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"To all of us," he looked at her directly. "At the time."

Adelaide met his gaze, a tender expression softening her features before she looked down at her book, turning a page she had not read.

A knock at the library door interrupted the moment.

"Enter," Julian called out.

Mrs. Rutherford appeared in the doorway, her hands folded over her apron. "Your Graces," she curtsied. "The cook begs your pardon, ma'am, but she would welcome your counsel regarding the menu."

Adelaide closed her volume. "Of course. I shall attend to it immediately."

"The cook also wished me to convey that the hollandaise requires your assessment regarding the lemon," Mrs. Rutherford added.

"My assessment regarding hollandaise?" Adelaide rose with a faint smile. "I was unaware my culinary judgment carried such weight."

"The cook holds your opinion in high regard, ma'am."

Adelaide turned to Julian. "I shall return shortly."

"Take all the time required; the hollandaise crisis clearly demands your expertise."

She laughed softly and followed Mrs. Rutherford from the room, the heavy oak door closing behind them.

Julian remained alone in the quiet library as rain beat against the glass and the fire crackled in the grate. Rising from his chair, he approached the writing desk.

The damaged field journal lay where he had left it—Thomas's journal with the split leather binding. The threads along the third signature had rotted.

Sitting down, he drew the journal closer and uncapped a pot of hide glue, the scent of paste filling the air. He worked the adhesive smoothly into the gap between the leather and the spine, flattening it with the bone tool.

Reaching the section where the leather had pulled completely away from the inner board, he lifted the flap to apply more adhesive.

A yellowed parchment slip dropped free from the inner casing where it had been concealed within the structure of the journal.

Julian picked it up. The parchment felt stiff with age. Turning it over, he recognized the handwriting immediately. It was Thomas's, and on the outer fold was an address:

Lady Helena Hawthorne

Julian's heart hammered against his ribs. It would appear that this was a letter that his brother had either intended to send and forgotten, or changed his mind.

He had neither seen nor corresponded with his sister in thirteen years, convincing himself that silence was necessary to survive his grief.

Yet here was Thomas, reaching across death to confront him. Light footsteps sounded in the hallway outside as Adelaide returned.

Julian folded the parchment quickly, slipping it into his coat pocket. His fingers trembled as he pressed his palm flat against his thigh and drew the journal toward him, mastering his expression to project composure.

The library door opened.

"The menu has been saved," Adelaide announced cheerfully, resuming her place on the sofa.

"A complete success."

"Indeed," she picked up her volume. "Have you made progress with the binding?"

"Some." Julian picked up the bone folder. "The adhesive must set before I can proceed."

He avoided meeting her eyes, unable to look at her while the letter rested in his coat pocket like a heavy stone.

Julian sat alone in his study, the single candle on his desk casting a narrow circle of golden light across the blotting paper.