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who he was,” Larken said.
    A shrug. “Lord Apollo seems as good a name as any.” He stood and changed his seat for the undecorated chair next to Myles. “Am I safe here?”
    The boy nodded, his eyes sparkling with merriment. “I sat on Lord Topper’s lap too when I first came in.”
    “The gentleman has had a very taxing evening, then. May I ask how we’ve come to have so many illustrious guests at tea?”
    “They’re Larken’s pretend friends,” Myles said. “Now they’re mine, too.”
    “Really? How extraordinary.” Brandon’s gaze shifted to Larken, who busied herself with the teapot.
    “I invented them as a game to pass the time,” she murmured. “I tend to be whimsical.”
    He lifted an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention a whimsical nature on your application.”
    “Why would I?” Her intelligent blue eyes gave him a level stare. “That wasn’t part of your criteria.”
    It took a moment for him to realize the girl was reproaching him. Unsure how to respond, he decided to retreat.
    “You’re right, it wasn’t.” Brandon smiled to cover his irritation. “Enjoy your tea party.”
    Exasperated, he went for a long walk on the grounds of his estate. Larken had no right to chide him for anything, but he shouldn’t have visited her sitting room in the first place. His presence must have given the girl some ridiculous notion he was interested in her opinion one way or the other. Her sole purpose at Graceling Hall was to tend to the lad, as she’d been made aware. Fortunately, she seemed capable of drawing Myles out in a way that had eluded him. The boy hadn’t laughed during the voyage or even cracked a smile—not that Brandon had really expected it of him so soon after losing his mother. It had been surprisingly good to see the child enjoying himself so thoroughly. Whimsical or not, Larken was exactly what Myles needed, so he had no wish to deal harshly with her. Of course, he had no wish to deal with her at all.

    After breakfast the following morning, Larken led Myles to the attic. He was taken aback by the sheer number of boxes.
    “How do you find anything up here?” he asked, wide-eyed.
    “It’s not easy.” She pointed toward the numerous paintings leaning against the wall. “That’s where I discovered Lord Apollo. Perhaps you’d like to choose a painting for your room?”
    “Do you mean so I can have a pretend friend of my own?”
    “Exactly. Look, here’s a painting of your guardian and his brother.” She showed him the portrait. “Theo and Brandon King. I don’t know which is which.”
    “Neither one looks like Mr. King.”
    “True.” She laughed. “It’s difficult to imagine Mr. King was ever a little boy.”
    Myles returned to sorting through paintings, and a few minutes later he let out a triumphant chortle. “Here she is!”
    “Who?”
    He held up a portrait of a young woman with glossy black hair and a perfect oval face. “This is Mama.”
    Larken could see the resemblance between Myles and the woman right away, but she was confused. How did his mother’s portrait end up in Mr. King’s attic?
    “She’s extremely beautiful,” she said. “What was her name?”
    “Mariah Pettigrew.”
    Mrs. Mason appeared at the top of the attic stairs. “Excuse me, Mrs. King, but the young master is wanted in the stables. Mr. King wishes to teach him to ride.”
    With an excited whoop, Myles jumped up and down.
    Larken laughed. “Go on then, and I’ll bring your mother’s portrait to your room.”
    The boy raced down the stairs with Mrs. Mason following in close pursuit. Larken picked up Mariah’s painting and examined it more closely. The woman had been a rare beauty. It would not be difficult to imagine she and Mr. King had been more than good friends—perhaps lovers. Maybe Mariah had been shipped off to America when it became clear she was about to embarrass him with a child. Why wouldn’t Mr. King marry her, especially if she was to produce his heir? It was too