Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
“M-may we go as f-far as the orchard?”
Emmeline looked down at Aaron at once. He was not looking directly at her, but at the path ahead, his small fingers tight around the wooden horse.
“The orchard?” she asked gently.
He nodded, still watching the path. “There is a p-pear t-tree there.”
“A pear tree,” she repeated, making her voice thoughtful. “That sounds important.”
“It is n-not only a p-pear tree,” he said quickly, then caught himself and glanced up at her, as if he feared he had spoken too boldly. “It is… it is a f-fortress.”
Emmeline stopped walking because such news clearly deserved her full attention. “A fortress?”
His eyes lifted to hers properly now. “The b-branches m-make walls. And t-t-there is a p-place inside where one can s-sit.”
“I see,” she said, lowering her voice. “Then it is a secret fortress.”
Aaron’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”
“And you have been keeping this from me?”
His cheeks colored faintly. “I d-did n-not know if you would want t-to see it.”
“I must see it now.” Emmeline kept her expression warm. “Lead the way, dear.”
Aaron smiled properly then, and the sight went through her with such tenderness that for a moment she could not speak. He was still uncertain. But around her, his words were beginning to find their way out.
Behind them, Miss Harrow walked in composed silence. Emmeline felt the governess watching, and for once, she thought the woman’s watchfulness held relief rather than warning.
She wondered, unwillingly, what Rowan would make of it. Whether he would see that Aaron was not being indulged, but coaxed gently out of fear. The thought of him pulled at the bruise he had left behind.
It had been two days since she had left Rowan’s study, burning with humiliation and want. Two days since he had touched her face, since she had called him a coward and watched him become stone again.
Since then, they had been painfully civil.
At breakfast, he asked if her rooms were comfortable. She said they were. At dinner, he asked after her father. She answered. He watched her when he thought she did not notice, and she pretended not to feel it.
She forced her attention back to Aaron.
“And what is Comet’s role in this fortress?” she asked.
“He g-guards it,” Aaron said. “But only f-from the inside.”
“A sensible horse.”
Aaron stopped walking, frozen in place. His little hand tightened around the wooden horse. His face had gone pale, his eyes fixed ahead.
Emmeline noticed the sound then, soft and moving beneath the trees. Water. A river nearby, glinting silver through the branches.
Emmeline’s chest tightened. “Aaron?”
He did not answer.
Miss Harrow stepped closer at once, her voice careful. “Your Grace, perhaps we should return by the upper path.”
Emmeline looked from the governess to Aaron, and understood there was something here she did not know. Something sharp enough to frighten him silent.
She wanted to ask. Wanted to kneel and take his hands and say, What happened here? But she remembered Rowan’s warning, remembered the way his face had closed whenever the past came near, and for once, caution held her tongue.
Instead, she lowered her voice. “I think the pear fortress can wait until after luncheon.”
Aaron blinked, but his gaze stayed on the water.
“After?” he whispered.
“Yes. I am always a better judge of fortresses after cake.”
His eyes flickered to hers. “Cake?”
“If the kitchen can be persuaded.”
For one breath, he only looked at her. Then his shoulders loosened, barely. “We c-can go b-back?”
“Of course,” Emmeline said gently.
Aaron swallowed and nodded.
Emmeline turned first, giving him room to follow without feeling watched. Behind them, the river kept moving, but she did not look back.
They began back toward the house by a narrower path through a cluster of trees.
For several minutes, Aaron said nothing. Emmeline let the silence remain, only matching her pace to his shortened steps. The breeze moved through the branches above them, stirring leaves into a soft, restless whisper.
Miss Harrow walked behind them, and though the governess remained composed, Emmeline felt the woman’s watchfulness on her back.
The river sound faded.
Then a small, broken whimper came from somewhere beyond the low hedge to their right.
Aaron stopped again, but this time the fear in him changed shape. His head lifted. “Did you hear that?”
Emmeline turned. “I did.”
Another whimper came, thin and pleading.
Aaron’s eyes widened. “It is hurt.”
He was moving before Miss Harrow could caution him. Emmeline gathered her skirts and followed, pushing through a gap in the hedge into a small shaded hollow where the grass grew long and damp beneath the trees.
The whimper came again.
“There,” Aaron breathed.
Near the roots of an old oak, half-hidden beneath a tangle of fallen leaves, was a puppy.
It was small, mud-streaked, and miserable, with floppy ears too large for its head and a pale patch on its dark muzzle. It looked up at them with round, frightened eyes, then gave a tiny shiver that seemed to pass through its whole body.
Aaron dropped to his knees at once. “Oh.”
The sound held so much tenderness that Emmeline’s chest squeezed.
“Carefully,” she murmured, lowering herself beside him. “It may be frightened.”
The puppy whined again, but when Aaron held out his hand, it sniffed his fingers instead of retreating.
“He is cold,” Aaron said, and the stammer had almost vanished. “And dirty.”
“He may have wandered from somewhere,” Emmeline said, though she could not stop herself from softening as the puppy pressed its nose into Aaron’s palm. “His mother may be searching for him.”
Aaron looked at her, stricken. “Then we must find her.”
“Yes,” Emmeline said, though something in her already feared there would be no mother to find. “We shall look.”
And so, they searched the hollow. Miss Harrow called toward the path.
Emmeline walked the edge of the trees, scanning the bracken and roots for movement, listening for answering barks.
Aaron remained near the puppy, speaking softly to it in a voice so clear and gentle that Emmeline felt her throat tighten.
“You are s-safe,” he whispered. “We are looking. Do not be af-afraid.”
The words seemed to open something inside her.
After a quarter of an hour, there was nothing. No larger dog. No rustle in the brush. No sound but birds and the soft panting of the puppy, who had begun to inch closer to Aaron.
Miss Harrow’s mouth tightened. “Your Grace, it may have been abandoned.”
Aaron heard. His face changed at once. “No.”
Emmeline turned to him.
He had lifted the puppy into his arms. The little creature was pressed against his chest, muddy paws marking his coat, its head tucked beneath his chin.
“Please,” he said, looking at Emmeline. “We cannot leave him.”
His stammer had disappeared entirely. The realization struck Emmeline so hard that for a moment she could only look at him.
His eyes were bright, frightened, hopeful. He did not seem to notice that the words had come clearly, as if love had outrun fear. But Emmeline saw the warmth Rowan kept frightening back into corners. The life still there, waiting for someone not to command it smaller.
“No,” Emmeline said softly. “We cannot leave him.”
Aaron’s breath left him in a rush. “Truly?”
“Truly. We shall take him back to the house. If he belongs to someone, we shall find out. Perhaps His Grace will know whether any neighboring estate has hounds.”
Aaron’s face fell slightly at the mention of Rowan. “Father may say n-no.”
Emmeline felt a familiar heat sharpen in her chest. “Then we shall ask very politely.”
“He says no of-often.”
“Yes,” she replied, unable to help herself. “I have noticed.”
Aaron smiled faintly and the puppy licked his chin.
Aaron gasped, delighted. “He k-kissed me!”
“So he did. That may strengthen your petition considerably.”
Miss Harrow looked as though she was doing her utmost not to smile.
By the time they returned to the house, Aaron had already named the puppy three times and discarded each name as inadequate. The creature dozed against his chest, exhausted, while Aaron walked more carefully than Emmeline had ever seen him move, every step taken with solemn purpose.
The front doors opened before they reached them.
Rowan already stood in the entrance hall.
For one instant, Emmeline’s body betrayed her so violently that she nearly forgot the muddy puppy entirely.
He wore a dark coat today, fitted cleanly over his shoulders, his hair slightly wind-tossed from whatever duty had taken him outside.
His gray eyes moved first to her face, then to Aaron, then to the small animal in his son’s arms.
His expression hardened. “What is that?”
Aaron stopped dead. The puppy lifted its head and blinked sleepily.
Emmeline stepped forward before Rowan’s tone could crush the fragile excitement in the boy’s face. “A puppy.”
Rowan’s gaze shifted to her, flat. “I can see that.”
Aaron held the puppy closer. “We f-found him.”
Rowan’s attention returned to him. “Where?”
“Near the east wood,” Emmeline answered. “We heard him whimpering.”
Rowan looked at the puppy again, and his mouth tightened. “You brought a stray animal into my house.”
“Our house,” she said before she could stop herself.
Rowan looked at her, and for a moment, everything else thinned.
The servants lingering discreetly at the edges.
Miss Harrow’s anxious stillness. Aaron’s careful grip.
The puppy’s tiny sigh. There was only Rowan’s gaze, and the memory of his hand against her cheek, and her words between them like a dare.
Then Aaron spoke, breaking the moment. “May we k-keep him, F-Father?”
Rowan exhaled. “No.”
Aaron flinched.
Emmeline’s heart dropped, then flared. “You did not even consider it.”
“I do not need to consider keeping a stray animal in the house.”