Chapter Twenty-One
The lesson ended with Henry’s shoulders a little straighter and his eyes bright from the small triumph of mastering a short run of notes.
Lila closed the music book carefully, her fingertips smoothing the corner in a thoughtful glide.
“You did well today,” she said.
Henry nodded, breathless with quiet pride. “I kept the second bar, too.”
“I heard,” she said softly. “And tomorrow, we will make room for a third.”
Marcus felt the warmth in the room shift in a way he had begun to recognize—subtle, but unmistakable. It happened whenever she praised the boy.
The tension left Henry’s shoulders first, then the air itself followed, as though the room trusted her judgment.
Marcus had spent years commanding rooms through force of presence. Lila Edgewood changed them without force at all.
He found the difference difficult to ignore.
Lila’s voice did not simply instruct Henry. It steadied him. Drew him forward.
Drew Marcus forward too, if he were honest.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon stood in the doorway, leaning on her cane.
“You will walk Miss Edgewood home,” she said. Spoken as a suggestion, delivered as fact.
Marcus inclined his head.
Lila looked down, color rising at the back of her neck as though the room had grown warmer.
They stepped out into the spring air. The clouds stretched thin above them, letting pale sunlight filter between them.
Henry trotted ahead a few paces, kicking a pebble along the cobblestones and humming his lesson under his breath.
Marcus slowed slightly to walk beside Lila.
He had not meant to draw closer. Her voice still lingered in him, quiet as a held note.
“You seemed unsettled this morning,” he said carefully.
Lila’s grip tightened around her portfolio. “I did not want Henry to see anything amiss.”
“He sees more than people think.”
She nodded once. “Yes. I know.”
They walked in silence for a stretch. Marcus watched her hands, the way her thumb brushed the edge of the folder, as if it steadied her more than she wished to admit.
“Fenwick will not bother you while Henry is present,” Marcus said.
Her brows drew together. “That is not a comfort. I would prefer he not bother me when I am alone either.”
A muscle worked at the base of his throat. “I intend to see to that.”
A breath caught in her throat—soft, nearly hidden.
“Lord Wolfton,” she said quietly, “you cannot place yourself between me and every unkind man in London.”
“No,” he said. “But I can place myself between you and one of them.”
Lila said nothing for a moment, her gaze fixed on the street, her steps measured as she gathered herself.
The silence between them deepened—not awkward, not unwelcome. Simply full, as though something unnamed waited there.
“Henry is improving,” she said at last.
“He is,” Marcus agreed. “Because of you.”
Her breath hitched for a heartbeat. “I am only giving him what he already holds.”
“You do more than that. You make him believe he can keep it.”
Her steps faltered.
Then Henry turned, waving. “Papa! Miss Edgewood! Hurry!”
They caught up to him at the corner where traffic thickened; carriages, horses, and pedestrians weaving in practiced chaos.
Marcus placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder, steadying him.
Lila’s breath eased when she saw the boy safe.
She cared. More quickly than she intended.
They reached the quieter streets leading toward Dover Street. Lila slowed.
“You may leave me here,” she said softly.
“No,” Marcus said.
She swallowed. “My lord—”
“It is daylight,” he said. “And the street is quiet. Even so, I will walk you to the door.”
She hesitated, torn between caution and gratitude. Finally, she nodded.
Henry quietly took her hand again for the last dozen steps.
Lila’s lips curved—warm, surprised, fragile.
Rosehaven House stood calm and innocuous, lace curtains fluttering in an upstairs window. A muted domestic scene. A reminder of how precariously Lila balanced her life there.
At the bottom of the steps, she released Henry’s hand and looked at Marcus.
“You should not have to escort me every day,” she said. “It invites observation.”
“Let them observe,” Marcus said softly.
Her eyes widened not in scandal, but in something far more fragile.
Hope.
She dropped her gaze quickly. “Good day, my lord.”
“Good day, Miss Edgewood.”
She started up the steps, then paused.
“Henry… you did beautifully today.”
Henry gave her a wide smile. “Thank you, Miss Edgewood.”
She entered Rosehaven House. The door clicked shut behind her.
Henry stood quietly beside him.
“Papa,” he said, “why do people look at Miss Edgewood when we walk with her?”
Marcus exhaled slowly. “Because they are curious.”
“About what?”
Marcus rested a hand on his shoulder. “About things that do not concern them.”
Henry considered this, then nodded.
They walked home as the afternoon grew brighter around them.
But something else settled in Marcus. Not brightness exactly, but clarity. He was no longer stepping into this only for protection. Something in him had begun to move again.
It was moving toward Lila Edgewood.