Page 108 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

Anxiety had been plaguing her ever since she’d come downstairs. The same uneasy panic she experienced when attending a fashionable dinner party. No longer anchored by Jasper, she was unmoored again and drifting, desperate for any safe harbor.

At the moment, their bedchamber seemed a tempting port in the storm.

But she wouldn’t run away this time. She couldn’t stomach the thought of what the children might think if she did. It wouldn’t do for them to believe their stepmother a scared little mouse of a woman, ready to dart back into her mouse hole at the first sign of discomfort.

Julia was determined to be braver than that.

“I begin to think you have the only sharp knife at the table,” she remarked lightly as Jasper passed her plate back to her. It seemed an innocuous statement, one she made with an effort at cheerfulness, meant to break the uncomfortable silence.

The effect it had on the table was instantaneous.

Jasper frowned. Mr. Beecham paled. Daisy’s eyes goggled. And both boys immediately sat to attention.

“Forgive the oversight, ma’am,” Mr. Beecham said. “I should have given you one of the sharpened ones, but I’m that used to setting out cutlery for the children.”

“You don’t permit the boys to handle sharp knives?” she asked.

“Not anymore,” Charlie said before Jasper or Mr. Beecham could answer. “They were all locked away after our knife-throwing competition last year.”

Alfred pointed proudly to a white line on his earlobe. “I still have a scar from it.”

Julia’s brows shot up. “Your brother threw a knife at you?”

“They threw knives at each other,” Jasper said. “An unfortunate occurrence.”

She looked between the two boys. “But . . . why?”

“We read it in a penny novel,” Alfred explained. “A champion knife thrower and his rival had a contest.”

“The first to draw blood was the loser,” Charlie said.

Alfred smiled gleefully. “Which means I won.”

Mr. Beecham shuddered at the memory. “My heart nearly failed me when I saw what they were up to. Captain Blunt had to summon the doctor from Hardholme.”

“For Alfred and for Beecham.” Charlie shoved a forkful of potatoes into his mouth. “They were both laid out flat.”

Alfred nodded. “Beecham had apoplexy. He nearly died.”

“That’s quite enough,” Jasper said. “We needn’t relive it.”

Julia had no idea managing young boys could be so fraught. “What a frightening event.”

“One of many.” Jasper locked eyes with the boys. “We’re not proud of ourselves, are we?”

“No, sir,” Alfred and Charlie replied in unison. Their answer was swift, if not entirely convincing.

“You don’t get into trouble, do you, Daisy?” Julia asked the little girl.

Daisy paused in the act of lifting her goblet to her lips with both hands. She carefully set it back on the table, her eyes seeking Jasper’s, as if asking his permission to speak candidly.

He gave her a slight nod.

She sat a little taller in her seat. “I tore my new dress climbing a tree.”

“Goodness,” Julia said. “I hope you could repair it?”

“Mr. Beecham sewed it.”