Marcus stepped forward at once. “Miss Edgewood—”
She raised a hand. Not refusal. Balance.
“I understand,” she said.
Bessie tapped her cane. “I closed the wager to limit the spectacle. But Fenwick’s pride is bruised. And a bruised man with money is a persistent nuisance.”
“I should have been told,” Marcus said.
“You would have throttled him,” Bessie replied. “Satisfying. Ineffective.”
Lila tightened her grip on her portfolio. “What would you have me do?”
“Keep teaching the boy,” Bessie said. “And do nothing alone.”
Marcus answered at once. “I will see to that.”
Lila looked between them. Gratitude warred with alarm.
“I do not want to be a burden,” she said.
“You are not,” Marcus replied.
Her gaze met his. Softened. Trembled.
Bessie cleared her throat pointedly. “If you are finished providing material for next week’s gossip sheets, we have a child waiting.”
They returned to the music room.
Henry brightened. “Papa, I played the measures twice!”
“Well done,” Marcus said.
Lila sat beside Henry, though Marcus noted the faint tremor in her fingers as she straightened the music.
Henry leaned into her without hesitation. Her shoulders eased. The room steadied.
The lesson resumed. Scales. Small victories. Lila’s voice found its calm.
Marcus watched Henry’s hands and the doorway.
The room felt smaller than it had an hour before.
A wager placed in a gaming house could travel faster than any carriage in London. And once such talk began, it rarely stopped where it should.
Marcus intended to see that it stopped here.
Fenwick did not appear. But his absence carried weight.
When Henry finished a simple melody, Lila praised him, warmth returning to her smile.
Hope stirred in Marcus, and he did not trust it.
When the hour ended, Lila stood. “Tomorrow,” she said.
Henry nodded. “Papa will walk you home.”
Lila froze.
