“I have tried to apologize, and to change,” Alastair said, and even through the door Cordelia could hear his voice shake. “How can I make amends for my past when no one will let me?”

When James replied, there was real kindness in his voice. “You must give people time, Alastair,” he said. “We are none of us perfect, and no one expects perfection. But when you have hurt people, you must allow them their anger. Otherwise it will only become another thing you have tried to take away.”

Alastair seemed to hesitate. “James,” he said. “Does he—”

There was a sharp sound, as of something being knocked off a table, and then the familiar noises of Elias retching. Cordelia could hear Alastair telling James to go, that he would manage it. Not sure what else to do, Cordelia made her way soundlessly back to the ballroom.

The wedding luncheon was back in full swing. Glancing around, she saw that the Merry Thieves had all left their table. They were making their way up and down the room, greeting people, fielding congratulations for her and James. Matthew and Anna had a group of guests in fits of laughter; Will was regaling another table with a lengthy, and heavily embroidered, synopsis of a Dickens novel.

She leaned back against the wall. They were doing this for James, she knew, but also for her—distracting people, keeping them amused, making them forget about Elias. It felt such a relief, not to be facing it all alone.

She made her way into the room, smiling as she was stopped again and again to be congratulated. The string quartet was playing softly; most people seemed to have finished eating and were relaxing with glasses of port (for the men) and ratafia (for the ladies). Eugenia and Ariadne were playing with Alex. Matthew had begun singing, and Lucie and Thomas appeared to be trying to convince him to stop. Charlotte glanced over at them—Cordelia couldn’t help but wonder what Charlotte thought of her younger son, with his bohemian yearnings, the restless dissatisfaction that seemed to drive him, the way he had of being very sad, or very happy, with little in between.

And there was her own mother—Sona was on her feet, chatting brightly to Ida Rosewain and Lilian Highsmith, as if nothing had happened. Cordelia realized she was watching her mother do what she had always done: pick up the pieces and move on. How had Cordelia been so blind for so long?

She took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face, and went to join her mother. She saw Sona’s quick look of relief as she approached, and thanked her mother’s companions for attending. Ida Rosewain complimented her dress; Lilian Highsmith admired Cortana’s new scabbard.

“Thank you,” Cordelia said. “It’s lovely too, isn’t it? A wedding gift from my father.”