During her acquaintance with Mr. Darrow, Caroline had learned how rare it was to hear a laugh or chuckle from him. Indeed when she did seem him she had made it rather a goal of her’s to make him laugh. And here he was now chuckling. It only made her happier.

Evander. Caroline tried the word in her mind, rolling it over. It seemed odd to think of him as Evander when she was so use to calling him Mr. Darrow. A name that suited the sternness and solitude she associated with him. Evander seemed soft and hinted at those moments they had shared when he didn’t seem nearly as stern as he made himself out to be.

“I shall hate to have you feel a fool,” Caroline agreed, her tone playful, adding, “Evander.” She squeezed his hand as she took a step forward, tilting her head upward. If Mr. Darrow - no, Evander - was anything like the men she had known he would try to steal a kiss, one that Caroline would gladly allow him, but it was Evander. She doubted he would think such a thing gentlemanly, but she didn’t want him to think she wouldn’t welcome such an action. The least she could do was make it easier for him.