Chapter 14 #3
Maribel had observed Thomas’s arrival from an upper window, had witnessed the boy’s obvious nervousness, the way his gaze had darted around Blackwood’s imposing entrance as though expecting to be turned away at any moment despite the formal invitation Oliver had insisted upon delivering personally.
Now they were all assembled in the gardens—the weather too fine to waste indoors—and Oliver’s joy illuminated every face gathered around him like reflected sunlight.
“Thomas! Come quickly—I must show you the soldiers Julian brought me. They are French cavalry, and he says we might stage a proper battle if we—”
The boys disappeared toward the lawn whilst the adults settled near the terrace where refreshments had been arranged. Maribel watched them go, her heart full to near-bursting with gratitude that this celebration could proceed without the shadow of adult complications.
“He is transformed,” Lady Eleanor observed, settling beside her with tea balanced elegantly upon china. “The child who arrived at Blackwood hardly resembles this bright creature. You have accomplished wonders, my dear.”
“Not I alone.” Maribel’s gaze drifted toward where Thaddeus stood speaking with Julian, both men presenting the portrait of aristocratic ease despite whatever tensions might lurk beneath. “His Grace has shown considerable growth in his approach to Oliver’s welfare.”
Eleanor’s shrewd eyes followed her gaze, assessment sharpening. “Indeed. Though I suspect the Duke’s growth extends beyond merely his guardianship.”
Before Maribel could formulate response to that pointed observation, Oliver’s voice rang out with particular urgency.
“Your Grace! Your Grace, you simply must come see—Thomas and I require your assistance with a most important matter!”
Thaddeus looked toward the boys. For one moment Maribel believed he might refuse, might retreat behind the excuse of adult conversation and proper dignity.
But Julian said something—too quiet for Maribel to distinguish—and Thaddeus’s jaw tightened before he nodded once, setting down his glass and moving toward where Oliver waited with barely contained impatience.
“What manner of assistance could possibly require a duke?” he enquired. Though his tone was serious, a smile threatened to pull at the corners of his lips.
“We need a dragon!” Oliver announced with perfect seriousness. “For the cavalry to fight. Thomas says dragons are enormous and breathe fire, and we require someone appropriately sized to portray such a creature, and you are considerably taller than anyone else present, so naturally—”
“You wish me to portray a dragon.”
“Yes!” Oliver’s face shone with hope. “It shall be most realistic, I assure you. We have planned the entire battle sequence, and the dragon is essential to the narrative.”
Maribel watched this exchange with growing fascination. Watched Thaddeus cincider the absurd request. Then he smiled.
“Very well,” Thaddeus said at last, his voice suggesting this was the greatest sacrifice ever demanded of a peer of the realm. “Instruct me in my duties as dragon.”
What followed would remain etched in Maribel’s memory as one of the most extraordinary sights she had ever witnessed.
Thaddeus Blackwood—Duke, master of Blackwood, man who maintained iron control over every aspect of his existence—crawled through grass on hands and knees whilst two small boys directed his movements with the authority of seasoned generals.
He roared upon command. He pretended to breathe fire with commendable commitment.
He even writhed dramatically when the cavalry finally bested him, collapsing upon the lawn with theatrical finality that sent both children into peals of delighted laughter.
He looked utterly ridiculous.
He looked almost happy.
Maribel could not look away. Could not stop watching this glimpse of who Thaddeus might be if he permitted himself such freedom—if he allowed joy rather than constantly guarding against it.
His hair had come entirely loose from its careful arrangement.
His immaculate coat bore grass stains. His cravat had gone askew.
And he was smiling. Truly, genuinely smiling in a manner that transformed his entire countenance, softening harsh lines into something approaching the handsomeness she had always suspected lurked beneath rigid control.
Their gazes met across the lawn.
For one suspended moment, whilst Oliver and Thomas danced victory celebrations around their conquered dragon, whilst Julian and Eleanor observed with knowing expressions, whilst the November sun painted everything golden—their eyes locked and held.
Maribel felt her breath catch. Felt heat flood her cheeks despite the autumn chill. Felt her heart perform some acrobatic manoeuvre within her chest that had no business occurring simply because a man had looked at her.
But this was not simply any man, was it?
This was her husband, whom she was falling for despite every sensible instinct warning her against such foolishness.
This was Thaddeus, who had just sacrificed dignity for a child’s joy.
Who had crawled through grass and roared like a dragon and looked at her now with such intensity that she could scarcely draw proper breath.
Then dignity reasserted itself.
She watched it happen—watched him remember propriety, remember the audience observing them, remember all the reasons why this moment of abandon must be carefully contained.
He rose with careful precision, brushing grass from his ruined coat, his expression smoothing into neutrality even as colour remained high upon his cheeks.
But she had seen.
She had witnessed who he could be if he permitted himself. And the knowledge felt simultaneously like gift and torment—proof that transformation remained possible, yet a painful reminder of how rarely he allowed such glimpses.
The afternoon proceeded with surprising ease.
Tea was served. Cake appeared—chocolate, Oliver’s expressed preference—and was consumed with appropriate enthusiasm.
Thomas overcame his initial shyness sufficiently to speak with Lady Eleanor about gardening, displaying knowledge that clearly impressed her.
As the celebration wound toward its conclusion and Thomas prepared for departure, Oliver flung his arms around both his aunt and Thaddeus with equal fervour.
“This has been the most bestest birthday ever,” he declared with absolute certainty. “Thank you. Thank you both.”
Maribel’s throat tightened watching Thaddeus receive that embrace—watching him stiffen momentarily before his arms came up to return it with awkward gentleness.
“Come along, Master Oliver.” Mrs. Allen said as she appeared in the doorway, her expression fond despite the firmness in her voice. “You’ve had quite enough excitement for one day, I think.”
“I’m not tired,” Oliver protested, even as he swayed slightly on his feet, stifling a yawn. A smudge of chocolate marked his chin, and his eyes held the particular brightness of a child running on pure enthusiasm rather than actual energy.
“Nevertheless.” Mrs. Allen extended her hand. “Bed.”
Oliver looked to Maribel with pleading eyes, but she only smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Mrs. Allen is quite right. You’ve had a splendid birthday, but even splendid days must end.”
“Will Thomas come again?” Oliver asked, his hand slipping into Mrs. Allen’s. “His Grace said he might, but I want to be certain—”
“We shall discuss it tomorrow,” Thaddeus said from where he stood near the terrace doors. “After you have rested.”
Oliver’s face split into a grin and he allowed Mrs. Allen to lead him toward the house without further protest.
Julian rose from his chair, brushing cake crumbs from his waistcoat. “I believe that is my cue to depart as well. Eleanor, might I offer you escort? The roads grow dark earlier these days.”
“How kind of you, Lord Westcott.” Lady Eleanor gathered her reticule, but her eyes held a knowing glint as they met Maribel’s. “Though I suspect your kindness serves a dual purpose.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Julian’s expression was perfectly innocent. Too innocent.
“You mean to lecture Thaddeus about his emotional deficiencies the moment I leave,” Eleanor said tartly. “I see you, Julian Westcott. You’ve been watching him all afternoon with that particular expression you wear when you’re preparing an intervention.”
Julian had the grace to look slightly abashed. “I merely thought to share some observations—”
“Save your observations for another day.” Eleanor moved toward the door, then paused to look back at Thaddeus. “You’ve done well today, Your Grace. Better than you credit yourself. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
She swept from the room with Julian following, his expression caught between amusement and exasperation. Their voices drifted back through the open door:
“You’re entirely too perceptive, Lady Eleanor.”
“And you’re entirely too meddlesome. The man is trying. Let him try without your constant supervision...”
Their words faded as they moved deeper into the house and Maribel found herself turning towards Thaddeus.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For today. For—”
“For crawling through grass and making myself ridiculous?” His tone held self-mockery. “I can only be grateful that the party was intimate, else I suppose the papers would have had rather enjoyable headlines.”
“For giving Oliver something he shall remember always.” Maribel moved to stand beside him, maintaining careful distance whilst watching his profile in the dimming light. “For choosing his joy over your dignity.”
“One hardly excludes the other.”
“Does it not?” She heard herself smile despite everything. “You were magnificent. As dragons go.”
His mouth twitched—barely perceptible, swiftly suppressed, yet unmistakable evidence of pleasure at her teasing.
“The boy deserved a proper birthday,” Thaddeus said after extended silence. “After everything he has endured, the least we could provide was one afternoon free from adult complications.”
“He loves you,” Maribel heard herself say. “Oliver. He loves you, Thaddeus. I hope you know that.”
His hands gripped the terrace balustrade, knuckles whitening. “He loves the attention I provide. The stability. He would love anyone who—”
“No.” She spoke with certainty. “He would not. I have witnessed how he looks at you. How he seeks your approval. How your opinion matters to him in ways that cannot be manufactured or feigned.” She paused, gathering courage.
“You have become his father in all the ways that truly matter. Whether you acknowledge it or not.”
“I do not wish to fail him,” he said quietly. “As I have failed so many others.”
“You have not—”
“I have.” Flat. Final. “My mother. Nicholas. Everyone I have ever—” He stopped himself, but the confession hung incomplete between them, requiring no elaboration. Everyone he had ever loved.
“Then perhaps,” Maribel said softly, “the question is not whether you might fail, but whether the attempting is worth the risk.”
He stared at her, and she watched him process her words, watched understanding dawn alongside resistance.
“You make it sound simple,” he said at last.
“It is not simple. It is terrifying.” She drew breath, steadying herself. “But I believe—I must believe—that choosing to care despite fear is the only thing that makes any of this bearable.”
“Thank you,” Thaddeus said finally, his voice barely audible. “For today. For—” He stopped, and she watched him struggle to complete the thought, to voice whatever he wished to express but possessed no language to communicate.
“You are welcome,” Maribel said simply. And meant it with every fibre of her being.
He turned and walked toward the house, leaving her alone beneath emerging stars, her heart aching with things she could not name and dared not examine too closely.