“Don’t go marrying us off in your thoughts just yet. We’ve only seen them half a dozen times.” Six times in the two weeks of their acquaintance. They’d come to dinner twice more since Easter and had dropped by to take them for a walk in Hyde Park too.

Pleasant, each and every visit. Pleasant and . . . strange. Zivon Marin liked her—she felt sure of that. But she wasn’t so sure he ever would have spoken to her again if it weren’t for Clarke and Ivy. It made her wish she didn’t like him quite as much as she did. But there was something about him. A depth. A layering. And that awareness . . . Never was there a time that he didn’t react to something before she’d even noticed it.

She turned her pencil on the leaf partially obscuring the bird.

Before Mama could do more than open her mouth in reply, a rumble from the sky invaded the day. They both looked up, years of habit making them hold their breath, waiting to see what mechanical beast might appear. One of theirs, doing a routine patrol? Or one of Germany’s, ready to drop bombs on them?

Lily, like probably every other resident of London, had learned to identify the silhouettes of each British aircraft, and she let out a loud breath when she recognized the Camels. “I hate never knowing when we’re safe,” she murmured as the engine noises faded again. “First they were only at night, then only during the day. . . . Now, unless it’s raining, we just never know.”

Mama’s silence drew Lily’s gaze back to her. She found her mother looking at her, her eyes so very serious. “That, my love, is why your father and I have been trying to secure your futures. Because we never know. Whether we’re at war or not, we never know. We never have forever.”

Lily gripped her pencil, not knowing what to say to that.

Mama sighed. “You don’t seem quite as lovesick as your sister, I’ve noticed. Though I couldn’t be sure if it was that you actually like Mr. Marin less than she does Lieutenant Clarke, or if you just hide it better.”

For a moment, Lily simply studied her drawing. “There is a third option. That he doesn’t like me as much as Clarke does Ivy. I’d be a fool to pin my heart to my sleeve for him to steal and then toss aside.”

“He’d be the fool if he did that.”

He certainly didn’t strike her as such. Not in terms of intelligence, anyway. But what did she really know about him? He shared tidbits here and there, spoke of his brother and his parents, but never of his work. Never of the Revolution. Never of anything that determined why he’d decided to come here.