He let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair as he began to walk towards the drawing room. He heard the sound of a soft and gentle voice, mingling with his footsteps.
“Auntie it is.” Harriet’s voice was light and bright, and it sent a rush through him. “Aunt Harriet always makes me feel so old.”
Theodore paused, not quite level with the door as his ears strained to hear Phoebe’s reply. The sound of a merrily crackling fire mingled with the steady thrum beneath his ribs.
Theodore took a cautious step towards the doorway. “Would you like a biscuit?” Harriet was asking. “I have always been rather partial to these myself.”
He could see into the room now, and only years of controlling his reactions kept him from gasping. Harriet was sitting on one of the sofas beside the fireplace, an ornate tray of tea and biscuits in front of her and pressed close to her was his niece.
She was swinging her legs nervously, but even from this distance, he could see the small, shy smile on her face. It tugged at something deep within him.
“Would you like one?” Harriet reached towards the plate of biscuits and offered one to Phoebe.
He expected his niece to recoil or to shrink away, but she did not. Instead, she nervously reached towards a biscuit. Her movement was slow, cautious and she looked up at Harriet, as though waiting for something.
Harriet nodded to the girl encouragingly, moving the tray slowly towards her. It looked to Theodore like the way someone wouldoffer food to a wounded animal. Phoebe’s hand hovered by the biscuits and then she darted out and grabbed one, taking a nervous bite and then another.
“Have you had a nice day?” Harriet asked as she put the biscuits down.
Phoebe swallowed and nodded, but she did not say anything. For a moment, he had thought – no, hoped – she would. He saw her hand move towards another biscuit.
“Would you like another? They are my nephew’s favorite. Well, he is not really my nephew, but I think of him as one. His guardian is like a sister to me.” He could hear the carefully constructed lightness in Harriet’s tone. She was deliberately trying to gain his niece’s trust—and it was working.
Harriet watched Phoebe carefully as she continued to speak, not moving closer to her but allowing the girl the option of moving towards her if she wanted. “His name is Oliver. He is nearly nine.”
He watched as his niece straightened, and saw a smile on her face. Harriet returned the smile. Warmth spread through Theodore. Though it felt distant, as though it were a fire being viewed from behind a glass window.
Phoebe’s eyes were practically saucers and Theodore saw her scoot even closer to Harriet. “Perhaps you might like to meet him? It might be fun for you to have a friend your own age? Onlyif you would like of course. And probably not for a while – I will need a little time to find my feet.”
He saw his niece’s shoulders relax and felt a knot uncoil in his own stomach.She is not running away.Harriet tapped a finger against her lips, the movement sending a thrill through Theodore’s body. She leaned towards Phoebe, more slowly than Theodore suspected she would usually move and to his surprise, Phoebe mirrored her movement.
How is this possible?He shook his head in wonder as Harriet said in a conspiratorial way, “I do not suppose you might be able to help me? I am sure you know all sorts of things about this place, and I know it would be rather lovely to have some company.”
Phoebe’s eyes brightened and she nodded shyly before looking down at the floor. His brow furrowed as he tried to understand what he was seeing.
“Wonderful.” Harriet beamed, her hands twitching as though she had stopped herself from clapping her hands together. “Given the lateness of the hour, perhaps we should start properly tomorrow. I imagine you are usually in bed by this time?”
Phoebe nodded.
“I am very honored that you stayed up to speak with me.” Harriet tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “If I had been more sensible, I would have brought you a gift, but I was rather preoccupied with the wedding.”
There was tension in her shoulders that told Theodore just how true her words were. “My mother used to read to me when I was your age. She did all sorts of silly voices – perhaps I could read to you? You could show me some of your favorite books?”
Theodore only realized he had taken a step forward when the floorboard beneath his feet creaked. All eyes snapped towards him. Phoebe nearly sprang off the sofa as Harriet got to her feet.
His niece stayed close to Harriet, half hiding behind his wife’s dress. Theodore put his hands behind his back, gripping them tightly as he fought to keep his disappointment from his face.
“Good evening, Phoebe.” He inclined his head towards his niece.
She did not reply, merely bit her lip and curtseyed. Harriet looked between him and his niece. “I was just suggesting that Phoebe might show me some of her favorite books so I might read to her.”
“There should not be any children’s books here.” Theodore gestured behind him. “They belong in the library, not the drawing room.”
He noticed Phoebe move even closer to Harriet. His wife shifted, her face a mask he could not read. “I suppose it was a silly idea. It is rather late.”
Theodore’s frown deepened. He had only wanted to explain that she would not find anything suitable to read in the drawing room.
“Perhaps another night?” Harriet’s eyes met his briefly before returning to Phoebe.
