Alfred moved to the bed and sat down at about the space that her shoulders had just occupied, before she’d sat up. He waited a second, unsure if she was going to move to either accommodate him or avoid him (both would have been understandable, after everything that had happened). When she didn’t immediately move, he reached out and put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him, so that she could lean up against his lap and his chest.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” he admitted with a wry half-smile. Partly it was that he always liked having her around, any time he could. Partly it was a sentiment that he would much rather have her here and safe than out there in the storm. Partly, he supposed, it was also a nod towards the tension that still lingered between them from the evening. He didn’t especially want to talk about Jo, or anything, but if they were going to he’d much rather talk to her, even in whispers and with her friend in the next room, then try and explain it all through a letter — or, heaven help him, over dinner at Roslyn’s next week.