Dalton glanced up from the problem he was trying to solve. “…Numbers?”
“No, Dalton.” He chuckled and tousled Dalton’s hair. “Butterflies.”
William had listened to Dalton prattle on about more than just butterflies, but Edward Whitman, who had a general dislike of people on principle, would hardly tolerate such nonsense. And if Dalton made any sort of negative impression, he’d find himself in a world of trouble.
He racked his mind for something sensible to say. A conversation that might win his approval and make his parents proud. Nothing came to mind, of course, and Dalton continued to stare at his boots.
“So, tell me, Dalton.” Dalton winced at the sound of his own name when Edward said it. “What brings you to the library? Other than Robert’s atrocious behavior.”
“Oh, no. No, no, that
