She glanced at Cora on Arthur’s arm and burned with jealousy.
Best to focus on the boys she could be certain she was not
related to. It would hurt far less.
“We’re eleven months apart,” Cora answered.
“Irish twins, then. And Arthur is your . . . ?” Charles said, let-
ting the sentence end to form a question.
“Our mysterious relative,” Minnie cut in joyfully, glad to have
an excuse to talk about him and try to get a reaction. Maybe, for
once, Arthur would actually answer.
“Bite your tongue!” Cora gasped. “He is not related to us! He
is a friend of the family.”
“Oh, they’d hear th
e speculation eventually. Is it any kinder to
whisper it behind his back? Arthur doesn’t mind, do you?”
“I am the least interesting mystery in town,” he offered.
Minnie waved dismissively, disappointed as always by Arthur’s
deflection. Weaving her hand through Charles’s elbow, she con-
tinued. “Arthur has been with us a year now, and we’re very
tired of his mystery and ever so glad to have some boarders
who aren’t too old to have any adventures left. Why are you here?”
She trained her big brown eyes on Charles, willing him to say
something interesting. Gypsies or gangsters or sinister family
secrets — she would take anything that would give her an excuse
to romanticize him further. Though if he were actually dying, as
she had overheard while hiding in the pantry this afternoon, that
was romantic enough for her needs. Nearly as good as one of her
Gothic novels!
Charles shrugged, grinning pleasantly. “We’re here to take
the air.”
“And where, pray tell, are you going to take it?” Arthur mur-