“How was I supposed to know! I was twelve. Twelve!” Edward shouted.

Harry raced through his memory, trying to recall his good-byes. But he could remember almost nothing. He’d been so eager to get out, to leave it all behind. But he’d given advice to Edward, hadn’t he? He’d told him it would all be all right, that he would go to Hesslewhite, and not have to deal with their parents. And he’d told him not to let their father near the school, hadn’t he?

“He pissed in his pants,” Edward said. “On the first day. He fell asleep on my bed and pissed in his pants. I got him up and changed his clothes. But I didn’t have spare bedsheets. And everyone-” His voice choked, and Harry could see the terrified boy in his face, confused and alone.

“Everyone thought it was me,” Edward said. “Splendid way to start off, don’t you think?” He weaved a bit then, buoyed by bravado. “I was the most popular boy after that. Everyone wanted to be friends with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said.

Edward shrugged, then he stumbled. Harry reached out and caught him this time. And then-he wasn’t sure how it happened, or why he did it-he pulled his brother close. Gave him a hug. Just a bit of one. Just for long enough to blink back the tears in his eyes.

“You need to get to bed,” Harry said, his voice hoarse.

Edward nodded, and he leaned on Harry as he helped him to the stairs. He did all right with the first two, but on the third he tripped.

“Thorry,” Edward mumbled, struggling to right himself.

He dropped his s’s. Just like their father.

Harry thought he might be sick.

It wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t pretty, but eventually Harry managed to topple Edward into his bed, boots and all. He laid him carefully on his side with his mouth near the edge of the mattress, in case he threw up. And then he did something he’d never done, in all the years he’d maneuvered his father into a similar position.

He waited.

He stood by the door until Edward’s breathing was quiet and even, and then he stayed there for several minutes more.

Because people weren’t meant to be alone. And they weren’t meant to be scared. Or feel small. And they shouldn’t have to count how many times something bad happened, and they shouldn’t worry that it might happen again.

And as he stood there in the darkness, he realized what he had to do. Not just for Edward, but for Olivia. And maybe for himself, too.

Chapter Fifteen

By the following morning Olivia was feeling not quite so out of sorts. The light of day and a good night’s rest, it seemed, could do a great deal to restore the spirits, even if she hadn’t come to any grand conclusions.

Why I Was Crying Last Night

By Olivia Bevelstoke

Actually, I wasn’t crying.

But it seemed like it.

She decided to try it from a different angle.

Why I Wasn’t Crying Last Night

By Olivia Bevelstoke

She sighed. She had no idea.

But there was always denial. And so she resolved not to think about it, at least until she’d managed to get some breakfast. She was always more levelheaded on a full stomach.

She was halfway through her morning routine, trying to sit still while her maid pinned her hair, when a knock sounded at the door.

“Enter!” she called out, then murmured to Sally, “Did you order chocolate?”

Sally shook her head, and they both looked up as a maid entered, announcing that Sir Harry was waiting for her in the drawing room.

“At this time of the morning?” It was nearly ten, so hardly the crack of dawn, but still, unconscionably early for a gentleman to call.

“Shall I have Huntley tell him that you are unavailable?”

“No,” Olivia replied. Harry wouldn’t call so early without a good reason. “Please inform him that I shall be down straightaway.”

“But you haven’t had breakfast, my lady,” Sally said.

“I’m sure I won’t waste away for want of one breakfast.” Olivia lifted her chin, regarding her reflection in the mirror. Sally was working on something rather elaborate, involving braids, clips, and at least a dozen pins. “Perhaps something simpler this morning?”

Sally’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. “We’re more than halfway done, I promise.”

But Olivia was already pulling out pins. “Just a little bun, I think. Nothing fancy.”

Sally sighed and started to adjust the coiffure. In about ten minutes Olivia was done and heading downstairs, trying to ignore the fact that the rush had meant that a lock of her hair had already fallen free and had to be tucked behind her ear. When she arrived at the drawing room, Sir Harry was seated all the way on the far side, at the small writing table by the window.

He appeared to be…working?

“Sir Harry,” she said, looking at him with some confusion. “It’s so early.”

“I have come to a conclusion,” he told her, rising to his feet.

She looked at him expectantly. He sounded so…definitive.

He clasped his hands in front of him, his stance wide. “I cannot allow you to be alone with the prince.”

He had said as much the night before, but really, what could he do?

“There is only one solution,” he continued. “I shall be your bodyguard.”

She stared at him, stunned.

“He has Vladimir. You have me.”

She continued to stare at him, still stunned.

“I will stay here with you today,” he explained.

She blinked several times, finally finding her voice. “In my drawing room?”