Chapter 12
Tobias could still feel the imprint of her hand against his palm as he stepped out of Amabel’s room.
The impropriety of it struck him first, then the thrill.
His fingers tingled where they had touched hers.
He had not meant to reach for her. He had not meant to keep holding on.
But the warmth of her hand had steadied him, and the memory of it followed him down the corridor.
He tried to focus on the familiar details of the house, hoping they would bring his thoughts back into order.
The portraits, the polished floor, the faint scent of beeswax should all have focused him.
Yet none of it helped. His mind kept returning to the moment in the sickroom, and he could not seem to redirect it.
He needed distance and clarity. And he needed anything that would quiet the feeling that had taken hold of him beside his niece’s bed.
Julian found him before he reached the stairs. The boy’s eyes were wide with worry, and his voice trembled. “Is Amabel worse?”
Tobias studied the boy’s face, noting the tension around his eyes. Julian had always tried to appear composed, but worry had worn through his usual restraint. Tobias felt a quiet responsibility settle on him. He wanted to give the child an answer to ease his fear without offering false certainty.
“She is not better yet,” he said, keeping his tone steady. “But she will be better. She is resting.”
Julian swallowed. “Should I play for her again? Would it help?”
“Not now,” Tobias said gently. “She is sleeping. And you will have the day free from lessons.”
Julian nodded, though his brow stayed tight. “All right. But … could she hear me yesterday? When I played for her?”
“Yes,” Tobias said. The word came out more quietly than he intended. A surge of emotion rose in him as he remembered Amabel asking about the music, and the way Miss Marwood had soothed her with such calm tenderness.
He had not expected the memory to hit him so sharply. The sound of Amabel’s small voice asking about the music had stayed with him. He had replayed it more than once, unsure why it affected him so strongly. He pushed the thought aside, unwilling to examine it further.
Julian hesitated. “Uncle … would you like to play a game?”
Tobias almost refused. He felt too raw, too unsettled. But Julian’s small, frightened face, still carrying the weight of worry for his sister, loosened something in him.
“Yes,” Tobias said. “I would.”
He followed Julian into the yard, aware that the boy needed something simple and familiar.
Tobias had not played like this in years, yet the request felt reasonable.
He reminded himself that the child had endured a difficult night.
If a game could ease his worry, then Tobias could give him that much.
Julian declared they were pirates, and Tobias let himself be dragged into the game.
They ran across the lawn, shouting orders, brandishing sticks as swords.
Julian found fallen fruit beneath a tree.
He gathered small apples and half-soft berries and began tossing them at his uncle, laughing for the first time in a while.
Tobias dodged one, caught another, and felt a rare lightness rise in him.
Then Julian threw a berry a little too hard and a little too high.
It sailed through the air and struck Viola squarely on the shoulder as she walked along the path.
She stopped at once.
Her face darkened.
“Tobias,” she said sharply, “discipline him.”
Julian froze, the color draining from his cheeks.
Tobias stepped between them. “Lady Viola, it was an accident. The boy did not intentionally throw it at you.”
He turned to Julian, softening his tone. “Perhaps next time, look around before you throw anything. Remember, we are not actually on the high seas.”
Julian stifled a giggle.
Tobias felt a faint sense of relief at the sound.
It had been too long since Julian had shown any lightness.
The moment reminded him that the boy was still young, still learning how to navigate a world that had changed too quickly.
Tobias wanted to protect that small spark of childhood where he could.
“That is not discipline,” Viola said sharply. “Boys are meant to be struck when they misbehave. How else do they learn?”
Tobias felt a coldness settle in his chest. He placed a steady hand on Julian’s shoulder. “Go inside, dear boy. We will continue our pirate adventure later.”
Julian obeyed without hesitation, slipping past him and hurrying toward the house.
Only when the child was out of earshot did Tobias turn back to Viola. “Do not speak of such things in front of him.”
She lifted her chin. “You show him great kindness. Yet you know better than most how necessary firm guidance can be.”
“I understand precisely what discipline is,” Tobias said. His voice stayed calm, but there was no mistaking the resolve beneath it. “And what cruelty is. I will not confuse the two.”
He held Viola’s gaze, unwilling to let her misinterpret his resolve. He knew she believed her methods were correct, but he could not accept them. The children had already endured enough loss, and he would not add fear to their lives. He felt certain of that, even if he questioned many other things.
Viola’s eyes flashed. “You are making a mistake.”
“Perhaps,” Tobias said. “But it is mine to make. And I will not strike him. Good day.”
He did not wait for her reply. He walked away, still feeling the warmth of Miss Marwood’s hand against his own, and remembering the sound of Julian’s brief laughter.
The rest of the afternoon and evening passed quickly. Tobias kept to the quieter parts of the house, listening for any sound from the nursery corridor. He knew that Miss Marwood had taken her meal in Amabel’s room and had not left her side.
He sent servants to check often, bringing him reports every fifteen minutes, but he did not go himself. He knew he could not be near Miss Marwood just then, and he knew she was of greater comfort to the child than he was.
He had dinner with Julian, keeping the conversation gentle, and afterward, they read together in the drawing room.
For a little while, hearing that Amabel had been awake, Julian played her favorite pieces again.
Tobias sat in the music room and watched, grateful for the small lift in the boy’s spirits.
Viola had withdrawn to her own quarters and had not emerged again.
Only late at night, when he was certain Miss Marwood had stepped away, did Tobias go in to tell Amabel goodnight.
She was sleeping peacefully, her breathing soft and even.
He hardly slept afterward, rising again and again to check on her, but he did not return to the room while Miss Marwood was there.
A knock sounded on his door early the next morning. Tobias set aside the coat he had been fastening and called for the visitor to enter.
Weatherby stepped inside, composed as always, though there was a hint of relief in his eyes.
“My Lord, I bring news of Miss Amabel.”
Tobias straightened at once. “How is she?”
“Much improved, sir,” Weatherby said. “She is awake and currently enjoying her breakfast in her room with Miss Marwood.”
Some of the tightness in Tobias’s chest eased. “Truly?”
The news was better than he had dared hope. He allowed himself a brief moment of quiet relief before turning his thoughts toward what the day might bring. He wanted to see Amabel, but he also knew he should not intrude too soon.
“Yes, My Lord. She ate well and spoke with Miss Marwood. If her strength continues to return, the doctor believes she may be able to come downstairs by evening. Perhaps only for a short while, but she hopes to play the piano for a bit.”
Tobias let out a slow breath, the first steady one he had taken since the day before. “Thank you, Weatherby.”
Weatherby bowed and withdrew, leaving Tobias alone with the quiet, welcome news that his niece was recovering.
Later that afternoon, Viola joined him for tea. She took the seat opposite him with her usual composure, her expression calm and unreadable. The sunlight through the windows brightened the room, catching faintly on the pale fabric of her gown.
Tobias poured the tea, grateful for the quiet after the long night and the long morning that had followed.
“I am told Amabel is much improved,” Viola said, accepting her cup. “I am relieved.”
“So am I,” Tobias said.
She stirred her tea once, then twice, then set the spoon aside with a soft clink. “And I must apologize,” she said. “For what I said yesterday. About Julian. I spoke too harshly.”
Tobias looked up, surprised. Viola rarely apologized for anything.
“I only worry,” Viola said, her voice quieter than the day before, “and I hope you do not think I am trying to overstep. We spoke of this yesterday, I know. But I have been able to observe much more than you, since you are so often occupied with your work.”
Tobias kept his gaze on his cup, saying nothing.
“The new piano teacher is a bad influence,” Viola continued. “Not intentionally, of course, but she is shockingly impertinent. Frivolous. Irresponsible. I cannot imagine what possessed you to hire someone like her.”
He kept his expression neutral, though the words did not sit well with him. He disliked hearing Miss Marwood described in such terms. He had seen her work with the children, and nothing about her behavior matched Viola’s accusations.
Tobias set his cup down. “Miss Marwood is capable. The children like her.”
“That is precisely the problem,” Viola said. “They are learning very little. They spend their time playing, laughing, and running about as if they were common children in the village. And as I said yesterday, she is far too familiar with them.”
She paused, then added with a softened tone, “And with you.”
Tobias felt the heat rise at the back of his neck. Viola watched him closely, waiting for a reaction.
“People are going to talk,” she said. “They already are. They are saying that the fact you would allow someone like her to work here suggests poor judgment.”
She let the silence stretch, then added, “Or worse.”
The accusation hit Tobias, but he did not look away. He set his cup down, the porcelain clicking softly against the saucer. “It has barely been less than a month,” he said. “The children care for her.”
The next words came into his mind without warning.
I care for her.
He forced them back down before they could escape.
“She needs time to prove herself,” he finished instead.
Viola looked him over the rim of her teacup, her expression thoughtful. “Then perhaps,” she said slowly, “you both need something to work toward.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You have been living like a recluse since your brother’s death,” Viola said. “It is time you reemerged into society. People are beginning to wonder if you intend to hide here forever.”
He stiffened, but she pressed on.
“And Miss Marwood, if she is to remain here, she needs a goal as well. Something that will force her to demonstrate her worth. Something public.”
He did not like the direction of this conversation, but he did not know how to stop it.
Viola leaned forward, her voice softening into persuasion. “Hold a party. A month from now. Make it a proper gathering to reintroduce yourself to the local nobility. It would do you good. And as part of the evening, the children should give a recital.”
Tobias blinked. “A recital?”
“Yes,” Viola said brightly. “Let Miss Marwood show everyone how accomplished she is. Let her prove she is not the frivolous, irresponsible girl she appears to be. If she succeeds, the gossip will quiet. If she fails … well. You will know what must be done.”
He bristled at the implication, but the idea lodged itself in his mind. A recital. A chance for the children to shine. A chance for Miss Marwood to show what she could do.
A chance to see whether she would rise to the occasion.
Viola watched him closely. “It is a sensible plan.”
He exhaled while slowly nodding his head. “Very well.”
Her smile was triumphant.
But Tobias barely saw it. His mind had already drifted back to the warmth of Cecily’s hand beneath his, to the comfort of her voice beside Amabel’s bed, and to the way she had looked at him without fear.
A recital. A party. A test.
And he had agreed.
Why did I agree to this?
The answer came to mind before he finished asking himself the question.
Because they will rise to it. The children will excel under her guidance.
He considered the idea again, turning it over in his mind. A recital would require discipline, practice, and patience. It would also give the children something to anticipate. He knew Miss Marwood would approach the task with care.