A few days before he’d left, Theo had attended a council meeting in which the details of the project had been unveiled. He’d also told the council about his planned London trip and offered to help them in any way he could. Most of the members had considered it to be fortuitous rather than a disruption, and they’d all agreed it was funny that it had taken war to give the public a greater appetite to read. The council’s inspirational books would remind everyone who they were fighting for and against—and why.

“And what propaganda are you feeding these poor impressionable boys?” George asked.

“We’re not, most of it’s just great fiction. Heroic tales and stories of everyday Americans . . .”

George was nodding, listening with interest.

“. . . by authors like Hemingway, Twain, Wharton and Fitzgerald, for starters.”

“Goodness, sounds wonderful.” George finally looked impressed. “And how’s my gorgeous niece?”

Theo recalled Virginia’s face as they’d said their good-byes, her lips trembling as she’d struggled to find the words, tears eventually spilling down both cheeks before she’d discreetly wiped them away. Even tearstained she was beautiful, with her luminous skin and mahogany eyes.

“She’s really well, George. She’s been working at the Red Cross station on the Lower East Side, one of the biggest salvage centers in the city, and she’s loving it.”

“Good for her!”

Theo’s shoulders dropped. “She’s disappointed that I’ve had to go away . . . but she understands.”

“Yes, I’m sorry about that. I told Walter that it really wasn’t necessary, but you know my brother, he won’t listen to anyone. Anyway, am I right in thinking it was Mark Twain who said, ‘God created war so that Americans would learn geography’?” George chuckled, and Theo smiled at him ruefully.

George didn’t seem so different from Walter as he mentally sparred with Theo while trying to demonstrate his intellect and education. Theo didn’t blame George for feeling threatened; after all, he’d started Partridge thirty years ago, with Walter opening the New York office once the British company had been established and made a name for itself. George must have found it galling to have an American sent over to help.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Theo. “It was Twain.”