Marcus listened from his place near the window, hands clasped behind his back.
When Henry faltered, Lila’s finger hovered near the correct key. When he succeeded, she let the triumph ring without naming it.
The morning gathered in Marcus like both weight and promise.
Movement flickered at the doorway.
Fenwick.
He did not enter. He did not speak. One shoulder rested against the doorframe as he studied the scene with a satisfaction Marcus did not care to examine too closely.
Lila glanced up once. Long enough to see him. Then her attention returned to Henry, calm and intact.
Fenwick lingered. Too long. Too aware.
Marcus stepped away from the window.
Fenwick straightened, summoned a smile, and bowed. “My lord. I see the morning finds you well.”
“It does,” Marcus said.
Fenwick’s eyes slid to Lila. “Miss Edgewood. A pleasure.”
She inclined her head. Nothing more.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon tells me there will be a small gathering this evening,” Fenwick said. “Music in the private rooms. It seems you may be called upon.”
Lila went still. Only an instant. Marcus saw it.
“That is for Mrs. Dove-Lyon to determine,” she replied.
“Indeed.” Fenwick tapped a gloved finger against the frame. “One likes to know where expectations should be placed.”
Marcus moved, blocking Fenwick’s view without ceremony.
“Do you require something?”
“I never require.” Fenwick’s smile widened slightly. “I only observe.”
“Then observe elsewhere.”
For a beat, Fenwick did not move. His gaze shifted between them, weighing, measuring, calculating how a moment might be turned.
Then he bowed again. “As you wish, my lord.”
He left.
Henry played on, unaware of the tension that had settled over the room like a held breath.
Marcus returned to the window.
Lila’s hands lowered to the keys. Her voice remained steady, but the care beneath it told Marcus all he needed to know.
Fenwick’s interest was sharpening. Interest of that kind was rarely harmless.
They finished the lesson quietly.
As Henry packed his portfolio, Lila approached Marcus.
