“He’s got a meeting, so he’s walking from the office,” Somer said.
Gus smiled his gentle smile, and Dorrie wondered if his brother’s sudden departure still hurt him.
Of course it still hurt him. It certainly hurt her.
“Apparently she’s going away,” Warwick said before Samantha could speak.
Ignoring him, Samantha told the story again. Dorrie had often wondered about the relationship between her brother and Samantha. After all, Sinclairs did marry Ravens, supposedly. And yet they were like siblings, so Dorrie doubted it would ever come to that between these two.
“We shall miss you.” Somer hugged Samantha. “But I think it a wonderful opportunity for you. I know you’ve always wanted to study art. And it is still in the United Kingdom, so not far at all.”
Warwick looked out the window, apparently now bored with the conversation. But the fist he had clenched on his thigh would suggest otherwise.
“I have heard a great many things about Eamon Doyle,” Gus said. “Many wonderful artists studied under him.”
“When do you go?” Dorrie asked.
“After Christmas.”
She was excited, Dorrie realized. Really excited. She had only seen that expression on her friend’s face a few times in her life.
“How long will you be gone?” Warwick said, still looking out the window.
“I will be there a year.”
He didn’t reply, just kept his eyes trained on the window. Dorrie and Somer shot each other a look but did not engage him. Instead they set about asking Samantha what she would learn in Ireland.
They would miss her dearly, especially as now that would leave Dorrie on her own. Alone with her thoughts. Thoughts that were filled far too often with Ashford Charlton.
“I will return to visit,” Samantha said. “And you can visit me.”
Warwick said nothing, just kept his eyes on the window for the remainder of the journey.
Their offices were on the top floor of a building that their older siblings had declared was safe after many long and heated debates. It housed an office below and others to the left and right in other buildings. In fact, most of the area was a business district. There was also a tea shop not far away, and the best pies, according to Cambridge.
After they had stepped from the carriage, Gus kissed Somer, then took his leave. The others trooped up the stairs to their offices. Ellen Nightingale was waiting for them.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’m here,” she rushed to say. “I had heard you were back in London and wanted to speak with you.”
Somer’s lips pursed, so Dorrie pinched her.
“Of course. Please come inside.” Samantha hurried to unlock the door and open it. “I will make tea.”
“The highest ranked tea lady in the entire world,” Warwick muttered, walking through the reception area and into the office.
“We won’t be a moment, Ellen. Take a seat.” Dorrie waved her inside, then went to speak with her siblings.
“Right, both of you need to listen to me.” She stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips.
“What?” Warwick looked at her.
“Ellen Nightingale is my friend. She may have seemed silly sometimes, but she’s actually a very nice, intelligent woman.”
“Since when is she your friend?” Somer scoffed.
They kept their voices low so Ellen didn’t hear.
“Since you became engaged to Gus and I go to social events as a single woman. Since Ellen and I started talking one night at the supper table.”
