Noble grinned at her, crooked, but took a sip from his mug before answering. "Oh, always," he said, lowering the mug. "But I like the independence that potioneering offers."

Really, he hadn't thought about being a healer until he and Henrietta had accidentally killed her mother and caused the Sanditon hurricane. Now, Noble had a sense that he owed people — the people who had died, certainly. But he also had a sense that he was, deep down, actually a terrible person — and that if he was going to deserve something he wanted, he needed to put some good back, first.

But he liked potioneering. That was another way to help people. And they couldn't afford the pay cut he'd take when he was in training. So he'd never verbalized the desire in a way that would have resulted in actually planning to act on it.