never wanted to work at one of them. All of those places paid their seamstresses a fraction of what Agnes made on her own.

Edwin, on the other hand, spoke a bit about the conservatory, relaying to Agnes how much easier taking care of the plants was proving to be than he’d once thought. Mostly, he talked about how he liked challenging himself. Being a nurseryman was fine, but the work was light in the winter, and without William, it could be lonely. Especially now that he’d been enjoying talking to people more. He’d have never thought that he could truly like chatting with random folks from his neighborhood. After all, he’d never really enjoyed socializing, especially before. Even once he’d begun living life as Edwin, he’d still been too shy, too unpracticed, too worried that he wouldn’t blend in to enjoy it. But now, everything was changing. And, Lord, was it incredible.

Edwin’s commentary regarding his work in the nursery was interrupted when the waiter brought over their soup. Edwin’s mouth began to water the moment the scent of sherry, seasonings, and meat wafted up his nose, and he eagerly picked up his spoon to try it. When the spoonful of perfectly cooked veal and soft vegetables made contact with his tongue, he hummed softly.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” he asked, going for a second spoonful.

Edwin froze the moment he looked up and saw Agnes. Staring at her soup, she sat rigid, her expression crestfallen. Edwin set his spoon back in the bowl.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said with a brief shake of her head.

“Agnes.”

She let out a sigh. “I was thinking about William. But only because you mentioned him when you were talking about the conservatory. I swear I haven’t been obsessing about him. I’m not that pathetic.”

“It wouldn’t be pathetic,” Edwin said, “if you have been.”

Agnes didn’t reply right away. Instead, she picked up her spoon and forced a smile.

“Well, I better try this soup before it gets cold,” she said.

Edwin’s eyes fell to his own bowl, and he frowned at the broth. Poor Agnes. He could only imagine how much pain she was in. All because of him, too. Well, because of him and because of William, obviously. But Edwin was the one who could potentially fix things. He couldn’t ignore the fact that it was likely his fault that William wasn’t proposing.

Edwin picked up his spoon and stirred his soup a couple of times. His thoughts swirled with the bits of cooked potatoes and carrots floating in it. How could he fix this? If William wasn’t proposing because of him, then maybe he needed to remove himself from the situation. Even though he was feeling more confident lately, he still couldn’t chance telling the Whitneys who he really was. And he refused to put on one of his old outfits, even for the length of an engagement party or wedding. He couldn’t pretend to be someone he no longer was (and, truthfully, had never really been, not in his heart). Besides, there was little chance that the pretending would end there. Surely there would be other occasions when he’d need to play the part of Agnes’s reserved older sister, too. So, then, what could he do instead? What other choice did he have?

He could only think of one.

“Agnes?” he said. “I think, maybe . . . I should move out.”

Agnes inhaled sharply and nearly choked on her soup. Her spoon landed with a clatter in her porcelain bowl. Other patrons looked over for a moment but then returned to their meals.

“Move out? Why would you move out?”

“So that you can be with William,” Edwin replied. Agnes stared blankly, and Edwin heaved a sigh. “I think my presence must be why he hasn’t proposed to you. Right now, as far as the Whitneys know, William is friends with your sister. And even though they think they haven’t seen her since her father passed, they also think that she’s alive and well and as unsociable as ever. At least, I assume William has been telling them that if either of them ever asks. So, this means that, regardless of my shy nature, if you and William were to marry, they’d expect William’s most cherished friend to be there for all kinds of important occasions, wouldn’t they?” He placed a hand over his tie so that it wouldn’t fall into his soup bowl and leaned in before lowering his voice to a whisper. “And I . . . God, I can’t do it, Agnes. I know I can’t. After I put on that first suit, it became harder and harder for me to pretend. Because I realized who I was and . . .” He trailed off and shook his head, his throat constricting from the sudden swell of emotion that accompanied the memory of him putting on his father’s suit for the first time. “Anyway, I can’t go back. Even sometimes.” He let out a long breath and straightened his posture. “So, I think the most prudent thing is for everyone to pretend that I . . . left. Or passed away. Or . . . or whatever you and Mother can stand to say about me.”

“But how will you even afford your own place? Assuming that what you’re saying is true and that William actually does want to marry me, I’m sure Mother will be taken care of, but . . . oh, Edwin, the Whitneys can’t possibly pay you that much for the work in the conservatory, can they? Would you try to take on more responsibility there? Or see if William can find something else for you? And what if they realize who you are? Aren’t most of the better paying jobs ones where you’d need to interact with the family more? And—and how will we see each other? And—”

Edwin held up his hand.