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His happiest days had transpired here in this garden, beneath this oak, with Thomas's laughter filling the air and Adelaide's sharp intellect challenging him.

We are three people who belong together.

She had spoken those words at fourteen, carving her letter beside theirs as though their shared destiny were obvious.

Now Thomas was gone, and Julian had spent weeks running from the one person who preserved those memories alongside him.

He pressed his forehead against the rough, cool bark.

Adelaide formed an essential part of every cherished memory he possessed. She did not represent a betrayal of his brother's memory; she was the sole living person who remembered the sound of Thomas's laughter beneath this tree.

Stepping back from the oak, he looked toward the house. The library windows caught the late afternoon light, and behind that glass, Adelaide was organizing specimens and reviewing taxonomy.

He owed her far more than lingering guilt and constant retreat.

Julian turned and walked back toward the residence.

"What if we organize the collection around the narratives and memories attached to each expedition, rather than adhering strictly to dates and geographic locations?"

Adelaide looked up from the stack of papers spread across the mahogany desk. Julian sat beside her, a worn field journal open before him, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and a faint ink stain on his cuff.

He considered her suggestion, turning his quill between his fingers. "Organizing by narrative rather than chronological order?"

"By narrative," she said, selecting a dried sprig of Alpine gentian from the specimen tray, holding it up to the light. "This was gathered above the tree line during the Monte Viso ascent. You wrote an extensive chapter regarding that climb. If we index it under Italy, 1819, it remains a dry data point. If we categorize it within the narrative of that journey, it becomes a living memory."

"Memories are less efficient to cross reference."

"Memories are far more compelling to read," she set the gentian down upon the blotting paper. "And this collection is intended for readers, Julian—for scholars, visitors, and anyone who enters these doors wishing to comprehend what Thomas created."

His hand stilled upon the quill as he met her gaze, a warm, unguarded expression softening his features.

"You are correct," he admitted quietly.

"I am aware."

"You need not announce the fact on every occasion."

"It affords me considerable satisfaction."

The corners of his mouth twitched with suppressed humor, and the warmth in his gaze rested upon her like sunlight.

They worked together in comfortable silence. Adelaide pressed delicate dried blooms between sheets of weighted paper, handling each brittle petal with care. Julian repaired a damaged journal binding, his callused hands working with surprising dexterity as he applied line glue with a bone folder. Occasionally their arms brushed as they reached across the desk for materials, the brief contact lingering in Adelaide's awareness long after it passed.

"Here is an interesting document." Julian held up a folded letter, the paper yellowed and soft at the creases. "Thomas wrote this before his initial expedition, addressed to his botanical mentor at Cambridge."

"May I review it?"

He passed it across the table. Adelaide unfolded the sheet with gentle care and began to read aloud:

Dear Professor Hadley,

I write to inform you that I have secured passage aboard the supply vessel bound for the Austrian Alps, departing in six days. I confess I have packed three times the necessary provisions, as Julian insists that one cannot be overprepared for mountain travel, and I have learned through long experience that Julian is invariably correct regarding such matters, even when I should prefer him not to be.

Adelaide laughed softly. "He recognized your thoroughness early."

"He never truly accepted it," Julian noted with a faint smile. "He merely wrote the sentiment to appear modest. Thomas ignored my advice whenever it suited his purpose."

Please convey my warmest regards to your wife, who was kind enough to send me a jar of blackcurrant preserves for the journey. I intend to consume them entirely within the first three days, as I possess no self-discipline where preserves are concerned—a failing I freely admit.