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“Yes,” he managed in a soft tone, the lie nearly becoming strangled in his throat.

Edwin’s heart continued to beat ferociously, its intensity making him feel as though he might faint. But somehow, he kept himself steady. He clasped his hands to hide their shaking.

And then, forgetting himself, he let his eyes wander over to Andrew. Andrew smiled hesitantly, a faint but obvious blush coloring his cheeks. One corner of Edwin’s mouth twitched, but he maintained his stoic expression, even as his face became hot. He looked back at the lens.

“One, two, three.”

And then Andrew removed the lens cap.

Chapter Six

Andrew

Andrew’s eyelids felt heavy as he stood in front of his worktable, and his muscles were sore from having just finished buffing the edges of the stack of glass plates with a sharpening stone. He only had one more task to complete before he could finally rest.

Over the next few minutes, Andrew set to work on that pesky, final task—preparing a new batch of collodion solution. Carefully, Andrew added each of the ingredients into a bottle. He’d only just finished when he heard a knock, and then he hurriedly swirled the mixture of iodide and nitrocellulose a few times before shoving a cork into the bottle’s opening. Afterward, he swept his hands back and forth on his linen apron and started for the door, only to reel back in surprise when he opened it.

“Goooood morning, Andrew,” William Whitney said with what seemed to be his usual cheery (and perhaps slightly cheeky) smile.

Andrew stared blankly for a moment.

“It’s three. I think,” Andrew finally replied through his state of mild shock.

“Oh.” William furrowed his brow. “Apologies, I only woke up an hour ago.”

Andrew’s eyebrows shot up. He had never slept that late in his life. He was barely able to manage to get six hours as it was, especially with how fast his mind moved sometimes. For the last few nights, in fact, he had spent the bulk of the hours he’d been in bed tossing and turning. All because of—

“Edwin says you’re the one responsible for this,” William said, holding up a photograph of Agnes in a little leather case.

It took Andrew a moment to come back to the present.

“Do you . . . not like the print?” he managed to ask.

“Why did you have to make her look like she’s struggling to find her sea legs?”

“I offer a coloring service. Green was the color she requested.”

“And here I thought the two of us were friends,” William said.

He tsked as he strode into the room.

“Are we?” Andrew asked, stumbling backward as William moved past him.

William chuckled. “Well, I thought we might be. But then you went and shaded my friend’s face the color of moldy bread.” He heaved an obviously exaggerated sigh. “At least I have the other one, though.”

Andrew smiled to himself, and his eyes fell to the floor. It was nice that Agnes had given William both prints. Whatever was between Edwin’s sister and the only son of the Whitney family, it was clear, even to someone as socially inept as Andrew, that those two adored each other.

“Anyway, I’m not really here to complain to you about the photograph,” William said. “Actually, I wanted to invite you to a party that my parents are throwing for their friends. Just a winter ball of sorts to celebrate the beginning of the season. Before the party starts, they thought it might be nice to have a photographer take people’s portraits. Are you interested?”

“Oh. Oh, wow.” Andrew paused, mentally fumbling for a response. Goodness, he’d probably make more money in one session at a winter ball than he would in a week otherwise. And the event would benefit him in other ways, too. He could make so many connections there. What an incredible offer this was. “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to . . . I-I mean, I’m . . . William, I’m honored. Are you sure they want me for something like that?”

“I may have been the one to suggest hiring a photographer in the first place, but I promise, my parents were more than thrilled with my idea.”

“Thank you,” Andrew said, placing a hand over his heart. “Really.”

Teasingly, William rolled his eyes and smiled. “Like I said, I like you, Andrew. And so, I’m happy to help. It’s not for a few weeks, by the way. On the eighteenth.”

“The eighteenth,” Andrew repeated. “I can remember that.”