Chapter 6
Tobias watched Miss Marwood and the children leave, their quiet footsteps fading down the corridor. The moment the door shut behind them, he crossed the room in two quick strides and reached Lady Viola.
He offered his hand to help her stand, his movements controlled, though the heat rising in his face betrayed more than he wished. His jaw tightened once as he steadied her, the effort to keep his composure clear in the way he drew a slow breath before moving.
He guided her out of the dining room, his hand firm at her elbow.
The last of the servants slipped in behind them to clear the table, their presence a reminder of how public the moment had been.
He kept his gaze forward, refusing to let the embarrassment show in anything but the slight stiffness in his shoulders.
He focused on the cadence of his steps, using the movement to control himself. The room behind him still felt strained, and he needed a moment to regain his thoughts. He reminded himself that the household watched him closely, and any lapse in composure would only complicate matters.
They reached the drawing room. A maid was still tending the fire, her posture tense as she kept her attention fixed on her work. She stayed at the far side of the room, quiet and unobtrusive, sensing the strain without looking up.
Tobias waited until the door closed and the quiet settled. Only then did he allow himself a breath that was not perfectly calm.
Hold steady. Do not let this slip further out of your control.
Tobias could still see Julian’s stricken face and Miss Marwood’s steadying hand, and it affected him in a way that he did not wish Viola to notice. The memory stayed close, clear and insistent, and he felt it stir something deep inside him.
He tried to push the image aside, but it remained fixed in his mind. The quiet steadiness in her voice had touched something deep within him. He did not understand why it lingered.
Do not let this show. Not now. Not in front of her.
He inhaled deeply, keeping his expression controlled as he turned his attention back to the moment that needed to be handled.
Deal with this first. Set it right. Then think again.
“You were unkind to Miss Marwood,” he said. “And to my nephew.”
Viola turned toward him with a look of mild surprise. “Unkind? I corrected a child who ruined my gown. Surely you do not fault me for that.” Her tone carried an almost teasing tone, as if she expected him to agree with her without question.
Tobias did not answer at once, and her eyes narrowed slightly, waiting.
“Julian was frightened,” he finally replied. “He needed reassurance, not reprimand.”
Viola let out a sharper breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “He needed to learn that actions have consequences. You coddle him far too much.”
She lifted her chin, her posture straightening.
“And as for Miss Marwood, she stepped in where she was not required. I addressed the matter as any reasonable person would.”
She looked him in the eye and refused to yield. Viola’s lips pressed together, a faint spark of defiance in her expression. “If you wish your household to run on soft words and indulgence, that is your choice. But do not expect me to pretend that her behavior was beyond reproach.”
“It is not indulgence to comfort a frightened child,” Tobias said. “He needed some grace.”
“And Miss Marwood provided it with remarkable eagerness,” Viola said.
“You have now defended her rather quickly as well.” She lifted her chin in her practiced way that made her seem older than her twenty-four years, although she spoke with a confidence and certainty far beyond what she had actually experienced in life.
Her eyes held a pointed challenge, waiting for him to contradict her.
He felt the familiar tightening in his chest and knew he needed to guard his expression. “She behaved appropriately.”
Viola studied him with a slow, deliberate curiosity. “You seem very invested in her comfort.”
He kept his posture still, aware that any shift might reveal more than he intended. He had no desire to discuss Miss Marwood with Viola, and he disliked the direction of her questions. He needed to keep the conversation contained before she drew conclusions that were not hers to make.
“I am invested in the order of my household. Nothing more.”
“You have never hidden your feelings well,” Viola said, her tone light but unmistakably probing. “Are you certain there is nothing you wish to say about your piano tutor?”
“There is nothing to tell.”
He kept his voice even, although the question hit closer than he preferred. He forced his expression to remain steady. He could not allow her to see how much the mention of Miss Marwood unsettled his thoughts or how quickly he reacted to hearing her spoken of at all.
Viola stepped toward the hearth, tracing her fingers along the back of a chair. “How are you managing, Tobias? Truly. Your brother’s death, your father’s passing, the title placed on you so suddenly … I imagine it has been difficult.”
Tobias breathed out slowly, the smallest release of tension, relieved that her attention had shifted away from Miss Marwood at last. He moved a step to the side, putting a little distance between them.
He watched her hands for a moment before answering. “I manage as I must.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
She turned back to him, studying him with an intense focus. Her eyes switched to his face, searching for something he had no intention of giving. He shifted his weight, clasping his hands behind his back to keep them still.
She watches me closely. She wants to find something in my face, something I do not intend to show. She is waiting for me to slip or admit to something I have no reason to share. I will not give her that. Not now. Not to her.
He held her gaze without allowing anything to surface. He had learned long ago that silence was often the safest response. Viola had a habit of pressing until she found a weakness, and he refused to give her anything she could use to unsettle him further.
When she could not find a crack in his composure, she shifted her approach.
“And the estate?” she asked. She paused, her hand resting lightly on the back of the chair. “I hope you have been able to steady the accounts.”
Tobias lifted his head slightly. “What do you mean by the accounts?”
His tone stayed even, but he watched her closely. She has never asked about this before. Why now?
She shifted her weight and shrugged her shoulders before turning a little toward the fire. “Your father left matters in a state that would trouble any man.”
What does she want from this question?
“The estate’s finances are not a topic I recall discussing with you,” he said.
Viola looked back at him, calm and composed.
“I only wondered whether you were managing,” she said, her voice light but her attention fixed on him.
“I am,” he said.
Viola held his gaze for a moment before glancing toward the chairs near the hearth and giving a small, deliberate smile.
“Let us sit,” she said. “We have spoken of enough unpleasant things for one evening. I would prefer to talk about happier matters.”
He hesitated.
She wants to keep me here longer. I should end this now. But refusing outright will only invite more questions.
He gave a short nod.
“Very well. For a moment.”
Tobias chose the chair that allowed him a clear view of the door, a small precaution he did not examine too closely. Viola settled into the opposite chair, arranging her gown elaborately before looking up at him again.
“It has been some time since we last sat together like this,” she said.
He nodded slightly, offering no encouragement.
She folded her hands in her lap. “It has been years since we ended our engagement.”
There it is.
“Sometimes I think of what might have been,” she said, her voice softening in a way he recognized from their past.
He had no interest in revisiting old conversations. He kept his stance firm, unwilling to let her guide the moment.
“There is no purpose in revisiting it,” he replied.
Viola leaned back slightly, studying him. “I only meant that we were once very close. It is natural to reflect on it.”
“I know what you meant,” Tobias said. He rose before she could continue. He needed distance from her questions, from her prying eyes, and from the way she kept circling subjects he refused to expose.
“It is late. A maid will show you to your room.”
She looked up at him, startled by the firmness in his tone. “Tobias …”
“Good night, Viola.”
He left the drawing room before she could say another word.
The farther he walked, the easier his breath came. He reached the main staircase and took it at a steady climb, one hand on the railing, his focus fixed on the upper landing.
Miss Marwood had brought Julian upstairs after dinner, and Tobias assumed she had already settled him with the maid who would help him prepare for bed.
This part of the house feels much easier to bear.
He walked the last stretch of the corridor and paused outside the nursery sitting room when he heard the faint rustle of movement inside.
He stood still, listening.
He waited for another sound, trying to judge whether the children were unsettled or simply restless. He preferred to see for himself rather than rely on assumptions, especially after the tension of the evening.
Someone is awake. I should look in before the night closes fully.
He slowly opened the door and saw Julian sitting alone on the small sofa, still in his day clothes, his nightshirt folded neatly on the table where the maid must have left it before stepping out. He looked up the moment Tobias entered, his eyes wide with worry.
“Uncle Tobias,” Julian said, his voice tight, “I am sorry about the table. I did not mean to spill anything.”
Tobias crossed the room and sat beside him. “It is all right,” he said. “Everything is fine.”
Julian hesitated, his hands twisting together. “Is Lady Viola mad?”
“No,” Tobias said. “She is not.”
Julian looked up at him, searching his face. “She seemed angry.”
Tobias shook his head once. “She was startled. That is all. I just finished speaking with her, and she is not angry.”
Julian studied him for another moment. “Are you mad?”
“No,” Tobias said. “Not with you.”
He rested a hand lightly on the back of the chair to keep the boy’s attention on him. “You did nothing wrong.”
Tobias saw some of the tension release from Julian’s shoulders. He looked down at his hands, then back up again.
“Miss Marwood told me it would be all right,” he said. “She was kind.”
Tobias nodded. “She is very patient with you.”
Julian’s voice grew steadier. “She is much kinder than Lady Viola. I like her. Amabel does, too.”
Tobias pushed his own thoughts aside as he rested his hand on his nephew’s back. “I know you do,” he said. “And she cares for you both.”
Tobias helped Julian change into his nightshirt, guiding his arms through the sleeves and smoothing the fabric over his shoulders. The boy stood very still, as if afraid any movement might cause another mistake. When he was dressed, Tobias led him to the bed and pulled the blankets up around him.
“Good night,” Tobias said.
Julian looked up at him, his voice barely above a whisper. “You are sure you are not angry?”
“I am sure,” Tobias said. “Rest now.”
Julian nodded and settled against his pillow. Tobias waited until his eyes drifted closed before stepping quietly out of the room and pulling the door softly behind him.
He started to walk down the hallway, but slowed when he realized he had done it. One step, then another, each one losing a little of its purpose.
Turn back. Go to the study. Finish the work.
He did not turn back.
His hand brushed the wall as he walked, steadying himself more than guiding his path. The corridor stretched ahead, quiet and orderly, and he felt the pull of it even as his thoughts pushed in the opposite direction.
There is no reason to be here. I know that. I should stop this before it becomes something I cannot explain.
Another step.
He adjusted his coat, a small, unnecessary motion meant to occupy his hands.
If I were sensible, I would already be seated at my desk. I would have the ledgers open. I would not be walking toward the guest rooms.
He paused for a breath, then kept going.
I should not be here. Yet I keep moving.
Each step felt too loud in the quiet house.
What am I doing? he thought.
Miss Marwood had been in the house for a very short time, and already he found himself unsettled in so many ways that he could not explain.
Turn back. This is foolish.
But he kept walking.
Viola was wrong. And Miss Marwood was upset. You must try to make it right.
He stopped outside her door.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring at the polished wood as though it might offer him an answer. He raised his hand to knock, but his fingers hovered in the air, suspended between intention and restraint. He could not bring himself to touch the door.
Shame settled heavily in his chest.
He had allowed Viola to speak to her with a sharpness that should never have gone immediately unchallenged.
He had placed Miss Marwood at the dinner table without preparing her for the scrutiny she would face.
He had thrust her into a situation she could not have anticipated, and he had done far too little to shield her from it.
You failed her. You know you did.
He lowered his hand.
He stepped back slightly, trying to gather his thoughts. He knew he had approached her door without a clear purpose, and he needed to regain control of his intentions before he acted on impulse.
From inside the room came a faint sound. A soft, uneven breath. Then another. It took him a moment to understand what he was hearing.
She was crying.
The sound tightened something deep in him. He wanted to knock. He wanted to tell her she had done nothing wrong. He wanted to undo the entire evening.
But he did not move.
I have no right to intrude. She is a young woman alone in her chamber, and I am her employer.
He shook his head.
The social constraints are clear, and I have already ignored enough of them for one night.
He took a deep breath.
Stepping into her private grief will not help her. It will only make matters worse.
He stood there for a long moment, the soft sound of her sorrow slipping through the door.
Then he turned away.
I have already done enough damage tonight.