It didn’t matter. She was there, and she wasn’t talking. This was Dot’s love.

The sun emerged again, and it did valiant battle as it tracked across the sky, struggling to fend off the clouds and set the puddles to steaming.

Lukas was by her side again, his hand on her shoulder again. “I need to meet with Father Foster. Did you want to come?”

When she blinked, she saw Louvain out the window instead of London. Felt her childhood home around her instead of this flat with 3E on the door. Heard Maman posing the question, only not. Because it had been Father Pudois she’d been going to see, arrangements for Papa’s wake that needed to be made.

She blinked again to clear it. She’d gone with her mother then. She needed to go with her brother now. She nodded.

Lukas stepped closer and reached to brush the hair out of her eyes. Then he jerked his hand away, muttering a French curse under his breath. “You are burning up! For heaven’s sake. You are not going anywhere but to bed.”

“No!” She had to go with him. If she could convince her muscles to move.

He pushed her down into the chair, a stern look on his face. “No argument. I can meet with Father Foster. You must get well. Do you understand?”

Well? As if there were such a thing today. “Lukas.” She blinked, but her head was still as hazy as the fog off the Thames. Sought the words, any words. “Hospital. . . .” That wasn’t right. It had been too late for a hospital. Her pulse was gone. Gone. Not sixty-two. Not even thirty. Zero. Too long at zero.

Margot squeezed her eyes shut. “No. DID.”

Lukas crouched down. She heard him, felt him, smelled the scent of his soap and cologne. “I already spoke to the admiral, ma bichette. He will stop by when he can. He said to take as much time as you need.”

Of course he would. That wasn’t what she’d wanted either—and on a different day, she may have objected to Lukas calling her a doe. But she wouldn’t argue it now. She had something else to say. What was it? What were the words? Lukas. Hospital. DID. Eighteen. “Eighteen.”

Lukas shifted again. When she forced her eyes back open, she was aware of him looking at Dot. “Do you know what she means?”

Dot shook her head.

“No.” Margot clenched her teeth. She didn’t know what she meant either. Her insides itched. “I . . . I don’t know.”