A father relearning where he belonged again.
Lila tapped the bench lightly. “Sit, Master Henry. Let us see what stayed.”
Henry placed his hands on the keys. This time, he did not hesitate. He began the line slowly, carefully, but certain. The notes wavered only once. He corrected himself before Lila could speak.
Marcus’s chest tightened.
Henry finished, blinking up at her in cautious pride. “Did it stay?”
“It did,” Lila said. “Beautifully.”
Henry’s entire face lit up.
Marcus looked away for a moment, the emotion in his throat too real, too immediate.
Lila continued the lesson with gentle precision. “Float to the next note. Keep your wrist soft. Good. Try that again.”
Marcus watched her hands not because he meant to, but because her movements were sure, graceful, and careful without coddling. He had forgotten what it looked like when someone taught with belief rather than obligation.
He found himself listening not to the notes Henry played, but to Lila’s voice guiding each one.
Halfway through, she shifted slightly on the bench. Marcus noticed the brief wince, the way tension pulled at her shoulders.
When Henry concentrated on his scale, Marcus crossed the room quietly.
“Are you hurt?” he asked under his breath.
Lila startled, only a little, then shook her head. “No. Only… tired.”
There was more to it. He saw it in the faint shadows beneath her eyes.
“You did not sleep well,” he said.
Her gaze flicked away. “Many of the ladies at Rosehaven rise early. And…” She hesitated. “There are always people awake late. Doors opening. Footsteps. Boarding houses are not restful.”
Marcus felt a slow, unwelcome tightness coil through him at the thought of her lying awake while the house shifted around her.
He kept his voice steady. “If Fenwick—”
“He did not appear,” she said quickly. “I only… listened for him.”
She tried to smile. It did not quite reach her eyes.
Henry finished his scale triumphantly. “Papa, did you see?”
“I did,” Marcus said. His voice nearly failed him. “It was excellent.”
Lila turned back to the bench, drawing a steadying breath.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s cane clicked in the doorway.
“Progress, I see,” Bessie remarked.
Henry straightened proudly. “Miss Edgewood says I am keeping more music.”
“So you are,” Bessie said. “London may need to brace itself.”
Henry preened.
