What about a colonel? High in the ranks, so he would have authority and power. He could be from a good family, someone with money, but not too much of it. A younger son. Younger sons had to make their way in the world.

Miss Sainsbury and the Mysterious Colonel. Yes, if he were to write a book, that’s what he would call it.

But he wasn’t going to write a book. He yawned. When would he find the time? He looked at his small desk, utterly empty save for a cup of cold tea. Or the paper?

The sun was already starting to come up. He ought to crawl back into bed. He could probably get a few hours of sleep before he had to get up and head over to Harry’s for breakfast.

He looked over at the window, where the slanted light of dawn was rippling through the glass.

He paused. He liked the sound of that.

The slanted light of dawn was rippling through the glass.

No, that was unclear. For all anyone knew, he could be talking about a brandy snifter.

The slanted light of dawn was rippling through the windowpane.

That was good. But it needed a little something more.

The slanted light of dawn was rippling through the windowpane, and Miss Anne Sainsbury was huddled beneath her thin blanket, wondering, as she often did, where she would find money for her next meal.

That was really good. Even he wanted to know what happened to Miss Sainsbury, and he was making it up.

Sebastian chewed on his lower lip. Maybe he should write this down. And give her a dog.

He sat at his desk. Paper. He needed paper. And ink. There had to be some in his desk drawers.

The slanted light of dawn was rippling through the windowpane, and Miss Anne Sainsbury huddled beneath her threadbare blanket, wondering as she often did, how she would find money for her next meal. She looked down at her faithful collie, lying quietly on the rug by her bed, and she knew that the time had come for her to make a momentous decision. The lives of her brothers and sisters depended upon it.