Seven
It was well after ten the next morning before Orrin knocked on the door.
“I’ve brought breakfast and tea,” he called out. “Are you decent? If you are, you’d be the only ones in this house.”
“Har har,” Heron muttered, peeking one of his eyes open.
“One of you will have to open the door, I’m afraid.”
Grace got up and twisted the silver handle.
“How did you sleep?” Orrin came into the room, each hand balancing a tray. On one, a teapot, two beautiful cups, the sugar and cream bowls. On the other tray, a full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, and little pastries. Cut fruit.
He wore loose bamboo pajamas, and his wild white hair stuck up a little in the back.
“We slept great. Thank you,” Grace said. In truth, she would’ve said this even if she’d had to sleep on a plank with nails driven into
