James looked surprised. “For me? I’m not the one who suffers when there is tension in your family, Daisy. I was only there to make it easier for you. If I didn’t help—”

“Oh, but you did. You absolutely charmed my mother. She would marry you herself if she could. And my father was delighted to have someone to tell the old stories to. And—I hadn’t known you were learning Persian.”

“I remember Lucie studying it to impress you,” he said, with a sideways grin. “I thought it was the least I could do.”

“Lucie only ever managed to memorize a few sentences,” Cordelia laughed. “She’s much better in English.” She cocked her head to the side. “So you aren’t looking so—so serious—because you had an awful evening?”

James gazed into the flames. They danced, moving gold inside his golden irises. “You told me before that Alastair kept your father’s condition from you during your childhood. That you never knew about it.”

“That’s true.”

“I suppose I never realized until tonight what a great effort that must have taken. It is not an easy thing to hide. And not an easy thing to confront someone about, if you fear they have—such an illness.”

“I have felt guilty since Alastair told me,” Cordelia said. “When I was young, I believed Alastair was jealous when he scowled to see me with my father, but I know now he only feared I would realize the truth, and be hurt.”

“I can see how your father can be very charming when he is drinking,” said James. “Like Matthew.”

Cordelia looked at him in surprise. “Matthew isn’t like my father. Matthew drinks to amuse himself and be amusing—my father drinks to sink deeper within himself. Matthew is not…” Ill, she wanted to say, but it seemed wrong to even bring the word that close to Matthew, to his situation. “Bitter,” she said instead.

“I sometimes wonder,” James said, “if we can ever quite understand other people.” He ran a hand through his hair. “All we can do is try, I suppose.”

“I am grateful to you,” she said. “For trying tonight.”

He smiled unexpectedly. Mischievously. “I know of a way you can repay me. One I would greatly appreciate.”

She indicated he should continue.

“I want you to read to me from The Beautiful Cordelia.”

“Oh, by the Angel, no. James, it’s not a real book. Lucie just wrote it to amuse me.”

“That’s why I want to hear it,” James said, with a disarming straightforwardness. “I want to know what she thinks makes you happy. Makes you laugh. I want to know more about you, Daisy.”