Chapter 18
“You look as though someone has handed you a live snake,” Hugo peered over the edge of his newspaper, one eyebrow raised.
Across from him, Edward stared at the note in his hands, the plain seal already broken, the contents both simple and inexplicably unsettling.
“It is from Lady Sophia.”
“Ah.” Hugo set down the paper. “That explains the expression. What does she want?”
Edward read the note again, though he had already committed it to memory.
“She wants me to bring Oliver to a spring fair.” Edward folded the note and tucked it into his coat. “As a supervised visit.”
“That sounds delightful.” Hugo reached for his brandy. “Fresh air. Entertainment. A chance for the boy to behave like an actual child instead of a miniature prisoner.”
“He is not a prisoner.”
“He rarely leaves the house. He has no playmates. His primary companion is a nursemaid ten times his age.” Hugo sipped his drink. “Prisoner may be strong, but it is not entirely inaccurate.”
Edward stared at the fire crackling in the hearth. The leather chair creaked beneath him as he shifted. White’s bustled with its usual afternoon crowd, gentlemen reading papers and conducting quiet business, but the noise faded to a distant hum.
He had spent little time with Oliver since that first disastrous dinner. Had read him one story, filled one water jug, and otherwise maintained a careful distance. The boy needed stability, not the awkward fumbling of an uncle who did not know how to be a parent.
“I do not know what to do with him.” The admission emerged rough. “At a fair. In public. What if he runs off? What if he makes a scene?”
“Then you will find him and manage the scene.” Hugo’s voice softened. “Edward. He is four years old. He wants to eat sweets, watch puppet shows in the park, and have someone pay attention to him. It’s not complicated.”
“It feels complicated.”
“Only because you are thinking about it too much.” Hugo leaned forward. “Go to the fair. Let the boy have fun. Let yourself have fun if you remember how. And if Lady Sophia happens to be there looking fetching in a bonnet, well.” He grinned. “Consider it a bonus.”
Edward did not dignify that with a response.
But he went.
The fair sprawled across the green, a riot of color and noise that assaulted Edward’s senses the moment they arrived.
Stalls lined the paths, hawking ribbons and toys and roasted nuts.
Children shrieked and darted between adults.
A juggler tossed flaming torches into the air while a crowd gasped and applauded.
Oliver’s hand tightened in his.
Edward looked down. The boy’s eyes had gone wide, his small body pressed close to Edward’s leg. Fear or excitement, Edward could not tell. Perhaps both.
“Stay close,” Edward said. “Do not wander off.”
Oliver nodded without speaking.
They walked the perimeter of the fair, Mrs. Palmer trailing behind with her hands clasped and her expression wary. Edward steered them away from the thickest crowds, away from the stalls selling sticky sweets, away from anything that might cause mess, chaos, or tears.
Oliver grew restless within minutes. He tugged at Edward’s hand, craning his neck toward a stall selling spinning tops. Edward pulled him back.
“Not now. We will look later.”
“But I want to see.”
“Later.”
Oliver’s lower lip jutted out. His steps slowed to a sullen drag. Edward felt the familiar frustration rising in his chest, the certainty that he was doing this wrong, that he was clueless on how to make a child happy.
“Your Grace.”
The voice slid through him like sunlight through clouds. He turned.
Lady Sophia stood before him in a pale blue gown, a simple bonnet framing her face.
Her mother hovered beside her, smiling warmly.
But Edward barely noticed Lady Brimsey. His attention fixed on Sophia, on the way the afternoon light caught the green of her eyes, on the slight flush that crept across her cheeks when their gazes met.
“Lady Sophia.” He bowed. “Lady Brimsey. How pleasant to see you.”
“Sophia!” Oliver released Edward’s hand and launched himself at her skirts.
She laughed and crouched to embrace him. The sound of her laughter loosened something in Edward’s chest. He watched her smooth Oliver’s hair, watched the boy’s face transform from sullen to radiant, and felt a pang of something that might have been jealousy.
“Have you seen the fair yet?” Sophia asked Oliver. “There is so much to explore.”
“Uncle Edward says we have to stay away from the crowds.” Oliver shot him a resentful glance. “And I cannot have any sweets.”
“I did not say that.” Edward’s jaw tightened. “I said later.”
Sophia rose, and her eyes met his. Something flickered there, an understanding that bordered on challenge. “Perhaps we could walk together? I know the fair rather well. My father used to bring me when I was Oliver’s age.”
Edward hesitated. Then he nodded.
They set off into the crowd with Oliver between them and his small hand now clasped in Sophia’s. Lady Brimsey walked with Mrs. Palmer a few paces behind, the two women falling into easy conversation. Edward felt superfluous.
“There.” Sophia pointed toward a striped booth where a crowd had gathered. “The Punch and Judy show. Oliver, have you ever seen one?”
Oliver shook his head, his eyes already wide with curiosity.
“Then we should remedy that immediately.”
They found a spot near the front, Oliver bouncing on his toes to see over the heads of the children before him. Edward positioned himself behind the boy, ready to catch him if he stumbled.
The show began. Brightly painted puppets popped up from behind the booth, squawking and squeaking and hitting each other with alarming enthusiasm. The crowd roared with laughter. Oliver shrieked with delight and clapped his hands as Mr. Punch walloped a constable with his stick.
Edward frowned. “This seems rather violent for children.”
“It’s Punch and Judy.” Sophia’s lips twitched. “Violence is rather the point.”
“But surely there are more educational forms of entertainment.”
“Look at his face.”
Edward looked. Oliver was laughing so hard his whole body shook, his small face alight with pure, uncomplicated joy. It was the happiest Edward had ever seen him.
He said nothing more about educational entertainment.
When the show ended, Oliver tugged them toward a stall selling wooden toys. Spinning tops, carved animals, and tiny soldiers lined the shelves. Oliver examined each one with the seriousness of a general inspecting his troops.
“This one.” He held up a carved horse with its mane flowing and its legs poised mid-gallop. “Please, Uncle Edward?”
The pleading undid him. Edward paid the vendor without haggling, then watched Oliver clutch the horse to his chest as though it were made of gold.
“What will you name him?” Sophia asked.
Oliver considered this with great solemnity. “Thunder.”
“An excellent name for a horse.”
They wandered on. A vendor with a wooden contraption stood at the edge of the path, dipping a wire loop into soapy water and blowing streams of iridescent bubbles into the air. Children chased them, laughing, popping them with eager fingers.
Oliver stopped dead. His mouth fell open.
“Would you like to try?” The vendor grinned and offered a smaller loop.
Oliver looked up at Edward, asking permission with his eyes.
“Go on.” Edward’s voice came out gruffer than he intended.
The vendor showed Oliver how to dip and blow.
The first attempt produced nothing. The second, a single wobbly bubble that popped almost instantly.
But the third sent a cascade of shimmering spheres floating into the afternoon sky, and Oliver’s face split into a grin so wide it seemed to encompass his entire being.
Sophia laughed. The sound wrapped around Edward like a warm blanket, unexpected and disarming. He watched her instead of Oliver, watching the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, and the way she pressed her hand to her chest in delight.
She caught him staring. Their eyes held for a moment too long.
Edward looked away first.
“Sweets!” Oliver pointed toward a stall where a woman sold candied apples, honeyed nuts, and small cakes dusted with sugar. “Please? You said later, and it is later now.”
Edward couldn’t argue with the logic. He purchased honeyed nuts for Oliver, who immediately got them everywhere, and then turned to Lady Brimsey.
“May I offer you something? And you, Lady Sophia?”
Lady Brimsey requested a candied apple. Sophia hesitated, then pointed to a small cake with pink icing.
“Those were my favorite as a girl,” she admitted. “My father always bought me one. I haven’t had one in years.”
Edward bought two.
He watched her take a bite, watched her eyes close in pleasure, and watched a crumb of pink icing cling to the corner of her mouth. The urge to reach out and brush it away with his thumb rose up so strongly that he had to clench his fist at his side.
She opened her eyes and caught him staring again. This time, neither of them looked away.
“Uncle Edward!” Oliver’s voice broke the spell. “Look! A man with dogs!”
They followed Oliver to where a performer had set up a small ring. Three terriers in tiny waistcoats leaped through hoops, walked on their hind legs, and performed tricks that seemed to defy the natural order of canine behavior.
Oliver was transfixed. He clutched Thunder the horse in one hand and his bag of honeyed nuts in the other, his eyes never leaving the dogs.
Edward stood beside Sophia, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The afternoon had slipped away without his noticing. The sun hung lower now, casting long golden shadows across the green. He had lost track of time entirely.
“Thank you.” The words emerged before he could stop them.
Sophia glanced at him. “For what?”
“For this.” He gestured at Oliver, at the fair, at the afternoon that had somehow transformed from obligation to something approaching pleasure. “I would not have known how to do this without you.”
Something softened in her expression. “You did it yourself, Your Grace. I merely pointed the way.”
“Edward.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“My name.” He kept his gaze on the performing dogs. “You may use it. When we’re not in formal company.”
A pause stretched between them. When she spoke, her voice had gone soft.
“Edward.”
His name on her lips did something dangerous to his resolve. He turned to look at her, found her watching him with an expression he couldn’t read, and felt the careful walls he had built crack.
“Sophia.”
She smiled. It was not the polished smile she wore in ballrooms, the careful mask of propriety. This smile reached her eyes, warmed her entire face, and Edward realized with sudden, startling clarity that he was in far deeper trouble than he had ever imagined.
Oliver chose that moment to tug at his coat.
“Uncle Edward. Can we get a dog?”
“No.”
“But—”
“Absolutely not.”
Oliver’s face crumpled, ready to protest. Sophia crouched beside him.
“Perhaps,” she said, “you might practice by taking excellent care of Thunder first. Show your uncle how responsible you can be. And then, someday, you can discuss a dog again.”
Oliver considered this. He looked at the carved horse in his hand. Then he nodded, his disappointment fading into determination.
“I will take the best care of Thunder. The very best!”
“I have no doubt.” Sophia straightened and met Edward’s eyes with a hint of mischief. “Someday is a very long time from now, after all.”
Edward bit back something that might have been a laugh.