They moved into the dining room, where silver gleamed under steady candlelight, and the staff moved with the silent precision Rowan demanded.
Lord Weston filled the silence. He spoke of the weather, the London roads, and the spiraling costs of tenant cottages. Rowan gave the expected nods. Emmeline answered with practiced grace, but Rowan barely heard her. His attention was fixed on the way she occupied his space—the curve of her wrist as she set down a fork, and the quiet, constant way she checked on Aaron.
By the fish course, the boy began to fray. Aaron shifted, nudging his silver and lifting the wooden horse from the seat beside him.
Emmeline spoke before Rowan could intervene.
“Does Comet always attend dinner?” she asked. Her voice was soft, cutting through Lord Weston’s talk of masonry.
Aaron looked at her, then at the horse. “N-not usually.”
“Then tonight must be a very important evening.”
He nodded solemnly.
“And what else does Comet do, besides behave badly and attend important dinners?”
Aaron’s face brightened a little. “He g-goes in r-races.”
“Ah.” Emmeline leaned a fraction closer. “Then I suppose he must win them all.”
“H-he wins m-most,” Aaron said, and this time his stammer eased just enough to make Rowan notice. “B-but s-sometimes he f-falls into snow.”
Emmeline smiled. “A horse after my own heart. I once fell into a duck pond trying to rescue a ribbon.”
Lord Weston laughed at once. “You were six, and your mother said you were more furious for having lost the ribbon than for being wet.”
At the mention of her mother, a shadow flickered across Emmeline’s features—a brief, bruising look of longing that she quickly masked with a smile. Rowan watched as Aaron leaned in.
“Your m-mama is g-gone too?” the boy asked.
The table went still.
Emmeline looked at him with a gentleness Rowan had never seen from her before. “Yes.”
“Do you m-miss her?”
“Yes,” she said again, quieter. “Very much.”
Aaron stared at his plate for a moment. “I miss mine too, b-but my A-Aunt J-Juliet used t-to make me feel b-better. D-do you have a n-nice aunt like that?”
Rowan’s spine locked.
“No,” he said, too quickly.
Aaron looked up.
Such talk is not appropriate at the table, Rowan wanted to say.
Instead, what came out was, “That is enough.”
The words landed hard enough that even Lord Weston shifted.
Aaron’s face changed at once. “B-but Aunt J-Juliet l-let me t-talk about M-Mama.”
“Your aunt is not here.”
The boy swallowed. “Then maybe L-Lady Emmeline can. B-because y-you won’t!”
