Chapter Two
The following morning, Henry sat on the edge of the drawing room sofa with his blanket clutched in both hands. The fabric spilled onto the carpet, a small, deliberate tether in a room that still felt too wide, too open.
Marcus knelt before him and reached for the buttons of his coat.
“You may leave the blanket,” he said quietly.
Henry shook his head once.
Marcus let it be. He had learned which refusals were fear and which were certainty, and this was the latter. Some things were not obstacles but crossings. You went with the child, or you went nowhere at all.
“Very well,” he said. He fastened the last button and smoothed the wool flat. “We’re going to see Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She’s found someone who may help with your lessons.”
Henry’s brow pinched. “A tutor?”
“A music teacher.”
Henry studied his hands as though the answer might be written there.
Marcus waited. Richard had once called it the quiet method, leaving space until whatever coiled tight inside the boy loosened on its own. Marcus had learned that silence, used well, could be a kindness.
After a long moment, Henry whispered, “Do I have to go?”
“No,” Marcus said at once. “But today would be a good day to meet her.”
Henry nodded. The movement was small, but it was there.
Marcus stood and offered his hand. Henry took it immediately, his fingers cold and sure, as though the choice had never truly been in question.
Outside, Grosvenor Square lay washed in pale spring light. Henry blinked against it, never loosening his grip. Marcus adjusted his pace without thinking, matching the boy’s careful steps.
When the carriage arrived, Marcus lifted him inside and sat beside him. The wheels rolled on. Henry leaned just enough to rest against his arm, not clinging, not retreating. Simply there.
A few streets passed before Henry spoke again. “Will she be kind?”
“Yes,” Marcus said. “And patient.”
Henry’s shoulders eased, the smallest release of breath marking the difference.
Cleveland Row came into view. Marcus stepped down first, turned, and helped Henry to the pavement. The boy hesitated, his eyes fixed on the unfamiliar street.
“It’s all right,” Marcus murmured. “I’m with you.”
Henry nodded and followed him inside.
Theseus bowed. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon is expecting you, my lord. And you too, young master.”
They walked the corridor Marcus had crossed alone the day before. Now the space felt altered, measured instead by Henry’s careful breathing at his side.
Bessie met them at her parlor door.
Henry’s grip tightened.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice warm without being loud. “Master Henry. I’m glad to see you.”
Henry dipped a careful bow. “Good morning, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
Something in Marcus’s chest drew tight and then eased.
Bessie opened the door wider. “Miss Edgewood is inside.”
Henry’s breath caught. Marcus rested a steady hand on his shoulder.
From the chair near the hearth, a young woman rose.
Miss Edgewood. Lila. She stood with her hands loosely clasped, her posture easy, her gown plain. Her expression was simpler still. Calm. Unhurried. Kind.
Henry stopped.
Nothing about her appearance demanded attention. Yet the room settled the moment she stood there, as though some quiet balance had been restored. The noise of the house faded a little. Even Henry’s breathing eased.
Marcus noticed the change before he understood it.
Lila did not speak. She waited, allowing him to see her without demand.
Marcus felt the faint tremor run through Henry’s hand.
Lila lowered herself slowly until she knelt at Henry’s level. She did not reach for him. Did not crowd. She simply placed herself where he could look at her if he wished.
“Good morning, Master Henry,” she said softly. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
Henry stared at her shoes.
“That’s a fine blanket,” she added. “My brother had one when he was small. He said it made the world quieter.”
Henry glanced up.
Lila smiled, small and contained, meant only for him. “If you’d like to sit near the fire, you may. We don’t have to talk yet.”
Marcus kept his hand steady, letting the choice belong where it should.
After a breath, Henry nodded.
Lila stepped back, giving him room. Henry crossed the parlor slowly and settled into the chair by the hearth, the blanket drawn close.
Lila did not follow him. She turned to Marcus instead.
“He did very well,” she said quietly.
Marcus let out a breath he did not know he was holding.
“He played three notes,” he said.
Bessie’s brows rose. “Three?”
“Possibly two and a half if we are strict.”
The corner of her mouth twitched.
Marcus felt the answer before he intended it and allowed the faintest smile.
“For Henry,” he said, “that is practically a symphony.”
The remark slipped out easily. Too easily.
Bessie stilled.
“Well now.”
Marcus frowned slightly. “What?”
“There you are.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The face,” she said calmly. “I had wondered where you misplaced it.”
Marcus felt the smile vanish almost instantly.
“I have misplaced nothing.”
“Have you not?” Bessie leaned back in her chair. “Because for half a second just now you looked exactly like the man who used to charm half the ladies in this house and three-quarters of the gentlemen.”
“That man,” Marcus said evenly, “was an idiot.”
“Undoubtedly,” Bessie agreed. “But he was a lively idiot.”
Marcus exhaled and glanced toward the door where Henry had disappeared.
“The boy played,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” Bessie replied. “And for one moment you looked alive again.”
Marcus did not answer.
After a moment, he reached for his gloves.
“It will not happen again.”
Bessie only smiled.
“Oh, my dear boy,” she said gently.
“I very much hope it does.”
Marcus swallowed. “He tries.”
“He succeeds,” she said, as though it were not a matter of opinion.
Bessie watched from across the room, her expression thoughtful and unreadable.
Lila returned her attention to Henry. “May I play something for you?”
Henry’s fingers tightened on the blanket, then loosened. He nodded.
She took her place at the pianoforte. The first notes emerged carefully, as though feeling their way into the room. Light. Measured. Soft enough not to startle.
Henry’s shoulders eased almost at once.
Marcus stood behind him, holding himself utterly still, as though any movement might break the fragile line of sound Henry was following.
The melody was simple. A child’s tune. Grace had once hummed something like it when she needed steadiness more than distraction. Marcus let the memory pass through him without resistance.
When the final note faded, Henry whispered, “Again?”
Lila smiled. “If you wish.”
She played it once more. This time, Henry’s fingers loosened on the blanket. A small, tentative breath escaped him.
Hope rose sharp and unfamiliar in Marcus’s throat. He forced himself to breathe past it.
When Lila finished, she stood. “That’s all for today,” she said. “Tomorrow, we’ll play more, if you like.”
Henry nodded. Not bravely. Not timidly. Simply yes.
Marcus felt something inside him give way.
Lila turned to him. “He needs quiet. Routine. Nothing sudden.”
“Yes,” Marcus said.
“And gentleness.”
He met her eyes. “He has that.”
Her expression shifted, not pity, not judgment. Recognition.
Bessie stepped forward. “I believe that concludes our first meeting.”
Henry stood, blanket still in hand. Marcus took his fingers carefully.
“Goodbye, Miss Edgewood,” Henry said.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lila replied.
Marcus inclined his head. Words felt unnecessary.
Still, as Henry reached for his hand, Marcus found his attention drawn once more to Miss Edgewood.
A music teacher.
Young. Composed. Alone in a room where his presence carried far more weight than hers ever could.
It occurred to him, not for the first time, that a man in his position did not have the luxury of harmless mistakes.
Marcus dismissed the thought at once.
Henry’s lessons were what mattered.
Nothing more.
Outside, the air seemed cleaner. Henry lifted his face to the light, eyes closing as though committing the warmth to memory.
Marcus tightened his grip, not to restrain, only to steady his son.
They walked home slowly. Quietly. Together.
Something in the morning had shifted.