Chapter Thirty-Six
November 27th, 1808
Exeter, Devonshire
Icarus slept the night in Miss Trentham’s arms, feeling warm and safe and happy. He roused briefly at dawn to hear her voice in his ear—You’re not dead, Icarus Reid—and then fell back into deep, dreamless sleep. He didn’t wake until Green opened the curtains. Icarus drowsily watched him lay out the shaving tackle and today’s clothes. A good lad, Green. Cheerful, hard-working, diligent in his duties. He made a mental note: Ask Houghton to hire Green when I’m gone. Houghton would treat the lad well.
“What’s the time?”
“Ten o’clock, sir.”
Icarus pushed back the bedcovers and sat up, reluctant to leave the bed’s warmth and the sense of safety and happiness that lingered there. He rubbed his face and raked his hands through his hai
