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“Ah! There you are, Your Grace, Lady Iris. I believe we need to check on supper,” Mrs. Holt’s voice came from behind, a bit too eager. She stepped forward and gently grabbed Iris by the shoulders, steering her back toward Miss Borden.

“Yes, Mrs. Holt,” Iris said flatly.

“This wing does get frightfully draughty this time of evening,” Mrs. Holt added. “His Grace requests that we do not venture up there.”

“I understand,” Laura replied.

“Shall we go back and review the conservatory instead? There’s also a rather fine orangery through the east passage we’ve not yet shown you.”

Laura let herself be led away, her eyes lingering on the locked door a moment longer before she turned her head.

I will let it go. For now.

Dinner was served for two in the smaller dining room, though smaller was hardly a fair description. It had a long mahogany table that could seat sixteen people, deep blue walls adorned with pastoral paintings, and white curtains. Blazing chandeliers hung from the ceiling, throwing warm light across the room.

“His Grace has been called away on business,” the butler informed her as the first course was laid. “He has asked that Your Grace and Lady Iris not wait for supper on his account. He expects to return late, I’m afraid.”

“I see,” Laura said, sipping her wine. “Thank you, Whipple.”

“You are quite welcome, Your Grace,” he said with a wide grin.

She wondered how often the man was shown gratitude.

That is something I will change straight away.

She glanced at Iris once he had left, expecting disappointment, and found instead a small, resigned shrug too natural for a child of six.

“He does that sometimes, you know,” Iris revealed, spearing a piece of carrot and plopping it into her mouth. “Uncle Nathaniel goes away on business and comes back very, very late. Mrs. Holt says I’m not to fret.”

“And do you?”

“Do I what, Aunt Laura?”

“Fret.”

“Hm…” Iris considered the question with unusual seriousness for a girl who’d spent the better part of the afternoon cheerfully narrating the history of dead relatives. “A little bit. But he always comes back.”

“Of course he does,” Laura said. “That makes a great deal of sense.”

Iris looked up, and for a moment, her small face looked much older. “My mama didn’t come back. So I know the difference.”

Laura’s chest ached. She reached across the table and briefly laid a hand over the girl’s. “I’m glad you know that your uncle will always come home.”

“He will.” Iris speared another carrot, chewed it, and swallowed. “Do you want to hear something funny about Buttons?”

“I should like that very much,” Laura said, and let the girl’s chatter carry them both through the rest of the meal.

“He bows if you give him a carrot! That’s why I like carrots so much. We’re best friends. Siblings, really,” the girl went on.

She realized that in addition to the library, she was going to be well-fed here. Each morsel was perfectly cooked and seasoned, more delicious than anything she had tasted before. She was also grateful, in a way she hadn’t expected, for the girl’s company.

Iris seems to understand better than most adults what it feels like to sit at a table and wait for someone who might or might not choose to come home.

As the final course was served, Iris perked up as if an idea had just struck her.

“Laura, would you read to me before bed tonight? My governess does it every night, but I thought maybe… you’d like to, tonight?”

“I would love to,” Laura replied, before taking a bite of lemon cake. “What are you reading currently?”