Dorothea gave Dominic an approving look. “That was incredibly generous of you.”
“It’s probably because he was a soldier,” Tristan added, popping a bite of bread into his mouth. “Like my father.”
Dominic turned back to the boy. “Your father was a soldier?”
Tristan nodded solemnly. “He died a while ago. That’s why I’m the man of the house now. I have to take care of Mum. I promised him I would.”
Dominic squeezed his shoulder. “And you’re doing a fine job, Lad.”
Tristan looked up at him, his eyes full of earnest hope. “Can we go visit her tomorrow?”
Dominic paused, torn between what he should do. He had no desire to go to the hospital again, to relive those painful memories, but he couldn’t deny Tristan the right to see his mother. “I have meetings all morning,” he said. “But perhaps I’ll have some time in the afternoon.”
Dorothea interjected. “I could take him. If you have no objection, that is. It’s not as though I have anything pressing.”
Dominic frowned. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. The hospital isn’t in the most respectable part of Town, and the doctor hasn’t sent word about her condition.”
Tristan clasped his hands together and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, Lord Warwicke. I’m real worried about her.”
Dorothea’s voice took on determination. “I assure you, I’ve been in far worse places than a hospital in London.”
“It’s different now,” Dominic said. “You’re a baroness. You have a reputation to consider.”
“I’m more concerned with Tristan seeing his mother,” Dorothea replied. Her gaze held his—steady, unwavering.
He looked between them, knowing he’d been outmaneuvered. “Very well,” he said at last. “You may go but I’ll send two footmen with you. I’ll not have either of you traveling through that part of Town unescorted.”
A smile played at the corner of Dorothea’s lips. “I can agree to that.”
Tristan, however, had no need for subtlety. His entire face lit up, his missing teeth showing as he beamed. “Thank you, my lord!” he said with fervent gratitude. “When my mum is better, do you think she can come live here, too?”
Dominic winced slightly. “I don’t know…”
But Dorothea cut in. “As it happens, I’m in need of a lady’s maid. Do you think she might like to work here, Tristan?”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Do you mean that?”
“I do,” she replied. “But for now, you should run off to bed. You’ll want to be well-rested for your visit tomorrow.”
“Yes, my lady!” he exclaimed, nearly skipping as he made his way back to the stairs.
Once he’d disappeared, Dominic turned to Dorothea. “That was awfully kind of you.”
She shrugged off the praise. “It was nothing. I genuinely need a maid.”
“You know nothing about her.”
“I know she was married to a soldier and that she’s a mother doing her best to raise her child.” Dorothea turned to face him fully. “That tells me she has strength and a reason to work hard.”
Dominic studied her, searching for something—perhaps doubt, or hesitation—but there was none. Just quiet conviction. He tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the admiration from his voice. “Not many women would do what you just did.”
“Then I suppose I’m not like many women.”
“No,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re not.”
Dorothea glanced towards the darkened window, the moonlight now dimming as clouds passed across the sky. “It’s late,” she murmured. “I should be getting to bed.”
“As should I.”
