Chapter Twenty-Three
The lane poured them into the busier edge of Covent Garden. Henry swung his music book lightly against his leg, humming the way he did when his head was full of notes.
Lila walked on Marcus’s left, quiet but not withdrawn. Her gaze swept the crowd with a quiet awareness she did not bother to hide every carriage wheel, every figure lingering a pace too long.
She was not afraid. She was alert.
A woman who had learned to survive by seeing danger before it arrived.
Marcus matched his pace to hers.
Henry chattered between them. “Miss Edgewood, I am keeping the third bar. Tomorrow I will keep four. Then five. Then the whole song!”
Lila gave him a warm, genuine smile. “One bar at a time, Henry. The music must have room to settle.”
“What is the song? What does the rest of the song sound like?”
“It’s a lullaby my nurse sang to me when I was your age.” She hummed the refrain.
Marcus watched Henry lean toward her voice, watched how she steadied him without even touching him.
They reached a quieter turn near Piccadilly. Lila’s steps slowed the instant the market sounds thinned.
Marcus did not ask why. He knew.
“Is this where he spoke to you yesterday?” he murmured.
Lila’s breath tightened, the smallest shift of her ribs. “Yes.”
Henry looked up sharply. “Who?”
“No one you need worry about,” Lila said quickly.
Marcus held her gaze.
She held it back.
Henry frowned. “Papa?”
Marcus rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Miss Edgewood is safe with us.”
Henry nodded, satisfied.
They walked on.
Marcus felt his pulse sharpen. His shoulders drew subtly back with the controlled readiness of a man who had learned when to brace.
“Do you know that carriage?”
Lila did not turn her head, but the color drained beneath her skin.
“I do,” she whispered. “The driver works for Fenwick.”
Marcus stepped closer, placing himself between her and the street. Not dramatically. Not noticeably. Just enough to interrupt any line of sight.
Henry reached for Lila’s hand again, small, instinctive, trusting.
She squeezed it gently. Her composure returned, but the tremor in her exhale betrayed her.
“Has he followed you before?” Marcus asked softly.
“No,” she said. “Not like this.”
The words struck him like a cold blade.
The carriage turned down a side street and vanished.
Lila’s confidence did not return at once. She walked with her chin lifted, her stride careful but steady, refusing to let fear alter her shape.
Marcus recognized the quiet steel in her spine, and the danger of it.
“If he persists,” Marcus said, “I will handle it.”
Her breath hitched. “My lord, you cannot challenge every man who glances my way.”
“I said nothing of every man.”
She looked at him then, fully, openly. The truth passed between them, clean and unmistakable.
This was no longer about civility.
Or politeness.
Or even reputation.
This was becoming personal.
Henry tugged Lila’s hand. “I will keep all the music,” he said solemnly, “so you do not have to worry anymore.”
Lila knelt and gathered him close.
“Oh, Henry,” she whispered, her voice thickening, “I am not worried about you at all.”
He hugged her, brief, fierce, and uncomplicated.
Something in Marcus’s chest loosened, painfully.
He had not expected a child’s embrace to undo him so completely.
Lila rose slowly. Marcus offered a hand without thinking. She hesitated, then accepted it. Her fingers were light in his.
The effect was devastating.
They continued toward Dover Street.
At the corner near Rosehaven House, Lila slowed. Lace curtains stirred in the windows, the boarders watching.
“You may leave me here,” she said quietly.
“We will walk you to the steps,” Marcus replied.
She closed her eyes briefly, not in resistance, but in emotion too tangled to sort.
Henry tugged her hand again. “Miss Edgewood, will you be all right tonight?”
“I will,” she said gently. “You needn’t worry, my dear.”
Henry nodded, solemn, as though accepting a vow.
Marcus walked her the final steps to the door. The gesture felt bold in daylight. Bolder in silence.
Lila turned, her hands folded, posture drawn tight within the gaze of the house.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“You are welcome,” Marcus replied. His voice lowered. “If you need assistance, at any hour—”
“I cannot call on you at any hour,” she whispered, shocked.
“You can,” he said quietly. “If anything happens, word sent to Mrs. Dove-Lyon will reach me.”
Her lips parted. A breath. A tremor.
A truth she was not ready to speak.
Henry lifted his hand in a small wave. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice warming. “Tomorrow.”
She opened the door, paused, then looked back at Marcus.
Not out of fear.
Out of something far more dangerous.
Trust.
The door closed gently behind her.
Henry slipped his hand into Marcus’s as they walked away.
“Papa,” he said softly, “why does Miss Edgewood look sad when she goes inside?”
“Because she is brave,” Marcus said. “And brave people carry burdens others cannot see.”
Henry nodded once.
They walked into the softening afternoon light.
Behind them, Fenwick’s carriage waited somewhere in the narrowing streets. Ahead of them waited a truth Marcus had avoided too long.
Lila Edgewood mattered. And someone had begun to circle her.