The garden did what it did in the morning — flowers cycling, birds beginning, the light arriving in the specific way that light arrived on winter days when the sky was clear, precise and cold and full of clarity.
They sat until William heard movement in the house, indicating that the estate was waking, and then they went inside.
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Breakfast was a production.
Liam had, with the kitchen staff's increasingly warm cooperation, contributed significantly to the morning's offerings — he'd apparently woken early and gone to the greenhouse, where the citrus trees had yielded several fruits that he'd brought back and requested be incorporated into the morning's menu.
The kitchen staff had obliged with the enthusiasm of people who'd spent weeks cooking for a household reduced by circumstances and were now happily cooking for a full table.
