Now she called him“Your Grace,”and the formality cut like glass.
“Thank you, Miss Grace.” He matched her tone with equal formality, though it cost him more than he cared to admit.
“I’ll join them shortly.”
She inclined her head and departed without another word.
The first day of frost had begun.
Rhys had known it would be like this. He had seen it in her face when she walked out of the study the night before, the careful walls going up, the warmth they had built being methodically dismantled. She was protecting herself and heunderstood that. He had spent fifteen years protecting himself in similar ways.
But understanding did not make it easier to bear.
He found the children assembled in the entrance hall, dressed for their walk in sturdy boots and light coats appropriate to the mild autumn weather. Anna was holding her attendance register and examining him with the particular scrutiny she reserved for anomalies in the established order.
“You look tired,” she observed.
“I slept poorly.”
“That’s inadvisable. Adequate rest is essential for cognitive function.” She made a note in her register.
“I’m recording this under ‘Parental Health Concerns.’”
“Thank you for your attention to my wellbeing.”
“Someone must be attentive. Miss Grace says adults often neglect their own needs in favour of their responsibilities.”
Viola approached him quietly, slipping her hand into his without speaking. She had always been attuned to emotional currents, sensitive to shifts in atmosphere that her sisters missed. She looked up at him with those dark eyes that reminded him so much of Celeste, and he saw something there that might have been concern or might have been understanding.
“It’s all right,” he told her softly.
“Adults sometimes have disagreements. It doesn’t mean anything bad is happening.”
Viola nodded, but she did not look convinced.
Thistle, meanwhile, had discovered a particularly interesting beetle on the floor of the entrance hall and was attempting to capture it for closer examination. The question of adult disagreements was entirely beyond her current concerns.
“Brutus would like this one,” she announced. “They could be friends.”
“Brutus already has quite enough friends,” Mel’s voice came from the corridor. She appeared with her own coat draped over her arm, her expression unchanged from its earlier neutrality. “The beetle may remain in the entrance hall, Thistle. We are going for a walk, not a specimen collection expedition.”
“Every walk is a specimen collection expedition if you’re paying attention.”
“Nonetheless.”
Thistle sighed dramatically but released the beetle, which scurried toward the safety of the wainscoting with evident relief.
The walk proceeded in silence that was unusual for any excursion involving the children. Anna attempted several times to engage Mel in conversation about geological formations, and Thistle offered running commentary on the various creaturesthey encountered, but there was an undercurrent of tension that even the younger girls seemed to sense.
Rhys walked slightly apart from the group, giving Mel the space she had requested while still remaining present for his daughters. He watched her with the children, noting the unchanged quality of her attention, the consistent warmth she offered even as she maintained her frozen distance from him.
She had spoken with the utmost sincerity of heart. Upon no account would she forsake the children; whatever her ultimate determination regarding his character, her devotion to those young souls remained resolute and beyond all shadow of wavering.
It should have been reassuring. Instead, it only highlighted how much he had lost.
That afternoon, while Mel conducted lessons in the schoolroom, Rhys made himself useful.
He found Anna in the garden, examining a rose bush like a botanist cataloguing a rare specimen, and offered to help her catalogue its characteristics for her nature journal.
