Chapter Twenty-Two
Henry’s knock echoed down the lane, not timid, not uncertain. Firm. Expectant.
Theseus opened the private door and greeted him with a smile reserved for longtime regulars.
“Good Morning, Master Henry,” he said. “Miss Edgewood is already in the music room.”
Henry darted inside.
Lila looked up from the pianoforte as they entered.
Something in Marcus settled at the sight of her, a quiet sense of rightness he had not invited and could not dismiss.
Her gown was a soft lavender today, her hair pinned neatly with a few curls escaping near her ear. She smoothed the sheet music as Henry approached, but Marcus saw her fingers tremble once before she stilled them.
“Good morning,” she said.
Henry beamed. “Miss Edgewood, I practiced.”
“So I am told,” she answered, a small warmth touching her smile.
Marcus took his seat by the tall window, the chair he had unintentionally claimed as his place.
He watched Lila’s breathing settle. Watched Henry’s shoulders lower as soon as she began to speak. Watched the small transformation that happened every morning in this room.
A child growing braver.
A woman finding steadiness.
A father relearning where he belonged again.
Lila tapped the bench lightly. “Sit, Master Henry. Let us see what stayed.”
Henry placed his hands on the keys. This time, he did not hesitate. He began the line slowly, carefully, but certain. The notes wavered only once. He corrected himself before Lila could speak.
Marcus’s chest tightened.
Henry finished, blinking up at her in cautious pride. “Did it stay?”
“It did,” Lila said. “Beautifully.”
Henry’s entire face lit up.
Marcus looked away for a moment, the emotion in his throat too real, too immediate.
Lila continued the lesson with gentle precision. “Float to the next note. Keep your wrist soft. Good. Try that again.”
Marcus watched her hands not because he meant to, but because her movements were sure, graceful, and careful without coddling. He had forgotten what it looked like when someone taught with belief rather than obligation.
He found himself listening not to the notes Henry played, but to Lila’s voice guiding each one.
Halfway through, she shifted slightly on the bench. Marcus noticed the brief wince, the way tension pulled at her shoulders.
When Henry concentrated on his scale, Marcus crossed the room quietly.
“Are you hurt?” he asked under his breath.
Lila startled, only a little, then shook her head. “No. Only… tired.”
There was more to it. He saw it in the faint shadows beneath her eyes.
“You did not sleep well,” he said.
Her gaze flicked away. “Many of the ladies at Rosehaven rise early. And…” She hesitated. “There are always people awake late. Doors opening. Footsteps. Boarding houses are not restful.”
Marcus felt a slow, unwelcome tightness coil through him at the thought of her lying awake while the house shifted around her.
He kept his voice steady. “If Fenwick—”
“He did not appear,” she said quickly. “I only… listened for him.”
She tried to smile. It did not quite reach her eyes.
Henry finished his scale triumphantly. “Papa, did you see?”
“I did,” Marcus said. His voice nearly failed him. “It was excellent.”
Lila turned back to the bench, drawing a steadying breath.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s cane clicked in the doorway.
“Progress, I see,” Bessie remarked.
Henry straightened proudly. “Miss Edgewood says I am keeping more music.”
“So you are,” Bessie said. “London may need to brace itself.”
Henry preened.
Bessie’s gaze shifted, sharp, knowing, between Marcus and Lila.
“Miss Edgewood,” she said, “a word after the lesson.”
Lila nodded, though Marcus caught the faint tightening at her throat.
The lesson resumed. Henry hummed even when not required, his fingers lighter now, his shoulders loose.
When the hour ended, Henry closed the lid of the pianoforte with great ceremony.
“I did three lines today,” he announced.
“You did,” Lila said, smiling. “And tomorrow we will make room for a fourth.”
Henry touched her sleeve lightly. “Miss Edgewood, will you be safe going home today?”
Lila blinked, then knelt at once, smoothing his hair.
“Yes, my dear. I will be safe.”
Henry searched her face. He sensed more than anyone wished.
“Papa walks people home,” Henry said.
Marcus went still.
“Yes,” he said carefully. “When needed.”
Henry nodded, satisfied. “Then she will be safe.”
Lila rose slowly, her pulse still uneven.
Marcus stepped closer. “He worries.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I try not to let him see it.”
“He sees what matters,” Marcus said. “As do I.”
Her breath caught.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon tapped her cane.
“Miss Edgewood.”
Lila followed her into the corridor.
Marcus waited, every muscle taut.
Henry leaned against him. “Papa?”
“Yes.”
“Will Fenwick bother Miss Edgewood today?”
“No,” Marcus said without hesitation.
The door opened again. Lila returned composed, breathing evenly, though tension lingered in her posture.
“She wants me to take care,” Lila said softly. “But she believes the matter may settle if I do not walk alone.”
“I agree,” Marcus said.
Her eyes lifted, uncertain. “I do not want to create trouble for your household.”
“You are not,” he said.
Henry tugged her hand. “Miss Edgewood, will you walk a little way with us?”
She hesitated, torn between propriety and affection.
“Only to the lane,” Marcus said. “After that, Henry and I will continue on with you.”
Relief, not embarrassment, touched her cheeks.
“Very well,” she said.
They stepped into the pale spring light together. Henry walked between them, humming under his breath, their steps falling into the same rhythm without effort.
Not a family. Not yet.
But something was forming.
Something real.
Something neither of them could will away any longer.