Brave, though, to take on a patient like Lysander. Braver still to take his dark, dangerous brother as a lover.

Poll had found himself alternately alarmed and inspired over the past few days. Yorkshire was hardly the rest cure they had all imagined for Lysander.

And the way Gemma Oakes had so politely but firmly suggested that they should pull their borrowed horses and grooms from her stables, board their carriages and be gone — well, Poll had been thrown out of finer homes than Yew Manor, but never with such chilly efficiency.

Yet, there had been something in her eyes when she had instructed him to listen. Poll eyed Lysander across the rocking carriage. His brother seemed as indecipherable as ever, yet there was much less edge on the blade, so to speak.

Had Lysander been happy in Yorkshire?

Did Lysander even remember what happiness felt like?

For that matter, did Poll?

A memory came to the fore, one night of carousing with Castor and Lysander and poor old Theo. How the four of them had laughed, too drunk for good sense, not drunk enough to stay out of trouble. Before Miranda, before the war, before any of them had suspected for a moment that the world as they knew it would soon come to an end.

Poll missed those days. He missed the bond he'd shared with his twin and Zander's easy laughter — Zander the jokester, the prankster! God, the mischief he had dragged them all into. Everyone always blamed Cas and Poll, which just made Zander laugh all the harder.

Poll gazed at the dark facsimile of that brother, who sat across from him now.

Yet at that absurd but amusing assembly dance, Lysander had spoken to him almost as of old. His conversation had been brief, but it had also been calm. As if the lovely Mrs. Oakes had somehow soothed the wild animal that had never quite succeeded in hiding behind Lysander's gaze.

Then it struck Poll. "Oh! You're in love with her!"

Beside him, Attie huffed. "Welcome to the conversation."

Poll flinched. "You knew, Attie?"

"I knew. Button and Cabot knew. I'm fairly certain Icarus knew. So obvious. Really Poll, all that stage face paint has dulled your wits." She looked smug. "Besides, I found them naked in the study."

Poll groaned "Attie, you swore you'd stopped spying!"

"Leave Attie alone, Poll. She wasn't spying on anyone. She came to find Gemma for Jennie Gosling."

Now both Poll and Attie stared at Lysander in shock.

"You really are speaking —"

"— in complete sentences!"

Lysander turned his gaze on them both. "Yes. But I don't want to talk about it."

Attie gazed at Lysander and Poll saw her swallow hard. "She mended you," Attie whispered. "Really mended you, the way that Iris and Archie and all of us could not." Her voice sounded small and somehow shamed and betrayed at the same time.