“We will discuss it later,” Marcus said.
Bessie smiled faintly. “Indeed.”
Lila gathered her portfolio. “Good day, my lord.”
“Good day, Miss Edgewood.”
Their brief gazes held charged and restrained.
As she disappeared up the corridor, Marcus watched her go. He did not follow.
But if Fenwick pressed further, Marcus would remove him from her path quietly.
For now, he left with Henry, sunlight catching the edges of a world he had tried to keep closed.
Chapter Twenty
The following morning,Henry hummed through breakfast. Not the wandering sound of a distracted child, but a line held with care. A rhythm. A memory. Something he meant to keep.
Mrs. Pritchard paused mid-pour. “He has done that since dawn,” she said.
Marcus accepted his tea. “He is practicing.”
Henry straightened. “Miss Edgewood said if I keep the sound, it will stay.”
Mrs. Pritchard sniffed, though the corners of her eyes softened. “Practicing is admirable. Jam on the carpet is not.”
Henry blinked. “I did not.”
Marcus lifted a brow.
Henry sighed. “Only a little.”
“Clean it before we leave,” Marcus said mildly.
Henry slid from his chair and bounded off, still humming.
Mrs. Pritchard set down the teapot. “She is good for him,” she said, as if stating a household fact.
Marcus did not disagree. “She is steady.”
“And for you,” Mrs. Pritchard added, light but perceptive.
Marcus met her gaze. He offered no answer. He did not have one he trusted.
They left the house a short while later. Mist curled along the square, softening the morning into pale watercolor. Henry walked with purpose, boots tapping a confident beat.
Covent Garden came into view sooner than he expected.
Henry knocked on the private door, careful and polite. He glanced back. Marcus ruffled his hair. The door opened.
Lila stood there.
Light traced her outline from behind, catching in the loose curl near her cheek. She wore pale grey today, simple and modest. The sight of her stopped Marcus. It was not beauty that caught him, though she possessed that easily enough. It was composure and steadiness that held him there a moment longer than courtesy required.
“Good morning,” she said.
Henry beamed. “I remembered the first line exactly.”
