“My lord,” Theseus said.
“Good morning.”
The butler’s expression shifted, concern, recognition, and something gentler beneath it.
For an instant, Theseus looked past the tired man standing before him, as though measuring him against the man who had once commanded these rooms with effortless ease. The one who had filled these rooms with an easy confidence that drew people toward him.
The moment passed.
Theseus stepped aside.
Marcus stepped inside before it could linger.
The familiar scents of beeswax, card tables, and last night’s fire wrapped around him. Once, they would have sharpened his senses, pulled him fully into the room. Now they pressed faintly at the edges of memory, leaving him oddly untouched.
He passed polished banisters and quiet rooms that had once echoed with laughter, past doors behind which he had played at being invincible. None of that lived in him now.
Bessie’s parlor door stood slightly ajar.
“Do not hover,” her voice called. “If you’ve come to scold me, come in and do it properly.”
Marcus pushed the door wider.
Her gaze lifted and held. He saw the recognition there immediately. Not surprise. Not judgment. Just truth.
He was dressed in gray so dark it bordered on shadow. Not the reckless rogue she once teased. Not the man who had lit her rooms with charm and provocation. Something essential had gone missing. He felt it before she named it.
“My lord,” she said softly. “You look tired.”
“I am,” Marcus answered. “That is why I’m here.”
She gestured toward a chair. “Sit.”
He did.
For a moment, she said nothing. Marcus let the silence settle, knowing better than to rush it.
“I’ve found someone for Henry,” Bessie said at last.
The words struck him low and unexpected. Marcus closed his eyes, just briefly, as the tightness beneath his ribs loosened in a way that surprised him.
“A music teacher,” she continued. “Her name is Miss Edgewood. She’s young, but steady. She will not push him where he cannot go.”
Henry’s face rose unbidden in Marcus’s mind. Too quiet now. Too watchful. A child who startled at sudden sounds, who cried without noise, who had forgotten how to hum.
“When?” Marcus asked.
“Tomorrow, mid-morning,” Bessie said. “If you choose it.”
He did not hesitate. “Tomorrow mid-morning will do.”
Something softened in her expression. “Good. You needed to hear that.”
Marcus suspected she was right.
When he rose, the old Wolf would have winked, teased, drawn a swat from her shawl. Today, he only inclined his head.
“Thank you.”
