“What is that?” Theodore looked up from his desk, frowning at the open window.
It was just before noon. He had completed his rounds of the estate, checked Phoebe’s room and then retired to his study. He was about to start on his second pot of coffee, when the oddest sound drifted through his window.
He strained his ears, trying to work out what it was. He heard voices, women’s voices he guessed and something else. Laughter.Why are there women laughing in the garden?
Theodore moved towards the window, his irritation growing. “The servants should know better than to behave like this.”
A delay to his work this morning would throw off the rest of the day, it would put his entire week out of sync. Disorder would invite chaos and even if it did not, he hated disruption.
“Found you!” The high, excited voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
That cannot be possible.He shook his head, feeling his heart press closer and harder to his chest. He knew that voice, though he had scarcely heard it in months, and never full of that degree of excitement.
In an instant, his irritation vanished. He crossed to the window in a single step, every muscle in him wound so tightly he felt like a spring ready to explode. The air around him was charged with anticipation as he peered into the gardens below his study.
He gripped the windowsill with white knuckles, blinking rapidly as he took in the scene. Phoebe was in the gardens with Mrs. Morton, Lucy and Harriet. Yet it was obvious that this was no lesson.
The women were running around, as was his niece. Even Mrs. Morton had joined in.What on Earth is this?What did Harriet think she was doing?
Harriet’s laughter echoed around the grounds, mingling with the birdsong and his niece’s delighted giggles. “I am going to get you.”
As he watched, he saw Phoebe push herself away from the tree, flinging herself out of Harriet’s reach, a smile so broad and shining on her face that it reminded him of the sun at high noon. Yet as his niece tried to wriggle away from his wife, herfoot snagged on something, sending her tumbling towards the ground.
“This has gone far enough,” Theodore muttered as he launched into action, striding from his study and taking the stairs two at a time in his rush towards the garden.
Fool. Contemptible fool.He had let his curiosity get the better of him, and now his niece would likely be hurt because of it.Discipline. Structure.That was what would keep her safe. Things he could control, not whatever this madness had been.
But her smile.A small voice inside him whispered even as he shoved it away. The sound of her laughter followed each of his steps, even as he pictured her little body tumbling towards the ground.
He burst into the garden, the blood in his body thundering through him so violently it made him sick. He blinked in the harsh sunlight even as he searched the area for a sign of his hurt niece.
As soon as he saw her, the cotton wool that had filled his chest vanished and air flowed more easily. Phoebe was back on her feet, apparently undeterred by the fall as she danced away from Harriet, using Lucy as a barrier between the two of them.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and the smile on her face was no less broad than it had been when he had seen her from the window in his study. He took a step towards the women, searching Phoebe for some sign of cut or injury.
“Phoebe.” His words were a blanket that quelled the giggling and laughter like sand thrown onto a fire.
He barely noticed the Mortons' blanching faces, did not hear their greetings as they curtseyed to him. All he saw was his niece. As soon as she heard his voice, her eyes darted towards him, the smile on her face fading.
Are you hurt?“You have a stain on your dress.” He pointed to it.Is there a cut or bruise beneath it?“What are you doing out here?”
The smile vanished and she recoiled, looking away from him. He took a step towards her, even as he felt a dagger slide into his heart.
“We were playing Touch.” Harriet stood between them, a hand protectively on Phoebe’s shoulder.
“She is supposed to be studying.” Theodore turned his full attention to his wife.
“She is a child,” Harriet replied. “And you told me that she should be my priority. I am trying to fulfill that duty.”
“By inviting chaos and disorder?” Theodore pictured his niece falling again. “What were you thinking?”
“That children must be allowed to be children!” Harriet snapped, stepping towards him, her eyes blazing.
Her words startled several birds from the bushes and Theodore heard Mrs. Morton gasp. Harriet had not raised her voice, but she had not bothered to hide her irritation either. His eyes narrowed.
“Mrs. Morton, Lucy, kindly take Phoebe back into the house for lunch. I would like to speak with my husband alone.” There was no trace of a delicate wallflower in her voice; this was the tone of a woman who expected to be obeyed.
Theodore wished it did not impress him – he knew it should irritate him. He could feel the other women’s eyes on him, sense their hesitation.
