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“Nathaniel, please, just talk to me—” Laura tried.

But he was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him before she’d finished speaking. His footsteps retreated fast down the corridor, and she was left standing with her hair dripping down her back and no idea what had just happened to the man who, an hour ago, had been laughing so freely over a game of catch.

She had just settled by the fire in a warm nightgown when a soft knock sounded at the door, so soft she nearly missed it.

Iris stood in the corridor in her own nightgown, a battered storybook clutched to her chest, her eyes red-rimmed. “Miss Borden said you were all right, but I wanted to see for myself. Is that all right, Laura?”

“Come here, my darling.” Laura opened her arms, and Iris ran straight into them.

They climbed into the bed a moment later, Iris burrowing under the covers with her storybook still held tight.

“I am happy you came to see me,” Laura said.

“I was frightened,” Iris mumbled against her shoulder. “Uncle Nathaniel looked so scared. I’ve never seen him look like that. Not ever.”

“I know. I think I frightened him rather badly, though I didn’t mean to.” Laura smoothed the girl’s hair back from her face. “What have you brought?”

“A story. Mama used to read it to me. I thought…” Iris hesitated, her cheeks flushing. “I thought maybe you could read it to me tonight. If you’d like.”

“I would like that very much.”

So Laura read to her by the candlelight, her voice low and warm. It was an old tale of a lost princess and a stubborn beast of a prince who guarded his sorrow behind high walls until someone loved him enough to climb them.

Somewhere between the second and fifth pages, Iris’s breathing evened out, and her small body grew heavy and warm against Laura’s side. She fell asleep before the story reached its midpoint.

Laura kept reading regardless, more for her own comfort than the sleeping child’s. When the story ended, she let the book fall shut and settled back against the pillows, letting her eyes drift shut.

Nathaniel came to check on her nearly an hour later, guilt and worry finally outpacing his need to hide, and found the connecting door left slightly ajar. Firelight spilled soft and low across the room beyond.

He pushed the door open carefully, meaning only to look in, to make sure she was warm and unharmed before he retired. What he found stopped him entirely in his tracks.

Look at them.

Laura lay asleep against her pillows, her rich brown locks slightly damp and loose around her shoulders. Curled into her side, one small hand fisted in the fabric of her nightgown, was Iris. She was fast asleep as well, an abandoned storybook beside them.

Something in his chest gave way all at once. He stood in the doorway simply looking at them, at the careless, trusting tangle of them together, trying to commit the image to memory.

There was his niece, who flinched at his temper, and his wife, who had gone into the lake without a second thought to keep the girl from falling in first.

My family…

He crossed the room on silent feet to the edge of the bed and drew the blanket up over them both, tucking it carefully around Iris’s shoulders. It was how he remembered his mother doing for him once a very long time ago.

He stood there a moment longer, looking down at the two of them breathing evenly. And then, before either of them could wake and see him so undone, he padded back out of the room.

Sleep tight, my dears.

CHAPTER 15

Duskwell House sat on a quiet, fashionable square in Mayfair. If the castle had been all shadow and neglect when Laura first arrived, the house was its complete opposite. White stone gleamed pristine in London’s gray light, black iron railings polished to a shine, and the tall windows let in more sun than she’d thought the city capable of.

Iris pressed her nose to the carriage window during the final stretch of the ride, naming every passing shop with the same breathless enthusiasm she’d once reserved for beetles.

“It’s so tall,” she breathed, craning her neck once they’d gotten close to the townhouse. “Taller than the castle.”

“Not as tall as the castle, surely. And it’s wider than it’s tall, if we’re being precise,” Nathaniel said, warmth from the easy morning they had shared in the carriage lingering in his voice.

As the carriage pulled up to the townhouse, Laura took Iris’s hand. “We are meeting my friend this morning and will return early this afternoon,” she reminded him.