“No, that’s Will. John’s the oldest.”
Rory wrinkled his nose. “I thought it was Alice.”
“She’s the next-youngest after me.”
“Then how old’s Mary?”
Arthur opened his mouth, then paused. “You know all my brothers’ and sisters’ names.”
Rory hunched his shoulders. “Obviously I’m not good at keeping them straight yet—”
“But you know their names.”
“Well, yeah,” said Rory. “They’re your family.”
Arthur wasn’t sure what to say. No one else he’d slept with had ever even tried to learn.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Rory grouched. “I know your family needs you and I’m good at staying outta the way.”
Arthur felt a sharp twist in his chest. “That’s not—no one’s asked you to stay out of my way. I was looking forward to seeing you at the appraisal.”
Arthur hadn’t meant it critically, but Rory scowled and stuck his bare hands in his coat pockets. “How am I supposed to tell your fancy brother that only four of his compasses are real?”
“Exactly as you just told me? You can speak to my brother, you know. He’s just a man who’s soft for his family.”
“I know, it’s not—” Rory’s jaw tightened and he looked away. “That last compass isn’t French, it’s Italian,” he said, not meeting Arthur’s eyes. “Maybe ten years old. Sorry I don’t got better news.”
Arthur’s heart sank.Oh, well done, Ace. You’ve managed to make him even more ill at ease.He rubbed his forehead. “Nothing for you to apologize for,” he said, trying to soften his tone. “Harry’s father-in-law bought it last fall, when he took Celeste and the children to France. Hardly your fault he was—how do you put it?—taken for a ride.”
That got him a grudging smile. “Sounds silly when you say it with your accent.”
“Swindled by a knavish charlatan, then. However you say it, you aren’t to blame.” The groundsmen weren’t in hearing range, but Arthur still lowered his voice. “When did you even find time to scry?”
“This morning, just before dawn.” Rory also spoke softly. “When the house was quiet.”
Which of course meant Rory had gotten up before dawn to scry for a man he was too skittish to look in the eyes. “You weren’t worried about being too deep in your magic to hear someone coming?”
“Pavel kept a lookout.”
“Pavel?” Arthur felt a stab of hurt. “You could have asked me.”
Rory glanced around, eying the groundsmen. He turned back to Arthur, voice barely a whisper as he said, “What would your brother think if he caught you up with me before dawn?”
“I’d hardly be a decent lookout if I let Harry catch you scrying,” Arthur said, matching his whisper. “Don’t you think I’d protect your magic from being discovered? We can hide your psychometry. It’s not like you brought your tempest-starting ring.”
Rory’s expression did a funny twitch. Almost like guilt. “Um. About that—”
“There you are, Arthur.”
Arthur turned to the porch to see Harry standing at the top of the stairs, baby Robert in his arms.
“Are you driving to the fundraiser or am I?” Harry tilted his head in a practiced sort of way as Robert poked at his glasses. “Oh, and Mr. Brodigan. One of the compasses was counterfeit, and Mrs. Brodigan mentioned that if I was going to toss it, you might like to have it instead?”
Rory’s eyes went big as dinner plates. “I—I, uh—yeah, but—”
“Wonderful.” Harry gently loosened Robert’s chubby fist from the temple of his glasses. “Consider it yours.”
“Oh,” Rory stuttered out. “That’s—I—Igottago,” he blurted, and took off, vanishing like a ghost around the side of the house.
