The dining room was half full, and it was just what she’d expected on seeing the dark-beamed exterior of the Swan: low ceilings and doorjambs you were guaranteed to bang your head against, lacy curtains on rods that ran like a petticoat around the window, and a vivid tartan carpet with tan-colored leather chairs, all somehow redeemed by a working fireplace that was nearly as broad as the bar. The smell of the place more than made up for the interior: the rustic aroma of food, the earthiness of smoking wood, the clamor of bouquets from the opened bottles and barrels fighting for attention.

Alice was trying to hide her anxiousness at being stranded. At least she would get to spend a night in a proper bed as opposed to the uncomfortable camping cot in Penny’s attic, and she had her own bathroom. It’s just one day, she kept telling herself. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would give her strength and put her on track for all she had to do. This time tomorrow she would be back in London, hopefully with some news.

Her wine was still untouched, and she took a small sip, the alcohol unfamiliarly strong. With the next mouthful, an unpleasant sensation spread across her tongue—then it mellowed, and so did she, submitting to its power to slow things down and make her feel freer, and more tired, than she had in weeks.

Theo had already replenished his glass and nearly finished his meal, contentment settling over him like the glow of a firefly.

“How long do you think you’ll remain in London?” she asked, watching as he brushed his mustache lightly with the napkin and leaned back in his chair.

“A couple of months. It’s really to understand what’s going on and come up with a solution. Walter is concerned,” he added, growing serious. “And I can see why. If you take the war restrictions out of the equation, the business is still running at a loss and there’s no singular reason for it. That’s what I’m trying to understand—that and how to take advantage of the increased demand for books.”

She could see he meant what he said: that he really did want to help. “I imagine it’s frustrating.”

“Certainly is. Especially when I can see that it wouldn’t take much.”

“Like what?” she asked, interested.

“Doesn’t matter, I shouldn’t be talking like this.”

“I care too.”

“Yes. I know you do.”

They held eye contact, his gaze lingering until it dropped to her mouth and then returned to her eyes with a new intensity. She felt the need to look away. When she glanced back he was still staring at her, so she was compelled to break the tension. “Can you tell me a little more about your plans?”