Fenwick’s mouth tightened before he smoothed it away. He turned sharply and left the salon.
The room breathed again.
Bessie tapped her cane. “Miss Edgewood, the guests have had their amusements. The remainder of the evening requires no more of you.”
“Of course,” Lila said. She turned to Henry. “You did well. I played for all of them, but it was your tune that held.”
Henry stood a little taller.
Marcus watched her with a clarity he could no longer deny. She understood his son—not as a tutor, not as a caretaker, but as someone who saw the small fractures and knew how to place light there.
She lifted her portfolio.
Bessie stopped her with a touch of the cane. “No leaving alone. Not tonight. Fenwick is prowling.”
“I can take a hackney—”
“You will not,” Bessie said. She turned to Marcus. “Wolfton. You will see Miss Edgewood home.”
Marcus inclined his head.
“Of course.”
Chapter Eighteen
The private doorof the Lyon’s Den closed behind them with a muted click. Cool evening air swept the lane. Lanterns burned low along the shopfronts, their light catching on the rising mist. Henry tucked closer beneath Marcus’s coat, not frightened, only seeking warmth and the certainty of his father’s presence.
Marcus adjusted his stride to keep Lila between him and the street. The choice came from instinct.
Lila held her portfolio tight against her side. The deep blue of her gown caught the lantern glow, shadowing the bones of her wrist. The quiet settled around them, but it was not peaceful. It felt like a breath held.
“You needn’t trouble yourself,” she said softly. “I walk this route often.”
“Not tonight,” Marcus replied. A truth, not a courtesy.
She looked ahead.
Henry kicked a pebble along the lane. “Miss Edgewood?”
“Yes, Master Henry?”
“Why did the man speak to you that way?” His voice was small. Honest. He had been holding the question in.
Lila paused a fraction too long. Before she could answer, Marcus did.
“Some men,” he said, “forget how to speak with respect.”
Henry frowned. “Why?”
“Because they were not taught better.”
Lila looked at Marcus, warmth flickering in her eyes. Not gratitude for rescue, gratitude for a truth set down plainly.
The pebble clattered ahead. Henry ran after it, giving them a few paces of privacy.
“I am sorry for the scene,” Lila said quietly.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
