She pushed a footstool toward him. “Put your foot up on the footstool, please.”

He did, and she knelt to examine the bottom of his foot. According to her father, he’d taken Willy to the river to teach him to swim shortly before the kidnapping. The boy had been running along the shoreline and stepped on an oyster shell that cut the bottom of his foot so deeply it required ten stitches.

She held a lantern close. A silvery scar ran along the arch of Liam’s foot. It was an old scar, about three inches long, and impossible to fake.

Should she be delighted or terrified? A tremor began deep inside, and she put the lantern on the floor for safety.

She couldn’t look at him. Tears blurred her eyes because her father had gone to his grave never learning that his son had survived. He had survived! Liam Malone was nothing like who they’d imagined Willy would grow up to become, but her father would have rejoiced no matter what.

“I wish my father could be here to see this.” She still couldn’t look at Liam. If she saw mockery or triumph in his face, she would snap.

“I wish so too.” Liam’s voice was a little rough but not unkind. “My own dad wasn’t someone I’d wish on anyone.”

She rose on legs that felt like water. What was she supposed to do now? Liam Malone wasn’t what she expected or wanted. She’d harbored an irrational dream all her life that her big brother might someday miraculously reappear, so why wasn’t she happier?

She must not let her emotions show. Too many conflicting feelings warred inside, clawing their way to the surface and beyond her control. It was cramped and stifling in here, too many eyes on her.

“Excuse me for a moment.” She rushed for the door to the garden, slamming it shut the moment she was outside. The night air was damp and humid, and she sucked in a deep breath, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Behind her, the door opened.

“Gwen?”

It was Patrick. The good-natured epitome of sainthood was probably ashamed and embarrassed by her. She didn’t want him seeing her like this.

“I’m alright. I just needed some air.”

Footsteps sounded as he drew up alongside her, staring out into the moonlit garden. “I understand this must be a shock for you. Perhaps not an entirely welcome one.”

There was no point in hiding; he could see right through to this small, unworthy part of her.

“I expected him to be different,” she whispered.

Patrick rested a hand on her shoulder, and it felt like strength and understanding flowed from his palm into her. She leaned her cheek against his hand for a moment before standing straight again.