Chapter 15 #2
“You were saying?” he murmured, taking his coat from her arm.
The felt-hat man presented the prize: a carved wooden horse, small enough to fit in a boy’s palm, painted chestnut and brown. Kenneth held it out to Freddie, who snatched it and turned it over in his hands, examining every detail.
“For both of you.” He glanced at Charlie. “You will share it.”
“I’ll keep it on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays,” Freddie announced. “Charlie can have it the other days.”
“That gives you the extra day,” Charlie pointed out.
“I won it.”
“Papa won it.”
Alice left them to their negotiation. She had been watching the archery, and her fingers itched. She approached the felt-hat man before the thought had fully formed.
“Might I have a turn?”
He blinked and looked past her, as if expecting a husband to appear and countermand the request, but when none did, he handed her a bow and three arrows.
The bow was heavier than she had anticipated. She positioned herself behind the chalk line, nocked an arrow, and drew. The string bit into her fingers.
She released, and the arrow sailed wide, burying itself in the grass a foot beyond the target.
She heard Kenneth’s footsteps behind her before she felt his warmth.
He did not speak. He simply stepped close, and his chest grazed her shoulder blades through the muslin of her dress.
His right hand settled over hers on the bow grip, adjusting the angle of her wrist. His left came to her elbow, lifting it, and his fingers pressed against the inside of her forearm, guiding the draw.
“Higher,” he said. His mouth was near her ear. She could feel his breath against her temple, the faint rasp of his unshaven jaw against her hair. “Anchor your hand here.”
His fingers moved hers to the corner of her mouth. The string pressed against her lower lip. She was aware of every point where his body touched hers, chest to back, forearm to forearm, his thigh braced behind hers for balance.
“Breathe out,” he murmured. “Release at the bottom of the breath.”
She breathed. The air left her lungs slowly, and she let the string slip from her fingers. The arrow struck the outer ring.
“Again,” Kenneth urged, and did not step away.
The second arrow landed closer. The third struck the ring adjacent to center, and the impact rang out across the green.
“Excellent,” Charlie called, and the word carried across the distance, quiet and clear.
“She’s a natural!” Freddie declared to no one and everyone.
Kenneth stepped back. The air between them cooled, and Alice lowered the bow and turned to face him. He was looking at her hands, at the red marks the string had left across her fingers, and she curled them into her skirts before he could comment.
The afternoon waned. Shadows lengthened across the green, and the fiddle player had switched to slower airs. By the time they reached the carriage, Freddie’s commentary had dwindled to single words, and Charlie had stopped lifting the telescope.
Miss Leyton climbed in first. Kenneth lifted Freddie onto the bench, then Charlie, and both boys sagged against the cushions before the door closed.
The carriage had not reached the Bearmoor gates before they were asleep.
Freddie’s head rested against the carriage wall, his mouth open, the wooden horse clutched in one fist. Charlie had folded sideways, his cheek resting on Miss Leyton’s shoulder, the bag of sugared almonds still tucked in his coat pocket.
“I will manage them, Your Grace,” Miss Leyton whispered when they pulled into the drive.
“No.” Kenneth was already unbuttoning his coat. “I will take them.”
He lifted Freddie first. The boy weighed nothing to him. He tucked Freddie’s head against his shoulder and reached back into the carriage for Charlie, scooping him up against his other side. Neither stirred.
Alice followed him up the staircase. The nursery was dim, a single candle left burning on the mantel by a maid who knew the boys’ routine. Kenneth laid Freddie on the nearest bed, and Alice knelt to remove his shoes, easing each one off without waking him. She drew the blanket to his chin.
Kenneth then set Charlie on the bed next to it.
Alice crossed the room and pulled his coat free, folding it on the chair.
The almonds spilled across the seat, and she gathered them into the bag and placed it on the nightstand where he would find it in the morning.
She smoothed his hair back from his forehead.
His face was slack and still, younger in sleep, the careful watchfulness gone.
Kenneth stood at the foot of the bed, staring at his sons. Alice stepped back and left the room quietly, letting him have the moment.
He found her in the corridor outside. The hall was dark except for the sconce near the staircase, and their footsteps sounded loud on the stone.
“Alice.”
She stopped and turned to face him.
“Thank you,” he said. “For today. For the way you are around them. They are…” He seemed to search for the right word. “They are different when you are near.”
“They are wonderful boys, Kenneth. It is no hardship to spend time in their company.”
He nodded.
The candlelight caught his face, the line of his jaw and the shadows beneath his eyes. He looked tired and unguarded and very close to saying more.
Alice waited. She could feel the pull of him, the gravity he exerted without intending to, and she recognized it for what it was: an invitation she could not afford to accept. Not after the parlor and the carriage and all the distance he put between them.
She could not survive another door closed in her face.
“Goodnight, Your Grace,” she said, pressing her trembling hands to her sides.
She turned and walked toward her chamber. Her hand found the door handle, and she pressed it down and stepped through without looking back.
The door clicked shut.
On the other side, she heard no footsteps retreating, no movement at all, only the heavy silence of a man standing still in a dark corridor.