Page 13 of The Pleasure in Persuasion

The foursome then carried on down the scenic dirt lane and into the charming village square. As instructed, they collected the children’s new boots at the milliner’s, and then Frederick surprised his nieces and nephew with a stop at the sweets shop where he purchased a peppermint stick for each of them.

And now, lastly, they were on their way to their final stop of the day: The Weeping Whiskers Inn.

Anticipation filled him at the thought of seeing Miss Grayling again. The reaction was bemusing, to say the least, but he gave it a mental shrug. Lily Grayling was an attractive woman, and he was a man with a keen interest in attractive women, especially one who was so determined not to be charmed by him. Perversely, her determination to resist only made him more determined to keep trying.

“Uncle Frederick?”

He turned to find his nephew beside him, his short legs pumping, the half-finished peppermint stick bobbing in his hand.

The boy’s sisters trailed behind them, bickering over something, though Frederick couldn’t make out what they were discussing. It was probably just as well.

“Yes, Willie?” he asked with an encouraging smile, intentionally slowing his strides.

“Do you have...sisters?” Willie’s nose scrunched up as he said the word, as if it stunk of rotten eggs, and Frederick had to suppress a laugh.

“I have two, like you,” he said. “Your mother is my sister, and so is your Aunt Margaret.”

Willie’s frown cleared, surprise taking its place, as if he’d only just learned that sisters could also be aunts.

“Do you like them?” he asked, his tone of voice both curious and dubious.

“I do. Don’t you like yours?”

The boy’s gaze dropped to his new boots, and he shrugged. “Sometimes. But Cathy is such a baby and she’s always asking me to play baby games, and Gretchen thinks she can order me about just because she’s older than me.” He huffed out a sigh. “It’s very annoying.”

Frederick nodded. “I know exactly how you feel.”

“You do?”

“I have two older sisters and an older brother. I used to have two older brothers, but George is—” He broke off and cleared his throat, attempting to dislodge the unexpected lump there.

“Dead?” Willie supplied, before giving his peppermint stick another lick.

A pang of regret speared Frederick’s chest as George’s face flashed through his mind, his ever-present smile wide with mischief. It was a smile he hadn’t seen in nearly ten years, since before George left to fight Boney in the war. He died in battle in 1814, one of the many fallen soldiers who had spent their final moments on the battlefield at Toulouse.

“Yes,” Frederick said softly. “He’s dead.”

Willie nodded. “My father died. He fell off his horse. I was only seven then.”

“I know. That’s...” He cleared his throat again. “I’m sure you miss him very much.”

His nephew nodded again then went back to his peppermint stick, and Frederick couldn’t help but feel he’d let the boy down. He should have said more, something meaningful and wise. After all, he knew what it was to lose someone. He knew what it was to lose a father.

Frederick was only a few years older than Willie when his own father had unexpectedly died, and the loss had hit him hard. His father was his closest confidant, his idol, and suddenly he was gone.

He knew exactly what Willie was going through, and because of that, he felt a kinship with the boy, and a certain duty to him. He knew he should say more, but what? The right words eluded him, and his chest grew tight with regret and disappointment.

Useless. Good for nothing. Idiot.

He batted back the self-recrimination, and nearly heaved a sigh of relief as The Weeping Whiskers Inn finally came into view.

“There it is!” Gretchen cried excitedly, as if they’d arrived at a unicorn sanctuary instead of a roadside inn.

The girl shot past Frederick, her two long braids flying behind her, and her siblings followed, Willie clearly determined to keep pace with his older sister while Cathy trailed after them, her gaze downcast, seemingly more interested in admiring her new boots than keeping up with her siblings.

The door to the inn opened as the foursome approached, and a small, gray-haired woman walked out onto the front step, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Mrs. Grayling! Mrs. Grayling!”