From the chair near the hearth, a young woman rose.
Miss Edgewood. Lila. She stood with her hands loosely clasped, her posture easy, her gown plain. Her expression was simpler still. Calm. Unhurried. Kind.
Henry stopped.
Nothing about her appearance demanded attention. Yet the room settled the moment she stood there, as though some quiet balance had been restored. The noise of the house faded a little. Even Henry’s breathing eased.
Marcus noticed the change before he understood it.
Lila did not speak. She waited, allowing him to see her without demand.
Marcus felt the faint tremor run through Henry’s hand.
Lila lowered herself slowly until she knelt at Henry’s level. She did not reach for him. Did not crowd. She simply placed herself where he could look at her if he wished.
“Good morning, Master Henry,” she said softly. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
Henry stared at her shoes.
“That’s a fine blanket,” she added. “My brother had one when he was small. He said it made the world quieter.”
Henry glanced up.
Lila smiled, small and contained, meant only for him. “If you’d like to sit near the fire, you may. We don’t have to talk yet.”
Marcus kept his hand steady, letting the choice belong where it should.
After a breath, Henry nodded.
Lila stepped back, giving him room. Henry crossed the parlor slowly and settled into the chair by the hearth, the blanket drawn close.
Lila did not follow him. She turned to Marcus instead.
“He did very well,” she said quietly.
Marcus let out a breath he did not know he was holding.
“He played three notes,” he said.
Bessie’s brows rose. “Three?”
“Possibly two and a half if we are strict.”
The corner of her mouth twitched.
Marcus felt the answer before he intended it and allowed the faintest smile.
“For Henry,” he said, “that is practically a symphony.”
The remark slipped out easily. Too easily.
Bessie stilled.
“Well now.”
Marcus frowned slightly. “What?”
“There you are.”
