She took another sip of tea, trying to remember. “I had a wonderful governess for a couple of years when I was a child. She was young, and pretty, and she liked me, which was fairly unusual. Her family lived in the city, so she’d go home for Christmas in the morning but be back by the afternoon, after our stuffy family Christmas was over, and she’d bring me leftovers from her family and we’d sit in the nursery and stuff ourselves. Sometimes I still think of her, and wonder what she’s doing now.”

“What happened to her?”

“She was dismissed. According to my parents, she was allowing me an unbecoming amount of freedom.” And enough reminiscing. “They have a whole books section over there,” Alva said. “Shall we?”

Sam looked at her with that disturbing focus he sometimes had, as if he knew she was changing the subject, and was allowing it, but also making a note of the exact date, time, and subject in question so he could return to the matter later. His scientist gaze, collating data. She forced herself to meet his eyes pleasantly and calmly, and soon he rose, coming around to her side and putting his hand on the small of her back. It was a polite gesture, but she swore she could feel the heat and strength of him through all her layers of silk and cotton.

She didn’t want to talk about her family, but she felt almost a compulsion to know more about his. A craving. His love for them was a tangible thing, uncomplicated and unquestioning in its solidity. “Solidity” wasn’t the right word; it was more than solid—unbreakable, water rather than rock. It was all around him, it held him up, flowing unendingly between them.

“What about Henry?” she asked. “He said you were like his second family, growing up.”

“My mother says Henry is her fourth child,” Sam said. “He—some of this is not really mine to talk about. But he came into our lives when he was ten, and he’s my brother in every way that matters.”

Alva could imagine a variety of circumstances leading to such an arrangement, and none of them were pleasant. “He’s protective of you,” she said. “It’s lovely.”

Sam grinned. “I guess we’re all protective of one another,” he said. “Henry’s way of being protective involves a law degree, a significant amount of charm, and an ability to convince almost anybody of almost anything. Benedict, on the other hand, will wither his opponent with a look and a well-chosen word.”

“I assume Maggie will simply blow her opponent up.”

“Or talk to them about French fashions for two hours, which is significantly worse,” Sam said broodingly, with the air of a man who had been subjected to this particular torture more times than he could count. “Or sometimes she pinches.”

Alva snickered.