Henry’s fingers tightened around his.
Marcus looked down. “You are not alone.”
The grip strengthened in answer.
Theseus opened the door before Marcus could knock. “Good morning, my lord.” His gaze dipped. “Young master.”
Henry slipped half a step behind Marcus, peering out only enough to see the man’s face.
“Good morning, Theseus,” Marcus said. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon expects us.”
“She does.”
The scent of beeswax, polished wood, and lingering smoke wrapped around them as they entered. Henry stiffened at the sound of laughter echoing faintly from deeper in the house.
“It’s only voices,” Marcus murmured. “Nothing more.”
Henry drew a careful breath and accepted it.
Bessie’s parlor door stood slightly ajar, as though she already knew precisely when they would arrive.
“Do not dawdle in the hall,” her voice called. “Bring them in, Theseus. I have not grown any younger waiting.”
Henry startled. Marcus squeezed his hand.
“It’s just Bessie,” he whispered. “She speaks that way to everyone.”
They stepped inside.
Bessie sat in her customary armchair, spectacles perched low as she finished reading a letter. Her silver-streaked hair was pinned in its usual stubborn crown. When she looked up, her gaze sharpened, before it softened unmistakably.
“Well,” she said. “If it isn’t my favorite pair of solemn faces.”
Henry blinked, uncertain whether the greeting was meant kindly. Marcus bent slightly toward him.
“Say good morning.”
Henry stepped forward and bowed. “Good morning, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
“That will do nicely,” she said, warmth settling into her voice.
Before Henry could retreat again, a soft knock sounded at the doorframe.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon?” a young woman asked. “Is now still—?”
Lila Edgewood stepped into the room and saw them.
Her presence altered the air with something quiet and steady. Her gown was modest, her hair gathered simply, but the calm she carried reached Marcus not as a display but as reassurance.
She dipped her head. “Good morning, my lord. Master Henry.”
Henry’s fingers tightened in Marcus’s again, but he did not hide his face. Not entirely.
Lila did not approach. She let her smile remain small, an invitation rather than a demand.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon has told me a little about you,” she said to Henry. “Only good things.”
Henry’s breath caught, but he stayed where he was.
