“May I have a word, James?” Charles asked while the small group of guests silently organized themselves.
They had traveled relatively far into the tree line outside of Boston, and the trees were so tightly packed that instead of standing in a line, the guests stood in groups of two wherever they could find space. The late-summer sun had already begun its descent, but the heat of it lingered in the air and James was thankful that the shaded woods provided a cool respite from the intense warmth.
“Of course,” James replied with a nod. “George, you can take your place next to Genevieve,” he said to his young brother.
He gently urged him toward the scullery maid, who was standing beside Andrew and who both he and Isobel trusted enough to keep their secret. George obediently did as he was
