Tuesday came and went. Viktor blissfully returned to work, having no need to find a replacement for Ives. The university insisted that he take a longer leave, but he had a key to the laboratories and would not be denied. Wednesday followed suit and come Thursday, the doctor had not spent a night in his home since the fire.

Viktor entered his home and as he tossed his hat onto the peg, he felt his bag and coat leave his person. “Has my raiment been laid out for tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Is it black tie or white?”

“The invitation didn’t specify.”

“Black, then.” He turned and his downcast eyes landed on Miss Greene’s shoes, and followed up her legs. Her shoes were surprisingly fine, though worn leather and her trousers were the same quality.

Trousers.

“You wear trousers?” he asked pointedly.

Her face was placid but her eyes were rebellious. “Usually. It never bothered you before.”

“I never noticed before,” he declared, his eyes narrowing on the top of her head.

“You never looked up.”

“You are shorter than I expected.” Viktor himself was averagely tall, which only meant that he was neither tall nor short, but Ives had been tall. Perhaps that distinction rendered her height a surprise.

“You have to be at this dinner in an hour,” she reminded pointedly.

“Quite right,” he said haughtily, jogging up the stairs. He could dress himself just as well. It had not occurred to him that it would be improper for a woman to be stationed as butler. Regardless, she made tea like Ives and handled his paperwork even better. But trousers…

Viktor shaved and dressed, lightly oiling his hair so it combed back into place. His butler was waiting downstairs with his dress coat, gloves, and…a smallish pot of flowers.

“What are those? And do not answer with the obvious.”

“Your host and his wife are going to be at the dinner,” she said. “Mrs. Locklier visits the royal gardens regularly. She enjoys flowers. It’s a nice gesture.”

“Ives never insisted on arriving with a gift,” he chided.

“He tried, but you ignored him,” she stated, her voice deadpan.

“What is keeping me from doing the same to you?”

“I am not above reminding you that your money paid for these flowers.”

His chin jerked toward her and his eyes locked on the white, waxy, curly things. Botany was not his area. “Do not purchase anything without my express consent,” he ordered before snatching up the pot.

He hailed a cabbie and arrived on time to Mr. and Mrs. Locklier’s dinner party, where they greeted him inside by the grand staircase. The doctor held up the flowers with an apologetic glare.

“Oh my!” Mrs. Locklier exclaimed, taking the gift eagerly, catching both the doctor and her husband by surprise. “Lilies! I have not seen any like these before…what are they?”

Mr. Locklier turned expectantly but Viktor stared dumbfounded. “I am afraid I am a doctor of anatomy, not botany.”

“Where did you get them?” she asked instead. She pointed at the stalk poking out of the center of petals. “Look how blue the stigma is!”

“My butler acquired them,” Viktor answered hesitantly.

“You’ve found a new one?” Mr. Locklier said cordially.

“So soon? Why, you must host your own party sometime, Sir Teagan,” his wife suggested.

Viktor considered having his house full of people after his bedchamber combusted. “My house is still stabilizing after my late butler’s passing, but perhaps soon.”

He strolled through the rooms, chatting with colleagues about discoveries abroad that had been printed in the science journals. Dinner was onion soup, roasted duck, spiced root vegetables, and a rhubarb tart.

Once the women adjourned to their parlour and the men joined in the smoking room, Mr. Locklier pulled Viktor off to the side. “The funeral is Saturday, yes?” He offered a cigar but the doctor refused. “You don’t smoke?”

“Not cigars, no,” he answered absentmindedly.

“Curious, those flowers,” the host continued, clipping the end off his cigar and scraping a match to flame. “The Mrs. is besotted. I did not know you had a romantic bone in that brilliant head of yours.”

Viktor’s eyebrows rose skeptically. “I don’t. My butler, however, is…more persistent than I anticipated.”

Mr. Locklier exhaled woodsy smoke. “Not one of these libertines is he?”

“What?” Viktor said as he was pulled from his reverie.

“No matter,” his host waved the subject away. His volume dropped. “Mrs. Wroll is expecting you, so I hear.”

“She will receive me,” Viktor finished.

His host caught the hint and changed subjects. “Are you listening to their discussion?”

The two men casually eavesdropped on the discussion over the academic journals. Abnormal shellfish netted by fishermen and crabbers that were undocumented, new species. Carvings and art being discovered in tombs. Ruins of cities being unearthed below major metropolises as well as in the middle of rural nowhere.

“The world is changing,” Viktor commented.

“No,” Mr. Locklier amended. “The world is remembering.”

The doctor frowned. “These are considered discoveries. What should we be remembering?”

“That is for you and Mrs. Wroll to discuss.” The dark cigar stood out against the silver of his beard.

When Viktor returned home, the house was quiet. Without thinking, he returned to his room. His nose would have wrinkled at the smell but he had experienced worse. His room had been emptied of furniture and the walls were currently in the process of being stripped.

He found his butler in the kitchen, sipping tea with a book. “You needn’t sleep in my room tonight.”

“All right,” she said, glancing up. It was not as if she had to begin with, since he had not been home.

Viktor peered at her. Her dark hair was up, out of the way, and a pencil wiggled between her fingers.

In the guest room, his bedclothes were folded down, ready for him, and a large jar of those same whitish-blue flowers were beside the bed. He pinched one of the petals and rubbed the soft, waxy texture. Viktor glanced at the floor beside the foot of the bed, where blankets and a pillow were neatly piled. He checked the window, shut the curtains, and shed down to his undergarments for bed.