“Then none will be taken.” Hugo turned back to his plate and cut a slice of pheasant. “Have you tried the champagne? The vintage is rather good. I would hate for you to miss it while your mouth is otherwise occupied.”
The table exhaled. Conversations resumed. No one mentioned the pamphlet again.
The breakfast continued, and beneath the performance, the warmth of Lily’s presence beside him was a constant, quiet fire that he could not extinguish and did not want to.
Oliver appeared at Hugo’s elbow between courses. He tugged at Hugo’s sleeve and looked up at him with earnest intensity.
“You married my aunt.”
“I did.”
“So now you are my uncle. Legally.”
Hugo looked down at the boy. Oliver’s freckled face was serious, and the wooden sword he had been carrying all morning was tucked into the sash of his good coat.
“I suppose I am,” Hugo said.
Oliver extended his hand. Hugo shook it. The boy’s grip was surprisingly firm.
“Welcome to the family, Uncle Hugo!”
Hugo’s chest tightened. He placed his hand on Oliver’s head and ruffled his hair. The boy grinned and charged off to find Leo, who was eating a bread roll under the table.
The guests cycled through their congratulations. Edward shook Hugo’s hand and held it.
“Take care of her.”
“I will.”
“I know you will.” Edward’s grip tightened. “That is why I am only saying it once.”
Sophia kissed Lily’s cheek and whispered something that made Lily laugh and press her hand to her mouth.
Lady Brimsey drew Lily aside near the window. Hugo could not hear the conversation, but he watched Lady Brimsey’s cheeks turn crimson and her hands flutter. Lily’s expression shifted from confusion to realization to gentle interruption.
“Mama, I do not need you to explain. Truly.”
“Oh, thank heavens.” Lady Brimsey pressed her handkerchief to her chest. “Your father was supposed to speak with His Grace about it, but he said he would rather face a firing squad.”
Lord Brimsey appeared and pulled Lily into another embrace. His eyes were red again. His chin trembled. He held his daughter and did not speak, because some farewells lived in the body rather than the voice.
Lady Oldbarrow approached last.
She took both of Lily’s hands and held them. In the afternoon light, her sharp blue eyes were softer than Hugo had ever seen them.
“I am not your mother,” Margaret said. “I have never tried to be. But I have been fond of you since you asked me why the sky in Italy was bluer than the sky in England, and I have loved you like a daughter ever since.”
Lily’s eyes filled. “Aunt…”
“Do not cry. If you cry, I will cry, and I have not cried since 1804, and I do not intend to start now.” Lady Oldbarrow squeezed her hands. “Be brave. Be sharp. And if this man gives you any trouble whatsoever, write to me, and I will return from wherever I am in the world and make him regret the day he was born.”
She released Lily’s hands and turned to Hugo.
“Your Grace.”
“Lady Oldbarrow.”
Aunt Margaret studied him. Hugo held her gaze and did not flinch.
