Chapter 4
Quincy followed the butler into Sinclair’s library the next morning, breathing deeply to calm her nerves. Aristocrats were much like large dogs — best not to let them see one’s fear.
“Ah, good morning, Mr. Quincy,” Sinclair said from his seat on the sofa, surrounded by folios and papers. Her papers — those she’d stacked on his desk the day before — had not moved.
“Good morning, my lord.” She accepted Harper’s offer to take her coat and hat, then tugged her waistcoat back into place. Adjusted her cravat. Had she tied it too tight? Realizing she was fidgeting, she locked her elbows to her side.
Harper shut the door as he left, leaving Quincy alone with Sinclair. She swallowed.
“Sleep well, Miss Quincy?” Sinclair stood, gesturing for her to be seated at the desk.
“Yes, thank y
