Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Judith had arrived earlier than expected.
It was fortunate, Lucy thought, as she fussed with the final touches of her attire.
The extra time meant that Judith had already begun making her acquaintance with the boys.
Anthony had informed her that she had spoken to each of the brothers alone when she arrived.
Anthony had shown her to the library, Daniel had spoken to her in the drawing room, and Brook had spent some time with her in the west hallway.
Lucy had not been present, and part of her felt a flicker of unease at that thought. She adjusted the folds of her gown, smoothing a crease she could not entirely banish, trying to still the nerves fluttering in her stomach that had appeared ever since she and Rowan had that moment in the study.
She figured that if Judith had taken the time to speak to each child individually, then perhaps dinner would proceed more smoothly than Lucy had feared.
Now it was time. The table had been set with meticulous care, polished silver glinting faintly in the candlelight, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread filling the air.
Lucy took her seat at the end of the table, her posture careful, hands folded neatly in her lap.
Brook sat close beside her, fidgeting slightly, while across the table, to Rowan’s right-hand side, Daniel chatted with Judith, who sat to Rowan’s left.
Lucy could see the ease in Daniel’s face, the way his eyes lit when Judith asked him a question, and the little laugh that escaped him.
Judith, poised and composed, leaned slightly toward Anthony, seated to her left, speaking with an ease that made the older boy smile in response.
Lucy watched, and she could not help but allow herself a small, private smile at the scene.
The way Judith engaged with the children was warm, and even Lucy could see that Judith had a natural way with them.
Yet, despite it all, a faint disquiet tugged at the pit of her stomach.
Something about the scene, something about how smoothly Judith was moving among the children, made Lucy’s chest tighten ever so slightly.
She knew it was right. She knew Judith belonged here in some measure.
Still, her own presence at the table felt precarious.
Leaning a fraction closer to Brook, Lucy kept her voice low. “She seems to be having fun with Anthony,” she observed. “She seems nice, don’t you think?”
Brook did not answer. He took a slow sip of water instead, eyes focused elsewhere, almost as if the question had not touched him at all.
Lucy’s small smile faltered. She felt the familiar tug of concern but brushed it off, not wanting to cause a distraction in the middle of dinner by asking Brook why he was so quiet.
She adjusted slightly in her chair, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Well,” she murmured, careful not to press too hard, “I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? You have all the time in the world to get to know her.”
Rowan’s voice carried down the length of the table, then, a little louder than before. “You mentioned roses earlier,” he said, turning slightly toward Judith. “White ones, if I recall. Are they truly your preference, or were you only being polite?”
Judith laughed, a light sound that made Anthony and Daniel glance between them with interest. “I would never insult roses by pretending affection,” she replied. “White, yes, but only when they are properly kept. Neglect ruins them entirely.”
Rowan smiled at that, the expression reaching his eyes. “Then we are in agreement. A garden reflects its keeper.”
“It does,” Judith said, amusement lingering in her gaze. “Though some people insist flowers should simply be admired, not understood.”
“I would argue otherwise,” Rowan answered, leaning back slightly, clearly enjoying himself. “My garden is dear to me. Although I do not like to say that out loud.”
Judith laughed again, and this time, Rowan joined her, the sound easy, unrestrained.
Lucy felt it before she had time to stop it.
A small tightening in her chest. An uncomfortable feeling that was entirely out of place at a dinner she herself had helped orchestrate.
She watched them for a moment too long, watched the way his posture softened toward Judith, the way his tone shifted when he addressed her.
It unsettled her.
She told herself it was foolish almost at once.
Of course, he laughed with Judith. Of course, he spoke easily with her.
That was the point of all of this. The point of the letters, the conversations, the arrangements.
Seeing them together should have brought relief, should have felt like confirmation that everything was unfolding as it ought to.
Lucy lowered her gaze to her plate, schooling her thoughts.
This was good. Necessary. The sooner this match took root, the sooner she could leave the house and leave behind these strange, inconvenient feelings that had begun to cloud her judgment.
She would return to her work, to her independence, to the clarity she had always prized.
“What about you, Brook?” Judith asked, snapping Lucy back to reality. “How are your studies? Does Anthony help you with them?”
Brook did not respond. He kept his face fixated on his plate.
“Brook,” Rowan said, his voice dropping an octave. “Lady Judith was kind enough to ask about your studies. It is only polite to answer when you are spoken to.”
Brook didn’t look up. He was systematically shredding a piece of bread into tiny, jagged crumbs. “I don’t have anything to say to her.”
The clink of silverware stopped. Judith’s smile remained fixed, but her eyes cooled, shifting toward Rowan as if waiting to see how he handled a breach in decorum. Rowan’s jaw tightened, the muscle leaping in his cheek.
“Brook, apologize for your rudeness. Now.”
Lucy felt the sudden chill in the room. She saw the way Brook’s shoulders hunched and the way Rowan’s posture went rigid. Brook’s attitude puzzled her. He was naughty, but he was never that rude. Not when the situation called for seriousness.
But before the situation could spiral, Lucy reached out, her hand hovering just near Brook’s arm without touching him.
“Perhaps Brook is simply overwhelmed by the day,” Lucy suggested softly.
“It’s a lot of pressure to be a host, isn’t it, Brook?
It has been a while since you have entertained visitors, Your Grace.
Perhaps he is shy. Brooke,” she turned to him, “that was not a nice thing to say. You have to apologize. I think if you give Lady Judith a chance, you’ll find she knows quite a bit about the things you enjoy.
I heard her mentioning the stables earlier. ”
She turned to Judith, offering a smile. “Isn’t that right, My Lady? Perhaps Brook could show you the new pony tomorrow? He’s quite the expert on the trails.”
For a fleeting second, Brook’s eyes flickered to Lucy, and he let out a sigh.
“I don’t want to show her anything,” Brook muttered, his voice trembling. “I want everyone to leave me alone. In peace. I would rather not talk.”
Rowan stood up, his chair screeching against the floor. The sound was like a gunshot in the silent room, causing Lucy to jump. “That is enough! You will not be disrespectful to a guest in this house. Stand up and apologize to Lady Judith this instant.”
“No!” Brook shouted.
He surged to his feet so abruptly that his knees knocked the table. In his haste to escape the looming shadow of his father’s fury, his arm swept across the table. The heavy crystal goblet, filled to the brim with water, tipped and flew.
The icy water landed squarely against Lucy’s chest, the water soaking through her bodice and silk skirts in a heavy, freezing wave.
“Brook!” Rowan’s voice thundered, but the boy didn’t wait. He turned and bolted from the room, the sound of a falling glass shattering against the floor echoing behind him.
“Lucy! My goodness,” Rowan hissed, his anger at his son instantly pivoting into horror as he saw her dripping wet.
He reached for his linen napkin and walked over to her side.
“I am so incredibly sorry. Someone get towels! Anthony, go after your brother. Stay with him. He is not to leave his chambers until I say so.”
Judith sat back. “Oh, the poor thing. Is he all right?”
Lucy sat there for a moment, the cold water seeping through her layers.
She looked down at the mess, but she wasn't thinking about the silk.
She was thinking about Brook's eyes. He hadn’t looked like a child wanting to be the center of the room like he always did when he was naughty.
He had looked like a child who wanted to disappear.
It bothered Lucy, and she wondered if they had made a mistake.
Anthony had been the one to tell her that they needed a mother in the house. She wondered if perhaps... Brook did not feel the same. Now that she thought about it, she had not asked him personally.
“It’s quite all right,” Lucy said, her voice steady despite the shiver starting in her spine. She waved off the approaching servants. “Truly, Your Grace, don’t be furious. It was an accident. He’s just having a difficult evening.”
“His behavior was inexcusable,” Rowan said, his face flushed with rage as he crouched down to her side, watching her wipe her dress with the cloth he handed her.
“He’s a child,” Lucy reminded him gently in a whisper, so only the two of them could hear. “Please let me handle this. I will speak to him after the dinner.”
Rowan shook his head. “No, I will handle it. That boy—”
“Something is definitely wrong,” Lucy rasped, leaning in further. “Brook may be defiant, but he is never this rude. He adores you. I have never seen him go against your wishes before. Have you?”
Rowan sighed and shook his head again.
“Exactly. Let me talk to him, please,” she pleaded, standing up as the water dripped from her hem. “I’ll just go make myself presentable again. Please, continue with dinner. I won’t be long.”