“It had a difficult month.”
“It has clearly seen better times since,” she said lightly, looking at Isadora.
Isadora returned her attention to Cecily, who had stepped up to her and embraced her with warmth.
“Are you well?” Cecily murmured.
“Yes,” Isadora replied.
Cecily eyed her carefully. “Good,” she said simply, though she meant several things by it.
William reached Isadora last, which was always how it went. He was always the one who waited until the noise had died down, who found the quieter moment rather than competing for one.
He put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her in the way he always had, the direct look of a man who had been making sure she was well her entire life and had not stopped.
“You’ve lost weight,” he noted.
“I have not lost weight.”
“You look?—”
“William, I am perfectly well. I am better than perfectly well, actually.” She chuckled. “I promise.”
He studied her for another moment.
“Hmm,” he murmured. Then he pulled her into a brief, firm embrace that conveyed everything he had been checking for.
After releasing her, he turned to James.
“Harcliffe,” he greeted.
“Whitmore,” James returned.
A pause that contained fifteen years of friendship and a great deal that had accumulated in the past month and would not be addressed directly in a driveway.
“You look terrible,” William remarked.
“Thank you. Fatherhood seems to agree with me.”
William looked at Isadora and then back at James, frowning. “You’re not a?—”
“That was a joke, William.”
“I know it was a joke.”
“You looked alarmed for a moment.”
“I always look alarmed.”
William looked at him for another moment with that expression he always reserved for him, somewhere between exasperation and affection.
Thomas, who had spent the past sixty seconds conducting his own survey of the situation out of the reach of his nurse, stepped up to James and looked up at him .
“You have a big house,” he said.
“I do,” James agreed.
“We have a big house too.”
