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you
are like a son to me.”
    “And you, a father.” Ian was
silent, remembering how the Moores had made him welcome when he’d
arrived with Henry, little more than a ship’s boy, sulky and
defiant.
    The Moores had gladly offered to
house Ian during his schooling, and even paid for his lecture
tickets. The bond they’d formed was strong, and Ian felt they were
as much his family as the Campbells he’d left back in
Scotland.
    “Speaking of family,” Ian said, wishing to change
the subject and not entirely sure why, “I’ve heard from my sister,
Eleanor. She’s been widowed and is hoping to start a new life,
possibly in America.”
    Stephen raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Do you
mean here?”
    “I’ve sent her passage here, on one of Henry’s
ships,” Ian confirmed. “God willing, she’ll arrive in the beginning
of June.”
    Stephen frowned. “And what shall she do? A widowed
woman may not need to be as closely chaperoned as a maid, but it
would surely be unseemly for her to live alone, a stranger in this
city.”
    “She’ll live with me, for the
meantime at least. She hopes eventually to visit our sister,
Harriet, in Canada.” Ian smiled as he thought of it. He hadn’t seen
Eleanor for eleven years. When he’d run away from their family
farm, Achlic, after losing most of the property to James Riddell in
a foolish business venture, Ian had been too ashamed to keep in
contact with those he loved.
    He’d vowed to win back Achlic, and
it was a dream that still haunted him, despite his successful life
in the new world. Well, he thought, he may not have won Achlic Farm
back, but at least he could shelter his sister when she needed him.
It was something.
    “Have you told Isobel this news?” Stephen asked, and
Ian shook his head.
    “No... the occasion has not arisen.”
    “Perhaps it should,” Stephen replied, his voice
pleasant yet firm with implied meaning. “You are quite close to
her, are you not? I daresay you realize society has noticed such an
alliance.”
    “Of course,” Ian murmured uncomfortably. Stephen
seemed to imply that Isobel would be shamed if Ian did not ask her
to marry him. Had they been seen together that many times? He knew
the gossip of Boston society was rampant, and he tugged at his
collar just thinking of Isobel as the target of so many sharp
tongues.
    Still, he was surprised. He was sure he’d not acted
inappropriately towards Isobel. She was like a sister to him.
    Perhaps he was the only one who realized that.
    “Isobel has an attachment for you,” Stephen said
quietly. “She always has. No matter what Arabella or I may think of
it, we cannot deny her anything she so ardently desires. I daresay
we spoil her.”
    “Sir...?” Ian could feel a flush
creeping up his neck. Stephen Moore seemed to be saying that Isobel
ardently wanted him . Yet Ian could hardly credit it. Surely Stephen would not
speak so forthrightly at such an early juncture.
    “Come,” Stephen said briskly, putting a stop to
Ian's uneasy conjectures. “Isobel and Arabella are waiting in the
drawing room. I know Isobel would like to play for you.”
    Ian let the tinkling pianoforte music wash over him
as he sat in the drawing room, his thoughts still racing. If the
Moores expected a proposal from him, what could he do? The last
thing he wanted was to jeopardize his relationship with them, or
lose their respect.
    Besides his affection for them as a family, he had
an uncomfortable feeling that their enmity would not help his
prospects at the hospital at all. Stephen was on the board of
trustees, and a whispered word in the chief surgeon's ear could see
Ian doing no more than emptying buckets of sawdust and blood for
the foreseeable future.
    He glanced at Isobel, dark haired and rosy cheeked,
her face animated as she played. When Ian had lived with the
Moores, he’d spent a great deal of time with Isobel, playing whist
and draughts in the evening, sharing a camaraderie like that of
siblings. He'd teased