"Is there something you would like to share with the class, Poll?"

They all turned to stare at Poll.

The entire family (at least those not at sea or imprisoned by bed rest) had wedged themselves into Iris's bedchamber, crowding around her sickbed the same way they used to gather round the large table in the kitchen when a family meeting was called.

Grumbling, Philpot had hauled her old bones to her bed, for she'd taken a turn at nursing Iris the night before and "— need my rest, not like you youngsters, it's about bloomin' time you children showed up to visit your poor mother, and her on her last breath until just this afternoon —"

They'd all hung themselves upon her in gratitude, smothering her with hugs and kisses and "dear old thing" and "darling Pottie" until her grousing was reduced to the low, background simmer it had ever been.

Now, Calliope, the eldest next to Daedalus, sat upon her husband Ren Porter's lap on a shabby armchair, dandling little Aurora on her knee and entertaining her with a yarn doll. Beside them, Miranda and Cas snuggled close in another mismatched and mended chair. Dade and Archie stood on opposite sides of the headboard of Iris's bed much as the Royal Guard stood beside the throne.

For her part, Iris, her fever broken at long last, presided over them like royalty. She sat back upon plumped pillows, her silver hair combed and braided, her eyes bright in her pale face and her hands alight with motion, albeit slower and more wearily than usual. Attie sprawled on the bed at Iris's feet, one hand curled gently over her mother's ankle as if she feared to release her.

Poll waved a hand limply at them all, laughing too hard to continue. "Goo—Goose—Gogs!"

Dade narrowed his gaze at his younger brother, but there was no quashing a Worthington on a laughing binge. "When you've finished cackling over gooseberries, Poll, you may explain the joke to the rest of us."

He turned back to the rest of the clan. "So Lysander has stranded himself in Yorkshire, of all places. With my horse!" He cast an exasperated glance at Attie. "I don't suppose you thought to consult me before sending him out? I'd already decided to hire a Bow Street Runner to fetch Poll home if he didn't arrive shortly. Which, I might point out, he did."

Attie regarded Dade without alarm. "So you agree it was a good idea."

Dade opened his mouth to contradict her, then closed it again. "Never mind. Lysander is soundly stuck and from the tone of this letter, he won't be on his way home soon."

Attie sent a foul glare at the letter and, by association, the letter-writer. "She can't keep him. He's ours."