The word struck somewhere tender and complicated inside her.
For one instant, Emmeline saw Rowan as he had stood in the entrance hall the day before, his jaw tight with resistance even as his eyes had followed his son with something too raw to be indifference. She remembered the awkward way he had touched Aaron’s head, the way he had looked at her afterward, and the memory sent a strange heat through her body before she could stop it.
It was infuriating. She was kneeling on a carpet with a muddy puppy at her knee, and still one memory of Rowan’s gaze was enough to make her skin warm beneath her gown.
He had barely touched her since that night in his study, and yet her body remembered the closeness of him too vividly: the low heat of his voice, the intimidating width of his chest when she had stood near enough to feel trapped by him, the way his restraint seemed like a locked door she was foolish enough to want opened.
She drew a breath and forced herself back to Aaron.
“Not exactly like your father,” she said gently. “Your father gives commands. We are asking Biscuit to wish to obey.”
Aaron considered this with grave attention. “How do we make him wish it?”
“With praise. Patience. And perhaps…” She reached toward the little dish beside her and lifted a crumb from the remains of the stolen biscuit. “A little bribery.”
Aaron’s eyes widened with delight. “That is not p-proper.”
“It is very effective.”
He looked at the crumb, then at the puppy, then back at her. “M-may I?”
“Of course.”
Aaron held out the crumb. “Biscuit. C-come.”
Biscuit sprang forward so quickly that he nearly skidded into Aaron’s lap.
Aaron laughed again, one hand flying to steady the puppy as it scrambled over his knee. “He came!”
“He did,” Emmeline said, smiling despite the sting in her eyes. “And now he must learn sit.”
Biscuit did not learn to sit; Biscuit learned to chase ribbon, lick Aaron’s chin, bark at his own reflection in the polished fender, and collapse in exhausted triumph upon Emmeline’s slipper.
Aaron, however, glowed with every failed attempt, treating each one like a victory.
By the time Miss Harrow suggested they allow the puppy to sleep, the boy’s stammer had softened into something sofaint that Emmeline could scarcely hear it. That small miracle followed her out of the drawing room. It showed her what Aaron might sound like if he were not always bracing for the world to correct him.
But so did the memory of his face paling near the river. It was a fear no child should know, and he had swallowed it down so quietly that she almost hated the house for teaching him how.
By afternoon, the thought had become too heavy to leave untouched.
Emmeline looked for Mrs. Vale, the housekeeper, and found her in the linen room, counting folded sheets.
“Mrs. Vale,” Emmeline said, pausing at the threshold. “Might I ask you something?”
She had meant to sound casual, but the strain entered her voice before the first word had settled.
The housekeeper turned at once and dipped into a respectful curtsy. “Of course, Your Grace.”
“It concerns Lord Aaron.”
Mrs. Vale’s expression changed almost imperceptibly, mouth tightening. “Is the young master unwell?”
“No,” Emmeline said quickly. “No, nothing of that sort. He is quite happy with Biscuit.”
Despite herself, the housekeeper’s mouth softened. “I have heard as much. The scullery maid says the creature has already attempted to overthrow the kitchen.”
“He is ambitious,” Emmeline replied, and then her smile faded. “But yesterday, while we were walking, we came near the river.”
