Elizabeth explored Blackheath as though it were a country estate newly granted to her sole possession. She darted from room to room with breathless enthusiasm, pausing only long enough to ask permission—May I see this?—before curiosity carried her onward. She admired the tall windows and the way the light fell across the floors, declared the staircase “excellent for echoes,” and stood solemnly before a looking-glass nearly twice her height, studying her own reflection with thoughtful gravity.
“I think this house likes me,” she announced at last.
Caroline laughed, a genuine sound that surprised her even as it escaped. “I believe you may be right.”
They took a turn about the garden after luncheon, Elizabeth skipping ahead, then doubling back to report every discovery with earnest importance. A robin hopping near the hedges. A particularly interesting stone. The soft give of the grass beneath her shoes.
“Do you walk here every day?” Elizabeth asked.
“When I am well enough,” Caroline replied.
“I shall walk with you,” Elizabeth said firmly, as though the matter were settled. “Mama says walking is good for thinking, and you look like someone who thinks a great deal.”
Rebecca caught Caroline’s eye over her daughter’s head and smiled, something like apology and pride mingled together. Caroline could only return it, her chest warm with a feeling she scarcely recognized as happiness.
By afternoon, Elizabeth had been shown her rooms and declared them “very grand, but not frightening,” which Caroline took as high praise. She examined the small table and chairs prepared for her with delight, ran her fingers reverently along the spines of the books, and climbed onto the bed to test its comfort with a seriousness befitting the task.
“I shall sleep very well here,” she pronounced.
“I am glad,” Caroline said, touched more than she would have expected.
Elizabeth tilted her head. “Will you come tomorrow and see if I did?”
“If you wish.”
“I do.”
The day passed in this fashion—light, companionable, punctuated by Elizabeth’s observations and questions, each more perceptive than the last. Caroline found herself watching the child almost unconsciously: the way she listened intently, the care with which she chose her words, the quiet confidence that spoke of being both guided and allowed to be herself. It stirred something deep and tender within her, a protectiveness that felt instinctive rather than learned.
By evening, Elizabeth’s energy began at last to flag. Supper was taken early and simply, Elizabeth chattering happily through most of it before yawning so enormously she startled herself.
“I think,” she said gravely, “that I am becoming tired.”
Rebecca smiled. “I had noticed.”
Elizabeth allowed herself to be led away with only mild protest, pausing at the door to turn back.
“Good night, Princess Caroline.”
“Good night, Elizabeth,” Caroline replied. “Sleep well.”
Elizabeth hesitated, then crossed the room and wrapped her arms about Caroline’s waist in a swift, wholehearted embrace. Caroline stiffened in surprise for the briefest moment before instinct took over and she returned it, gently, carefully.
“I like you,” Elizabeth said, as though imparting a secret.
“I like you too,” Caroline answered, her voice very soft.
When Elizabeth was gone and the house settled into its evening quiet, Caroline and Rebecca remained together in the sitting room, the fire low and the air comfortably still. Caroline felt full in a way that had nothing to do with food—sated by company, by laughter, by the simple presence of a child who asked nothing of her beyond attention and kindness.
“She is remarkable,” Caroline said at last.
Rebecca smiled, a little wearily now, the smile of a mother who had heard praise before but never tired of it. “She keeps me fully occupied.”
“You have done exceedingly well by her,” Caroline said, meeting Rebecca’s gaze squarely. “She is confident without being unkind, curious without being heedless. She feels…safe.” The word seemed important. “That does not happen by accident.”
Rebecca looked down at her hands for a moment. “I have tried,” she said quietly. “I wanted her to know she is valued for herself, not for what she might become.”
Caroline felt a sudden tightening in her throat. “She does,” she said simply. “It shows in everything she does.”
