It was an invitation extended not only to Alex and Laura, but to Mrs. Bainbridge and Teddy, as well. The two of them would be traveling down by rail from Surrey later in the week. Teddy had a proper manservant to assist him now. A young fellow, much stronger than Yardley. Mrs. Bainbridge would be getting someone to look after her, too. Laura had placed an advertisement for a lady’s companion. Someone to sit with her aunt, and to administer her tonic when needed.

As for the perfumery, until their return it would remain in the capable hands of Monsieur Marchand. When last Alex had seen the man, he’d been helping the workers to set up the new equipment. There were copper stills, vats, and mechanized devices for expression and maceration. Everything that was necessary to produce lavender, rose, and orange water in bulk.

“There,” Laura said. “Isn’t that Tom? Over by the ticket office?”

Alex followed her gaze. His breath stopped in his chest. It was Tom. But not only Tom.

A tall gentleman stood next to him, his top hat in his hand, and his frame shrouded in a dark wool greatcoat. His hair was black, and the bottom right portion of his face marked with burn scars.

Alex swallowed hard. Tom had warned him about Justin’s disfigurement. Had told him how Justin had been imprisoned and tortured while serving in India during the uprising. Alex had imagined the burns would make his childhood friend unrecognizable.

They didn’t.

Indeed, Justin looked much as Alex remembered. Noble. Formidable. The unofficial leader of their little band of orphans.

His eyes met Alex’s across the distance. As gray as Alex’s own. A spasm of emotion seemed to pass over his face. Of recognition. He moved toward them, Tom at his side.

“Is that Mr. Thornhill?” Laura asked.

“It is,” Alex said, his voice gone hoarse.

Laura squeezed his arm, giving him her undivided support, just as she always did. “He looks happy to see you.”

And he did look happy.

It was a miracle of sorts. Almost as much as it had been to see Tom, and to realize that he hadn’t spent the last decades hating Alex for what he’d done. That all he’d wanted was to find his long-lost friend. To bring him home.

The crowd gave way as Justin strode through it. He came to a stop in front of them. There was a peculiar sheen in his gaze. Alex suspected it was the same moisture he felt in his own. Only the constraint of good manners—of being in public with his wife on his arm—kept him from losing his composure.

“Alex,” Justin said. “Welcome back to Devon.” He paused, his stern face spreading into a sudden smile. “I never imagined I’d say those words to you.”

Alex’s mouth hitched at the corner. “I never imagined I’d hear them.”