I risked peeking up at him. There was a quiet resignation in his face that I didn’t understand.

“You could easily change that,” I offered.

“I could. But not for you,” he said with a sigh. “We all have to make sacrifices. I must watch you like a hawk, Mother must work herself to the bone, and my father? Did you know it’s his birthday? But there won’t be any celebration.”

I moved in front of him to get his full attention. “It’s his birthday?”

“Yes.”

“Then why in the world are we not making a special meal? Or dancing? Or anything?”

“Because there are bigger issues at hand than a party.” Etan’s tone implied I was an idiot for not seeing that.

“In a family where people die too soon, I can’t think of much more important than celebrating one of us making it another year,” I shot back.

Something in those eyes, those cold eyes that had been watching me so closely, shifted. He looked like, perhaps, he agreed with me.

“What’s the big tradition in Isolte? Silas and I never made it to a birthday, so I don’t know.”

Etan huffed. “Sweets. We make little cakes to wish someone a year filled with sweetness.”

I nodded. “Well, we’re in a kitchen, so that’s perfect.” I looked around the room until I found the wide hands of the head cook. “Miss Enid,” I began, getting her attention, “did you know it’s Lord Northcott’s birthday?”

“I did.”

“Then will you please help me make the appropriate sweets for him? Whatever the traditional ones are?”

She looked to Etan, then smirked at me. “Did you not have enough work for one day?”

“Not enough to keep me from celebrating someone I care about. So . . . if you please.”

She shook her head. “Five cups of flour. I’ll get the sugar.”

I bounced into action, thrilled. Was I a good baker? Absolutely not. But I was exceptionally gifted at making merry, and that was exactly what I was going to do.

Seven

WE WERE ALL IN THE dining room, ready to surprise Uncle Reid. We’d gotten more flowers from the garden for the table, lit extra candles around the room, and even had one of the servants who was handy with a lute come in and play. It was positively festive, and all we needed was our guest of honor.

When I heard his footsteps, I was nearly jumping with giddiness. Etan was shaking his head, but he almost looked like he was pleased. Maybe not. He wasn’t the easiest to read.

“Surprise!” we yelled when Uncle Reid came around the corner, and he clutched his heart and smiled as he took in the room and his family.

“I told you I didn’t want a fuss,” he said as he walked to his seat, though his protest was half-hearted.

“Happy birthday, Father,” Etan said.

“Thank you, son,” he said, clapping his back as he came around. “You really shouldn’t have.”