Elizabeth nodded, apparently satisfied. “I like quiet. It makes it easier to hear thoughts.”
Rebecca laughed. “You see why she exhausts her governess.”
“I think she is charming,” Caroline said sincerely. She felt something loosen in her chest—a warmth she had not expected. Elizabeth’s presence brought a sense of life to the room that had long been absent.
Mrs. Harding returned with the tea service, accompanied by a maid. The tray was laid carefully on the table: a polished silver teapot, delicate cups and saucers edged in gold, a plate of small sandwiches, seed cake, and a dish of preserved fruit. The steam curled invitingly as the teapot lid was lifted.
Elizabeth leaned forward, eyes wide. “Is that cake?”
“It is,” Caroline said. “And you may have some, provided you drink your tea first.”
Elizabeth accepted this condition solemnly. “I like tea,” she said. “It makes me feel grown.”
Caroline poured, offering Rebecca the first cup. “I cannot tell you how glad I am you have come,” she said serenely. “Blackheath has been…very still.”
Rebecca met her gaze with understanding. “I suspected as much.”
Elizabeth accepted her cup with both hands, blowing carefully before sipping. “It is hot,” she announced, unnecessarily.
“So it is,” Caroline agreed. “Patience is a useful skill.”
Elizabeth nodded again, then asked, “Do you have children?”
The question was innocent, unguarded. Caroline felt a familiar ache, followed swiftly by something gentler.
“Not yet,” she said. “But I hope to soon.”
Elizabeth smiled, apparently pleased. “You would be a good mama.”
Rebecca’s eyes flicked to Caroline’s face, searching. Caroline felt her cheeks warm but did not look away.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “That is kind of you to say.”
As tea progressed, conversation flowed more easily than Caroline had dared to hope. Rebecca spoke of her home on Grosvenor Square, of Elizabeth’s fondness for drawing and stories, and—more cautiously—of her marriage. There was no bitterness in her tone now, only a pragmatic acceptance, tempered by affection for her child.
“Nathan is not unkind,” Rebecca said, choosing her words with care. “But he is…preoccupied. With advancement. With maintaining his position.”
“And with the prince,” Caroline supplied.
Rebecca inclined her head. “Yes.”
Elizabeth, who had been busily arranging crumbs into patterns on her plate, looked up. “Papa is always busy.”
Caroline felt a pang. “Does that trouble you?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Mama is not.”
Rebecca smiled, though there was something weary in it.
The morning passed swiftly. When at last Elizabeth grew restless, Caroline rang for a maid and suggested a walk in the garden. Elizabeth sprang up at once.
“May I show you the roses?” Caroline asked.
Elizabeth grinned. “I like roses.”
As they walked together into the sunlight, Elizabeth’s hand slipped naturally into Caroline’s. The gesture was small, unconscious, and it struck Caroline with unexpected force.
The remainder of the day unfolded with a brightness Caroline had not known she missed so keenly until it was returned to her.
