"Thomas. Shouldn't you be with your family?"
"Probably. But you looked like you were having thoughts, and someone should make sure they're good thoughts and not foolish duke thoughts."
"What's the difference?"
"Good thoughts lead to helping people. Foolish duke thoughts lead to running away to London."
"What makes you think I have foolish duke thoughts?"
"You've been having them for twenty-three years, haven't you?"
The boy had a point.
"Walk with me, Thomas."
They walked through the village while Thomas pointed out things Alaric had never noticed; which families were struggling, which buildings needed repair, where Fletcher's theft had hit hardest.
"Mrs. Wiggins, she's been buying food on credit for three months because the household budget never came through. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis, their roof's been leaking for two years but they can't afford to fix it. We also need new books—some of the ones we're using are older than you are."
"How do you know all this?"
"Because I pay attention. Also because I'm nosy. But mostly because this is my home and these are my people, and you notice when your people are struggling."
"Your people. Not mine?"
"Not yet. You have to earn that."
They reached the gates of Hollingford Hall; big, imposing and locked.
"Have you been inside since you got here?" Thomas asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I haven't had time."
"That's a lie. You've had time. You've been avoiding it."
"Perhaps."
"Definitely. My mum says the hall's full of ghosts."
"There are no ghosts."
"Not literal ghosts. Memory ghosts. The kind that make you sad."
"Your mother's very philosophical. Are you going in?"
Alaric looked at the hall, his ancestral home, the place where his mother had tried so hard to create happiness despite everything. "Yes."
"Now?"
"Now."
"Can I come?"
"Why would you want to?"
