“Formidable,” she returned. “I see I must take care in dealing with you, General.”
Thomas smiled.
Not merely a passing expression, but a true smile—bright, unguarded, transforming his entire face in a way Dominic had never witnessed, because to witness it would require presence, attention, a willingness to see.
Something shifted in Dominic’s chest—sharp and sudden, like a fracture reopening.
He looks like William.
When William smiled thus—before everything had been reduced to blood and darkness and regret—
Dominic must have made some sound. Or perhaps Miss Weston simply sensed him. Her head turned, and her gaze met his through the narrow gap in the door.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then she rose, smoothing her skirts, her expression settling into composure. “Your Grace. We were not aware of your presence.”
Thomas froze. The light drained from his face, replaced at once by that familiar, guarded blankness. He scrambled to his feet, standing stiffly, hands at his sides—a child braced for inspection.
The change was immediate. Absolute.
This is what I do,Dominic thought.I enter a room, and the light is extinguished.
“I heard—” His voice was rough; he cleared it. “I was passing. There was… noise.”
“We were engaged in a game of soldiers.” Miss Weston’s tone remained polite, though cooler now. “I discovered the set in one of the storerooms. I trust there is no objection.”
“They were mine.” The words escaped him. “When I was young.”
Something flickered in her expression. “Then Thomas is fortunate indeed to make use of them. Are you not, Thomas?”
The boy nodded, though his gaze remained fixed upon the floor.
Dominic ought to leave. To retreat, to resume the careful distance that had sustained him thus far. Instead, to his own astonishment, he heard himself ask:
“Who is winning?”
Silence fell. Thomas lifted his head slowly, uncertainty written plainly upon his face. Miss Weston’s eyes widened, though only slightly.
“General Thomas has the advantage,” she said after a moment. “His flanking manoeuvre was most effective.”
Dominic’s breath caught.
For an instant, the room seemed to waver. He turned to the boy.
“Your father,” Dominic said, more quietly than before, “was an excellent tactician as well.”
Thomas’s gaze lifted—still wary, but now threaded with something else. Something fragile.
“Will you…” His voice was scarcely audible. “Will you play with us?”
The question lingered in the air.
Dominic was aware of Miss Weston watching him, her gaze steady. Of Thomas, braced for refusal. Of the soldiers scattered across the carpet, awaiting command.
He thought of William. Of blood and darkness and the echo of a promise he had never truly known how to keep.
“I cannot,” he said at last. “I have estate business that requires my attention.”
