His hand found the latch, cool in the shadows of the hallway, and pushed the door open. He didn’t enter, but he leaned into the doorframe. So very weary. In body and mind and soul. So very afraid that soon another room would be empty. First their parents’, then Morgan’s. Mamm-wynn’s next? And what about Beth? Why was she not here, where she ought to be, instead of hiding somewhere?

His eyes slid shut against the evening light streaming through Morgan’s window. He missed his brother with a bone-deep ache. He wanted to talk to him now. To share the worry about Mamm-wynn. About Beth. To glean some of his wisdom. To introduce him to Libby and confess that he’d kissed her, and that he shouldn’t have, and that he wanted to do it again. That he loved the way their neighbors had claimed her as their own. That he wanted to do the same, even though all wisdom said it was far too soon to know if he should, and not likely he could regardless.

She was an earl’s sister. And he . . .

“Was this your brother’s room?”

He didn’t jump at her voice. Perhaps he’d heard her step behind him, even though he didn’t recall noticing it. Perhaps he was too tired to react so. Or perhaps he couldn’t be surprised at her appearing at his side because she felt so right there. Oliver opened his eyes and glanced down to find her in the doorway too, leaning a shoulder against the opposite side of the frame. Inches away. Her gaze focused on Morgan’s sanctuary.

“It was, yes.” They’d changed nothing in it. It still had the narrow bed in which he’d spent so much time. The books lining every wall, which had been his window to the rest of the world. The desk whose regular chair had been moved aside so he could wheel himself to it instead. And the wheelchair itself, parked beside the bed.

Her fingers found his and wove through them. “You’re not going to lose her yet.”

He squeezed her fingers, simply because she understood what had brought him here now. “He was sick for so long. It came upon him when he was just a lad, six or seven. I remember him being excited to go to school soon, and then . . . then our whole world changed. He was so ill, and the doctors couldn’t determine the cause. Our parents took him to the mainland once, all the way to London. But it didn’t seem to matter. The doctors could only alleviate the symptoms. He’d get better, but never fully better. And we always knew that each new illness to go round would find him. Eat at him.”