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place of charm rather than grandeur. The windows were tall and the interior filled with light. Directly across from them was the manor of Martin Van Buren, and beyond that rose the bare-limbed forest that backed onto the White House. Although placed in the very center of Washington, Lafayette Square was broad enough to hold almost a country air. Falconer had taken to walking either here or along the Potomac, seeking momentary freedom from the city’s confines, which was how he had chanced to learn the house had suddenly come available.
    Falconer worked alongside the Gavis but remained at an inner distance from everyone, even himself. He observed the family taking in the home and its well-portioned rooms, talking excitedly as they decided where everything was going to go and which rooms would be for what purpose. They were a family facing problems together. Three of them, loving one another through the good times and the bad. Falconer slowly walked down the front stairs. He stood removed from where the two wagons from Langston’s Emporium were being unloaded. He had been alone all his life. But he had never felt it so clearly as now.
    Even here, however, he was not to find solitude. For soon enough Lillian and Reginald Langston arrived in a carriage followed by two more wagonloads of goods. Reginald hailed him with “Did the first items arrive safely?”
    “I doubt there will be enough room inside for everything, sir.”
    “There, you see?” Reginald addressed his wife as he helped her down from the carriage. “Did I not say you were burdening them with too much?”
    Lillian Langston, wife of the emporium’s owner, was a British lady aging with beauty and grace. There were tales that she had relinquished a title and vast holdings, but even her staff were uncertain of the truth. For Lillian Langston preferred to speak only of her life here in Washington and of the husband she loved so dearly. “And I told you, my dear, to allow the women to decide what should be required.”
    “Hmph.” Reginald Langston doffed his hat to Falconer. “I am seeing far too little of you, my friend.”
    “The snows,” Falconer said awkwardly. “My work guarding the family.”
    Lillian stepped up alongside her husband. “Are they still in danger?”
    “Hard to say, ma’am. The legate was certainly displeased over their departure from his manor. But if Serafina says there were men with guns, we had all best believe her.”
    “I am so looking forward to seeing them again. And the house.”
    As if on cue, the three Gavis came rushing down the front stairs, crying aloud with that odd Italian mixture of joy and astonishment and protest. Lillian and Reginald were hugged by them all. The Langstons smiled and stood as the Gavi family ran around the wagons, peering under wraps and exclaiming to one another. Then there were more hugs and laughter as Bettina lost her English entirely. Her husband then discovered the walnut desk with the gilt-edged leather top that was meant for his study. His cries were loud enough to attract attention from people across the square. Which only caused the others to laugh. Falconer remained upon the sidewalk, five paces removed from the exuberant celebration. The Gavis almost sang their joy, speaking English with such gusto that even a simple word was enough to have the Langstons laughing and all the busy workers smiling and chattering in reply. Everyone was swept up in the joy of entering a new home. Everyone, that is, except John Falconer.
    Alessandro Gavi could not stop his exclamations. “The desk! The chair!”
    “The carpets!” Bettina whispered to her daughter, then seeking an English word, added, “The chandelier!”
    Mother and daughter hurried inside to tell the workers where to deliver the next load, which was a set of six high-backed chairs with carved arms. But midway up the stairs Bettina rushed back to embrace Lillian Langston in a childish flurry of excitement. Everyone was so happy they