Chapter Twenty-Four
“Lord Calham will want to see this,” Aaron declared the moment the butler opened the door, while Biscuit sat at his feet with the proud, trembling self-importance of a puppy who had no notion he was being presented to society.
Emmeline glanced down at him, then at the butler, whose face remained impressively composed despite the small dog staring up at him with grave expectation.
“I should perhaps explain,” she said, unable to contain a smile. “Master Huntley has spent the better part of the morning teaching Biscuit a trick, and His Lordship has been named the necessary witness.”
Aaron nodded earnestly, his dark hair ruffled from the walk, his hand curled around the ribbon lead. “He can sit. And roll. Almost.”
The butler’s mouth twitched once before he bowed. “Your Grace. Master Huntley. Lord Calham is not at home at present, but he is expected to return shortly. If you wish to wait, I shall have refreshments brought to the garden.”
Emmeline had agreed to stop by during their walk, partly because the boy’s happiness was becoming impossible for her to deny and partly because she found she loved these ordinary little errands with him.
“Only for a short while,” she said gently. “If Lord Calham is delayed, we must return home.”
Aaron’s smile broke wide across his face. “He will come.”
“You sound very certain.”
“He likes us.”
The words were so simple, so sure, that Emmeline’s throat tightened. She rested a hand briefly over his hair, and he leaned into it without thinking.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I believe he does.”
They were shown through the house and out into a walled garden that was unexpectedly charming. Frederick’s taste revealed itself in small, clever details: a stone bench tucked beneath a chestnut tree, roses allowed to grow with some wildness along the walls, a fountain carved in the shape of somemythological creature whose expression looked suspiciously mocking.
Aaron was enchanted at once.
“Biscuit, come here,” he called, and the puppy bounded after him across the grass with the graceless joy of a tiny creature.
Emmeline stood for a moment beneath the chestnut tree and let the sunlight move over her face. The warmth should have steadied her. Instead, a brief, unpleasant little wave of dizziness moved through her, and she pressed her gloved fingertips to her temple.
Perhaps she had walked too quickly. Perhaps she had not eaten enough at breakfast, though Rowan had watched her plate with such quiet, brooding attention that she had eaten another slice of toast simply to prevent his concern from becoming a command.
Her cheeks heated.
“Your Grace?”
She turned at once. A maid stood near the garden door, waiting with folded hands.
“Yes?”
“Refreshments will be brought directly. Did you require anything else?”
Emmeline almost said no, then another small shift of faintness passed through her, enough to make the edges of the garden swim for one brief second. She steadied her expression by will alone.
“If you would direct me to the powder room, I should be obliged.”
“Of course, Your Grace. This way.”
Aaron looked up from the grass. “Are you going?”
“For only a moment,” Emmeline said. “Do not allow Biscuit to eat Lord Calham’s flowers.”
Aaron looked down at the puppy, who had already put one paw into the edge of the rose bed. “I shall try.”
“That does not inspire confidence.”
