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“Of course.” Ben nods, but he sits too far from me to offer any physical reassurance.

I push back from the table, suddenly needing space from everything. From Ben. From Quint. From the idea that my history is a tangled web I can’t even begin to unravel. “I think I’ll go upstairs to bed,” I announce. “Unless you have something more to discuss with me about our strategy.” I add the last with more saltiness than Ben really deserves.

His jaw tenses. “We can talk in the morning.”

“Yes,” I say dryly as the men stand for my departure.

“All I’ve come up with so far is showing his picture around more,” he offers, maybe a token of peace? I’ll decide tomorrow based on what he “allows” me to do.

“I’ll think about it,” I say. “And perhaps I’ll shock you by coming up with something.”

It’s too early for sleep, and I realize that confining myself to my room with all the places my thoughts could go was a mistake. I try to piece together my memories of The Villa and untangle the times we stayed with Aunt Vi and the possibility my family visited in 1911, but I was too young then. There are snatches of the golden-haired boy, but nothing more.

The tap on my door is a welcome relief, even though the thought of facing either Ben or Quint at the moment isn’t ideal.

It’s Quint waiting for me with a mischievous light in his eyes. “Are you too tired for me to show you something?” he asks, reaching through the open door to take my hand in his and tangle our fingers together.

I don’t even hesitate, letting him pull me into the wide hallway. “No.”

He drops my hand after a moment as we walk down the stairs together and then outside. The night hasn’t cooled much since the afternoon, but I enjoy the heat. We leave the house behind, making our way through a grove of trees.

After a short walk, we come to a pond shimmering in the twilight of the evening, the pink of the sun setting reflecting off the surface. “How magical,” I whisper as we come upon it.

Quint leads me down the sloping lawn toward the pond, before sitting and pulling me down to sit next to him. “Shall we talk about your parents and The Villa?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t know what to think. Did they go by accident? Why did they never tell me about this? I don’t think I have enough answers to make sense of it, only questions.”

“Would you like to talk about something else, then?” he suggests.

“Yes, I think so. Where did you go to school, to college?” I’d rather talk about him than try and figure out myself.

“Columbia. Mother thought I should do something smart and study in England at Oxford or Cambridge or something, but she doesn’t like England and she likes me close.” He shrugs.

“Columbia is still very smart, even if it isn’t Oxford,” I praise.

“I suppose so,” he says absently. He studies me so intensely I think he’s memorizing me.

“Does that fine education help you when you follow your father around, managing the Allen family estate?” It’s easy to picture Quint as the lord of the manor, a gentleman without the need for a proper occupation. He seems the cheerful type who would oversee his father’s holdings in a stylish fashion.

“Of course.” He rests his hands behind him, watching the pink of the sunset disappear as night begins to fall. “But I would probably go crazy if I didn’t do something else as well. I enjoy my mother’s charity work more than I do business interactions with Dad and managing that end of things. There’s not enough charity management to be done, though, even when Mother steps back too often to keep me busy in something I like.” Without looking at me, he continues. “You remind me of her.”

“Me?” I think of sweet, mild-mannered Mrs. Allen. That’s hardly a description of me.

Quint chuckles. “Considering the way you speak of how Ben treated you today, I suppose women are more outspoken in the time you come from?”

“Far more,” I say with a laugh of my own.

“Then remember that my mother challenges things in the way she can. My father likes to tell how she wrote letters to every influential person she knew to campaign for suffrage. And though she may seem unassuming, I have witnessed, on many occasions, her willingness to march right up to anyone who stands in the way of her girls and the chances they deserve.”

“I like your mother a lot.” I sigh with jealousy and lean forward, resting my arms on my knees and then my head on my arms so I can watch him. Maybe staring will help me figure out how I’ve loved him for a long time despite not knowing him. Or maybe I’ll just stare at his handsome features and be able to convince myself this is just another romantic chapter in my time-traveling adventures and nothing more.

“And what was your mother like,” he asks, “besides the fact that she let her child run around like a hoyden?” He waggles his eyebrows, and we both laugh at his mother’s expectations for little girls.

“She wasn’t musical in the least like my father, though I once lied to William about that because ladies are supposed to be accomplished in some way.”

“I once lied to my father a great deal, so I can’t criticize you, although I have grown out of that for the most part.” He reaches forward to pat my hand in mock forgiveness for my sin. His touch warms me in a familiar way, feeling cold as soon as he pulls away. “So you both sat there, listening and adoring your father as he played?”

I shake my head. “He told my mom that she sounded lovely no matter what and he begged her to sing along with him, so she would. It was so awful, but they loved it anyway. I think she felt accomplished with him.” In fact, my father had made sure of it. “Beyond music, she was amazing as well. She was a historical research consultant.” I laugh when Quint raises an eyebrow in confusion. “People hired her to research things for them, for all sorts of reasons—writing books, creating advertisements, even research for property developments. She knew so much.”