Brianna smiled, her eyes suspiciously bright. “Yeah,” she said softly. She touched the two sheets of paper with a gentle finger. “My father.”
Claire squeezed her daughter’s hand. “If you have your father’s hair, it’s nice to see you have your mother’s brains,” she said, smiling. “Let’s go and celebrate your discovery with Fiona’s dinner.”
“Good job,” Roger said to Brianna, as they followed Claire toward the dining room. His hand rested lightly on her waist. “You should be proud of yourself.”
“Thanks,” she said, with a brief smile, but the pensive expression returned almost at once to the curve of her mouth.
“What is it?” Roger asked softly, stopping in the hall. “Is something the matter?”
“No, not really.” She turned to face him, a small line visible between the ruddy brows. “It’s onl
