Left to his own devices, Oz might have spent the morning locked in his study, working. The Ministry was insatiable; it could swallow all his time and effort and still have a mountain of things still to do. Thomasina had plans to go to Galway for the morning, and she had dropped some heavy hints that he ought to accompany her. Supposedly she had things to discuss with one of his sisters — hosting things, social season things, things he had stopped paying so much attention to — but once they'd settled in to the familiar estate in Ireland he suspected that perhaps her real aim had been to drag him out of the house before he could entomb himself in the study. Probably for the best — it was nice to be back in Ireland in the spring. He'd had a leisurely brunch and had taken up in the parlor to read the newspaper, and thought perhaps he might even go for a walk on the grounds following — perhaps with his father, if the man hadn't already disappeared to either his writing desk or his sailboat.

These tentative plans were derailed when his mother entered the room, arms full of flowers. He was broadly suspicious of any sudden interruption from his mother — or, in fairness to her, from any member of his family. He would have been no less wary if Christabel or Lycoris had suddenly presented themselves and announced they'd been looking for him.

"Oh, you remembered my fondness for pink," he remarked dryly, tipping the paper towards the flowers. "How thoughtful."

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