Chapter 10
Tobias stepped out onto the front steps with Viola at his side.
She adjusted her gloves with slow, ostentatious movements, the feathers on her hat trembling in the breeze.
She was dressed for a promenade in Hyde Park, not a simple walk around the grounds.
Silk, lace, and far too much ornament for the gravel path ahead.
He briefly shook his head at her absurdity. He wondered whether she dressed this way to remind him of the life she believed she should have had. Every detail of her appearance seemed chosen to make a point.
This is a simple walk for your constitution, he thought. There is no reason for you to have gone to all this effort.
Tobias started to descend, but she cleared her throat behind him, a small sound meant to catch his attention. He turned back at once and offered his arm, helping her down the steps. They had barely reached the bottom when she resumed the subject she had begun in the foyer.
“I cannot understand,” Viola said, “why you allow Miss Marwood such freedom with the children.”
Tobias kept his eyes ahead. “Freedom?”
He already knew where the conversation was heading.
“Yes,” Viola said. “She spoils them.”
Tobias shook his head. “I do not see how she spoils them. They are making good progress in their lessons.”
Viola shook her head. “I know you see it. She lets them run wild. She encourages them to laugh, chatter, and play when they ought to be learning discipline.”
Tobias felt a surge of guilt as he remembered his conversation with Miss Marwood, when he had made basically the same accusation. But hearing it now, from Viola, it did not seem right.
“They do not run wild,” he said, defensively. “They enjoy their lessons, but they are not running wild.”
Viola narrowed her eyes. “She is not teaching them proper decorum. She is not preparing them for society.”
Tobias remained silent, not knowing what he could say at the moment that would not be the utmost hypocrisy.
He felt the weight of his own inconsistency. Only days earlier, he had questioned Miss Marwood’s methods, yet now he found himself defending them. He did not like to contradict himself, and he disliked even more the idea that Viola might sense his uncertainty.
He quickened his pace as they crossed the gravel, hoping to move the conversation forward before she returned to it.
He pointed toward a cluster of pale blossoms near the path, drawing her attention to them with a quiet remark he hoped would shift her thoughts elsewhere.
She acknowledged the flowers with a brief glance, then looked back at him.
“If you have time to admire flowers, you have time to speak,” she said. “Why are you neglecting your responsibility to the children and refusing to engage in conversation with me?”
He resisted the urge to respond sharply.
Viola often framed her concerns as obligations he had failed to meet, and he had grown tired of the pattern.
He reminded himself that she thrived on confrontation and that any sign of irritation would only encourage her.
He chose his next words with care, hoping to keep the conversation contained.
Tobias kept his stride even. “What else do you have to say?”
Viola stopped walking, turning slightly as she studied Tobias’s face. “She is too familiar with them. Too close. A piano teacher should not be hugging a child every time he whimpers. It gives the wrong impression.”
Tobias felt his jaw tighten. Mrs. Bracknell had mentioned something similar to him earlier that day.
Is this really a concern? Julian does not seem overly emotional, and it seems to me that the only time Miss Marwood comforts him is when he is truly upset.
“What do you mean it gives the wrong impression?” he asked, silently urging Viola to continue walking.
“It blurs the line between servant and family,” Viola said, reluctantly moving her feet. “Some might say she is trying to take a motherly role.”
He knew Miss Marwood had shown the children kindness, but he had never considered it in such terms. The idea felt misplaced. He did not believe Miss Marwood was attempting to take on a motherly role, yet he knew he did not have the strength for an argument at that moment.
Viola continued, seemingly interpreting his silence as agreement. “You know what happens when children are indulged.”
Tobias replied quietly, “I do not believe Julian is in any danger of that.”
He kept his tone even, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her.
“You saw it in your own family,” Viola said. “Your brother was given far too much liberty.”
Tobias answered, “My brother’s situation was not so simple.”
He felt the familiar ache rise, the one he tried so hard to ignore.
“Your father favored him,” she said, “and look at the scandal that followed.”
Viola spoke of his family with a confidence that ignored the complexity of what had happened. She reduced years of struggle into a single conclusion. He disliked the way she spoke of his brother, yet he did not trust himself to respond without revealing more than he intended.
He kept his voice controlled. “The past cannot be changed.”
Although he tried to stay calm, the words struck him at his core. She had touched the place he guarded most closely, and she knew it. He thought of his brother’s mistakes, of his own failures, of the fear that he would repeat them, and of the deeper fear that he already was.
“Young boys need structure,” Viola said. “They need responsibility, and they must be shaped.”
Am I setting Julian up for a life of misery?
But Miss Marwood’s voice rose in his mind, steady and certain as if she were standing next to him at that moment.
I would rather have Julian wild, happy, and loved than fearful and polite.
He wanted to believe her. He considered the possibility that she might be right.
The children responded to her with ease, and he had seen moments of progress that came from her approach rather than his.
He had always relied on structure, yet he could not deny that her methods had brought comfort to the children in ways he had not managed.
He wanted to believe that happiness mattered more than rigid correctness, that warmth and gentleness could shape a child as surely as rules ever could. Yet fear held him more tightly than hope.
He had seen firsthand what came of too much freedom and too much wildness, and the memory of that ruin lived close to the surface.
He could not forget how quickly a life could veer off course, how easily affection could turn into indulgence, and how devastating the consequences had been for his own family.
“I do not disagree that the children need guidance,” he said.
Viola smiled, satisfied. “Then you see why Miss Marwood is unsuitable. She is too soft. Too sentimental. She will undo all the progress you are trying to make.”
He felt a quiet frustration rise within him.
Viola spoke as though she understood the children better than he did, yet she had spent little time with them.
He knew their fears and their habits. He had seen their grief.
Her certainty felt misplaced, and he resented the way she spoke as if her judgment were final.
Tobias stopped walking again. “I did not say that.”
Viola turned toward him, her expression sharpening. “You said that the children need guidance. Miss Marwood is not giving them that guidance. Surely you see she must be dismissed.”
The words hit him like cold water. He realized then that Viola had come to the conversation with a purpose.
She had not been offering an opinion but attempting to direct his decisions.
He disliked the presumption. It reminded him of past moments when she had tried to shape his choices without considering his own judgment.
“Dismissed?” he repeated.
“Yes,” Viola said. “Before she does real harm.”
Tobias felt anger flash in his chest. “No.”
Viola blinked. “No?”
“There is no need to dismiss her,” Tobias said. “She is doing her job.”
“She is overstepping,” Viola insisted. “You cannot allow a piano tutor to behave as if she were …”
“Enough,” Tobias said.
Viola’s mouth snapped shut.
He drew himself up. “You are not the lady of this house. You do not decide who is employed here.”
A flush rose on Viola’s cheeks with both anger and embarrassment. She looked away, her lips pressed tightly together.
Tobias resumed walking, though he felt the tension in the air making it more difficult to breathe. He had spoken too sharply. He knew it. But he could not take it back.
Because beneath the anger and fear he felt lay a stronger sensation, one that excited him, but one that also brought an entirely different type of fear.
He had defended Miss Marwood at last.
He basked in that truth for a moment, but then was struck again with the memory that he had failed just a few days earlier.
Viola’s voice was tight, her chin lifted in that familiar, brittle way. “I am not the lady of this house,” she said, each word measured.
Tobias looked at her.
“I am not the lady of the house,” she repeated, this time with a thin, knowing edge, as if she were testing how far she could press him. “But I know what I am seeing. I know what I am witnessing. Perhaps I can see more clearly than you.”
He held her gaze, refusing to give her the reaction she wanted, though the implication struck deeper than he wished to admit. She believed she saw everything in his household, his choices, and his failings, and she believed she saw them more clearly than he did.
Then she said it again, softer, almost mocking. “I am not the lady of the house.”
Tobias heard the word she left unspoken.
Yet.
The unspoken word hung between them as she glared at him.
They finished the walk in silence, her skirts dragging against the gravel.
He welcomed the quiet. The conversation had taken more from him than he cared to admit, and he needed a moment to gather his thoughts before returning to the house. He focused on the path ahead, trying to set aside the tension that lingered between them.
They had only just reached the front steps when Weatherby appeared, hurrying out of the house with none of his usual composure. His stride was quick, his face drawn tight with worry.
“My Lord,” he said at once.
Tobias stopped short. “What is wrong, Weatherby?”
Weatherby caught his breath, then bowed his head slightly. “Miss Amabel is still feeling unwell. What began as a simple cold has now become a fever.”
Tobias did not wait for more. He took the stairs two at a time, Viola following behind him with quick, clipped steps. He pushed open Amabel’s door and crossed the room at once.
She lay curled beneath the blankets, her small face flushed, and her breathing shallow. The sight of her made him feel as if he had been physically struck. He crossed the room in two steps and sat beside the child, taking her hand into his, feeling the heat of her fever against his palm.
“Fetch the doctor,” he said without looking away from Amabel. His voice was steady, but the command carried through the room with unmistakable force.
Weatherby bowed his head. “At once, My Lord.” He turned and hurried out.
Tobias glanced toward the maid hovering uncertainly near the wall. “Bring another basin of cold water and a clean washcloth. Quickly.”
“Yes, My Lord.” She rushed out.
Lady Viola remained where she stood, rigid and silent, her hands clasped before her. She made no move to help, only watched him with a tight expression that offered nothing useful.
Tobias lifted his head. “Either leave the room or move aside,” he said. “I need space to tend to her.”
Viola’s lips parted as if she meant to object, but she stepped back without a word, shifting to the far side of the room.
He did not look at Viola again. His attention was fixed entirely on Amabel, and he had no patience for anyone who complicated the moment.
The child needed calm and care, and he intended to provide both.
He focused on her breathing, her color, and the warmth of her hand, assessing what needed to be done.
He looked down at Amabel again and felt a wave of tenderness.
She had his brother’s eyes. They were the same shape and held the same softness.
The reminder stirred something deep in his chest. He brushed a damp curl from her forehead and held her hand more firmly, willing his own steadiness into her small, fever-hot fingers.
Amabel stirred. “Uncle,” she whispered, looking up at him.
“I am here,” he said, brushing her hair back. “You will be well.”
She swallowed weakly. “May I see Julian?”
Tobias held her hand a little more firmly. “Not right now,” he said gently. “You need rest, and he must stay away until your fever passes. But perhaps later, when you are feeling stronger.”
She blinked slowly, accepting the answer without understanding the worry behind it. After a moment, she whispered, “May Miss Marwood come and see me?”
Behind him, Viola let out a sharp breath, barely hiding her frustration. “Really, Tobias. She is only a tutor. The child should not …”
Amabel whimpered, and Tobias turned sharply towards Viola.
“Enough,” he said, staring at her with disdain.
Viola’s mouth snapped shut. Her disgust was unmistakable.
He turned his attention back to Amabel, gently squeezed her hand, and said softly, “Miss Marwood will come.”
Viola swept from the room without another word, her anger lingering behind her.
Tobias barely noticed her go. He held his niece’s fever-hot hand and felt the sting of every harsh word he had ever spoken to the children.