Raphi went on, eyes on John now. “We sit together because a boy spoke plain in a room that prefers lies polished into law.” John’s ears reddened; he straightened anyway. “Because his guardians were brave enough to be seen as they are. Because friendship held.” His glass lifted a fraction. “To the Morgenschein courage, to the Leafley stubbornness, to the Spencer line we shall all protect, and to the Pearler table that kept us fed through all of it.”
“To all of it,” Alfie echoed, and glasses met softly.
“And to Lilly,” Joseph added, under the table.
“Especially to Lilly,” Nick said gravely, as the puppy resurfaced near his boots and put one paw on his instep like a stamp of ownership.
Plates began their circuits. Felix let the warmth of fish and spice and buttered rolls put small, sensible weights on the morning—the kind of ballast ordinary happiness requires. Conversation braided itself in the easy way of people who had faced something and survived.
Andre, without looking from his plate, said, “If you limp on that leg out of pride, you’ll limp longer.”
“I do everything out of pride,” Felix said. “Ask anyone.”
“Not true,” Wendy said, pouring tea. “Sometimes you do it out of temper.”
Alfie leaned into the exchange with a grin. “Mostly out of love, which is more inconvenient than either.”
Felix tipped his head toward the window. “Green Park disagrees. It looks perfectly convenient this morning.”
“Green Park,” Rachel said, “has no idea how many notes I sent to keep this room quiet while the city treated our friends like a curiosity.” She said it with lightness, but her hand, resting on Fave’s sleeve, tightened.
“Not curiosity,” Fave said. “Example.”
“Both,” Chawa Klonimus answered from near the urns, helping herself to a second heaping spoon of sugar for her tea. Her scarf waspinned more elaborately than usual; the silver at her temples made her look, Felix thought, like the matriarch in a painting—except the eyes were sharper. “Eat,” she added, and entire platters obediently advanced, receiving a nod from Eve Pearler.
Deena had been quiet at the end of the table, eyes moving as if trying to memorize everyone at once. When the laughter tipped into a lull, she stood. Not a dramatic stand—just that small, decisive rise he had learned to recognize as a Morgenschein choosing.
“I want to say something,” she said.
Forks paused. Joseph stilled under the table without being told.
Deena lifted her chin. “I’m going to begin an apprenticeship,” she said, each word placed down like a card. “I’ll alternate weeks at 87 Harley Street and at Cloverdale House. I want to learn to nurse properly.” She glanced at Maisie, then Felix, then Wendy. “It’s… it’s what our father would have wanted. And it’s what I want.”
A beat—then Wendy smiled. “We’ll train you.”
Nick, dry as salt: “Twice, if necessary.”
Andre: “Three times, if you’re stubborn.”
Alfie, hand to heart: “And four, if you insist on learning anything from me.”
Deena’s laugh broke loose; the room followed. Her face, when it sobered again, was brighter. “Thank you,” she said, and sat, and Felix watched Maisie’s hand find her under the table and squeeze.
John cleared his throat. “I’m missing Latin for this,” he said, perfectly solemn.
“You’re excused,” Rachel told him. “Prince Stan will put in a good word with the headmaster.”
“I rather like Latin,” John confessed, and then, almost as if he surprised himself, “But I like this better.”
“This?” Felix asked.
“This,” John said, gesturing at the table, the room, the morning. “Being… seen.” He glanced toward the window, where Green Park opened wide and ordinary. “I thought titles made people look. It turns out truth does it better.”
“Keep saying things like that,” Alfie said, “and you’ll send your headmaster into apoplexy.”
“Not before I sit in the House of Lords,” John replied, straight-faced.
“You’ll sit there,” Felix said. “But you’ll come home to us.”
