‘‘Look at that thing.’’ As they headed toward the river, Violet glanced at Harry walking in front of them, his bald head shining in the sun. Thankfully he hadn’t seemed to hear. ‘‘Hush,’’ she told Rowan. ‘‘You don’t want me to tell Mum you’re talking like that, do you?’’ Having expected Ford instead, she’d been surprised when Harry had come to fetch them. Not that she was sure she wanted to go to Windsor at all. She did want to see the town, really see it, but . . . She touched the metal frame of her spectacles— egad, people were going to stare and ask questions. ‘‘Father says ‘Holy Christ’ all the time,’’ Rowan muttered. ‘‘And you can, too,’’ she said, keeping her voice low, ‘‘as soon as you’re grown and have children of your own.’’ ‘‘But just look at that thing!’’ he exclaimed, loud enough to wake up their father all the way back at the house. Harry definitely heard that. A crooked smile on his face, he slowed so they could catch up.
