The question lingered long after Nathaniel asked it.They were seated in the smaller sitting room adjoining the west wing, a space that felt less ceremonial than the rest of the house. The windows were tall but narrow, the light filtered through sheer curtains that softened the morning. Nathaniel had not returned to bed. He rarely did after nights like the one before. Lillian had brewed tea and brought it to him without asking, an unspoken truce carried on porcelain.“Do you remember anything,” he asked again, quieter this time, “from before your adoption.”Lillian wrapped both hands around her cup. The warmth steadied her. She stared at the surface of the tea as if the answer might rise from it.“No,” she said. “Not in the way people expect
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