And Meghan knew—she had done her very best. There was no quarter, which only made Meghan think about daring sea ventures and the captain who had stolen her heart and broken it and—
She had been so very certain he would come for her.
Sorrow as fresh as it was twelve days, twelve hours—Meghan glanced at the very accurate La Turque pendulum clock behind her—fourteen minutes, and a handful of seconds.
“Turn it over.”
Meghan looked up at the intrusion. “Hmm?”
Her brother Oleander, on the other side of the sofa, pointed the tip of his wood sword at Meghan’s book. “It’s upside down. If you want them to avoid you,turn it over.”
“Do it,” he said when she did not move fast enough. The way he spoke from the corner of his mouth and shot furtive glances about, Meghan believe she had stumbled upon a strategy he used to avoid McQuoid-Smiths.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He grunted.
Making sure no one caught her in the act, Meghan flipped the random title she had grabbed—and never looked at again—when she followed her family in after supper.
Her eyes welled up. She trailed a finger along the gilded title.
Oleander frowned. “What tragedy did you grab?”
Meghan shook her head. She couldn’t. It hurt so bad. Everything did.
“…This would be a perfect time to give me one of those painfully bad jests… D-do you have one…?”
“…Not this time…maybe later…”
Oleander leaned over until his nose touched the cover. “Joe Miller’s Jests? Surely the jokes are not that bad?” he muttered to himself.
Her younger brother used his sword-free hand to flip through the pages. “A Gentleman eating some Mutton that was very tough, said it put him in Mind of an old English Poet: Being asked who that was;Chau—cer, replied he…”
He groaned. “That really is quite rot. Let me help you.” Coming around, he pushed the pages open, and hefted the small tome on either side of his sword.
And amidst the really, truly terrible days, there were moments such as these, with her family…
Balancing the object of offense, Meghan’s brother did a juggling act across the room.
“Oleander,” Mama murmured from behind her copy of The Times as her son sailed past. “Whatever are you doing?”
Ignoring their mother, Oleander caught Meghan’s gaze from across the library.
He gave her a smart salute, and then—
Meghan gasped.
—her brother flipped the jest book into the fire. Any other time Meghan would have caught him by the ear. One didn’t go about turning a book into kindling, but…
Meghan stilled.Kindling.
Her eyes slid shut and, in her mind’s eye, she saw her and August next to that fire. How good it had felt to rest her head on his shoulder.
How good it had felt to do so many things with him.
Therein lay the problem for Meghan.
August? Every thought led back to him—the only man she had loved, did love, and would ever love.
