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The conversation moves easily after that, drifting from Newport to a dinner Charles and Eleanor are attending later in the week, then to a dispute over whether my mother should replace the terrace furniture before summer. It’s the kind of evening that would probably surprise anyone who only knows us through newspapers and annual reports.

Halfway through the main course, Eleanor glances toward the doorway.

“Blaire may join us,” she says.

My attention shifts before I can stop it. Sebastian notices. I know because his eyes move briefly toward me, but he has enough sense not to say anything.

My father looks at Eleanor.

“From the collection team?”

“Yes,” she replies.

“She’s still working downstairs. I told her she was welcome to eat here instead of finding dinner at ten o’clock.”

“That was kind of you,” Charles says.

My mother gives him a look.

“It was dinner, Charles. Not a humanitarian intervention.”

Sebastian smiles.

“You never know. Ross has been monopolizing half the archive staff lately.”

I look at him. “Careful.”

He lifts his glass. “I said nothing.”

Eleanor’s eyes move between us, but before she can ask a question, one of the staff enters quietly to clear the first plates.

A few minutes later, Blaire appears in the doorway. She has changed nothing about herself for dinner. Her hair is still loose from the workday, and the dark green dress she wore in the library fits close through the waist. She hesitates when she sees the table, as though she has only just realized my mother’s invitation meant joining the family rather than eating somewhere nearby.

Eleanor waves her in before she can retreat.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” my mother says.

“Come sit.”

Blaire smiles. “I was promised something less formal.”

“You were promised food,” Eleanor replies.

“The rest is negotiable.”

That earns a small laugh from Blaire, and she takes the empty chair across from me. I look down at my plate before anyone can see how much I like having her there.

The conversation stays light while Blaire is served, but my father eventually returns to the issue he had been discussing before she arrived.

“We received the revised proposal from Van Alder this afternoon,” Charles says, looking first at Sebastian and then at me.

“They’re willing to give us the strategic stake, but they want broader access to the European distribution arm.”

Sebastian sets down his fork.

“That makes sense from their side. If they’re bringing capital and relationships, they’ll want influence over the part they can actually expand.”

My father nods. “Would you give it to them?”