Chapter 11
Eric had not intended to seek her out. He had spent the last few days with his steward, reviewing accounts that should have required his complete attention, yet his thoughts had repeatedly returned to the last time he had seen his wife.
Outside her bedchamber. Near enough that he could still remember the warmth of her breath when she had challenged him to admit what he wanted.
She had allowed him to believe she was nervous, perhaps even yielding, while she waited for the precise moment to expose his teasing and return it with interest.
“Not that one. You have given the poor letter three legs.”
Eric stopped before entering the morning room.
Adelaide’s voice carried through the half-open door, softened by patience rather than lowered for secrecy. From where he stood, he could see only the edge of a small writing table near the windows and the hem of her gown where she bent beside it. A child’s dark head moved earnestly over the page.
“It needs them,” Elise insisted. “Otherwise it falls.”
“I assure you, an R has survived for centuries with two.”
“That seems unlikely.”
Adelaide laughed. The sound held him at the threshold more effectively than any request could have done.
“Try again,” Adelaide said now. “Slowly this time.”
Eric shifted slightly, enough to see farther into the room.
Adelaide sat beside Elise rather than across from her, one arm resting along the back of the child’s chair. Several sheets of paper were spread over the table.
On one, the alphabet had been written in a careful hand. On another, Elise had drawn what appeared to be a horse with six legs and a gentleman beside it whose shoulders extended nearly the width of the page.
Her lady’s maid stood near the far wall, sorting ribbons into a shallow workbasket. She remained outside the little circle at the table, not excluded precisely, but accustomed to giving Adelaide and Elise space.
Elise glanced up then toward the doorway and squinted. “Who goes there!” the little girl nearly shouted and pointed at him accusatorily.
Adelaide turned at once.
Eric regretted allowing himself to be discovered, though leaving now would have been absurd. “I did not mean to interrupt.”
“You have not,” Adelaide replied. “Elise is currently attempting to overthrow the alphabet.”
The child looked toward him and became immediately silent. The defiance she had shown Adelaide disappeared. She drew both hands into her lap and stared at Eric with the uncertain solemnity children often reserved for adults they had been instructed to respect.
Her mother rose diligently. “I will go fetch us some tea.”
Adelaide looked toward her. “Just pull the call bell?”
“No, I should go down and fetch it myself. It will be but a moment.”
Without waiting for further discussion, she curtsied and crossed toward the door, moving purposefully almost as if she was kicking herself for not having it ready in anticipation for his arrival.
There was something efficient in her movements that he found quite impressive, and he stepped aside to allow her through.
Eric entered the room and noticed that the child watched every step.
He had encountered her only briefly since her arrival.
And in that one interaction in the entryway, he had learned that the “Little Miss” was named Elise, and she disliked porridge, loved horses, asked questions in groups of five, and had once attempted to rescue an injured pigeon by hiding it in her mother’s bed.
Eric stopped several feet from the table, and Adelaide’s gaze moved between them. “Elise,” she said gently, “His Grace is not as severe as he appears.”
“That is a very poor description,” Eric said. “Surely, she remembers me.”
The child looked up at Adelaide, seeking confirmation that this was permitted. Adelaide nodded, and Elise turned back toward him. “You look angry, Your Grace.”
“I am not, Little Miss.”
“You look angry when you are not angry?” she asked, head falling to the side in confusion.
He chuckled softly and continued to close the distance between them, his eyes drifting to Adelaide only momentarily before returning to the girl. “So I am told.”
She considered this carefully. “That must be confusing.”
Adelaide pressed her lips together, hiding a smile, and Eric ignored her.
He lowered himself onto one knee beside the child’s chair so she would not have to crane her neck. The movement surprised Elise enough to spread open the other pages on the table for him to view. “What else are you drawing?” he asked.
She hesitated, then pulled one of the papers from beneath the alphabet sheet. “Our journey.”
The drawing showed a long road bending between uneven trees. A carriage occupied most of the center, its wheels different sizes and one horse considerably larger than the other.
In the corner stood a church with a narrow tower. Two figures waited outside it, one in a broad blue gown and the other wearing a coat with impossibly square shoulders.
Eric recognized himself immediately. “I appear formidable.”
Adelaide leaned closer. “She has made your legs the same length, which is an improvement over yesterday.”
“They were not the same yesterday?”
“One was quite shorter,” Elise admitted.
Eric examined the page again. “I am grateful for the correction.”
The child’s shoulders eased, and she handed him the drawing with both hands. “You may have it.”
Children did not generally offer him things. They hid behind their mothers or stared at his scars when they believed he could not see. He had grown accustomed to both.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, it is for you.”
Eric accepted the paper with more care than its materials required. “Then I shall keep it.”
Elise smiled, and leaned forward slightly, curling one finger over another against her skirt.
Eric noticed and went still.
It was a gesture that his sister used to do.
Whenever she had been waiting to see whether he liked a gift, a song, or some absurd poem she had written, she would hook her smallest finger beneath the next and tug at the knuckle without realizing it.
Their mother had tried for years to break the habit. She never had.
“Elise,” he said before deciding whether he ought to speak at all, “my sister used to do that.”
The child glanced down at her hands. “Do what?”
“This.” He demonstrated the small motion with his own fingers.
Elise immediately stopped. “Was it naughty?”
“No…” He softened his voice. “No. It was only something she did when she hoped I would be pleased.”
“Were you?”
“Usually.”
He had expected the memory to hurt. It did, but not in the familiar way. The ache arrived without the old violence, softened by the sight of Elise attempting to reproduce the nervous movement with her fingers and Adelaide watching him as though he had placed something fragile in her hands.
Now, having spoken one small truth aloud, he felt not diminished but strangely relieved. “She did that whenever she brought me something,” he continued. “Once, she presented me with a wooden horse she had attempted to carve herself. It had no ears and only three legs.”
Elise’s eyes widened. “Did it fall?”
“Repeatedly.”
Adelaide laughed, and this time Eric allowed himself to smile.
“May we see the horses?” Elise stood before him with her hands clasped behind her back, attempting an expression of remarkable composure that was thoroughly undermined by the fact she was nearly bouncing where she stood.
Eric looked down. “You may,” he said warmly. “Would you like to see them now?”
The smile that spread across her face was immediate.
“She has spoken of little else since breakfast,” Adelaide admitted as she followed them into the entrance hall. “I believe she has convinced herself every estate possesses dozens of magnificent stallions waiting solely for her arrival.”
“They are intelligent,” Elise said matter-of-factly, her chin high as she walked confidently ahead.
Eric found himself smiling before he realized it. “I believe they will be pleased to meet you.”
He led them toward the stables, a short walk, and watched intently as the young girl’s eyes grew with wonder.
Stable hands moved between the stalls carrying fresh hay while a groom brushed one of the younger geldings beneath the open doors.
Warm sunlight spilled across the stone floor, carrying with it the mingled scents of leather, oats, and clean straw.
Elise slowed almost immediately. “So many,” she whispered.
Eric watched her move cautiously toward the nearest stall, her earlier confidence replaced by wide-eyed admiration. Adelaide remained nearby without hovering, allowing the child room to discover the horses herself.
“You are good with her,” Adelaide observed quietly.
Before he could answer, Elise looked over her shoulder and both arms reached up. “Can you help me go higher, Your Grace?”
Eric blinked. “You wish me to lift you, Little Miss?”
“Yes, so I can pet him.”
The horse in question stood considerably taller than Elise.
Adelaide noticed the hesitation. “She’ll tell you if she’s frightened,” she said quietly.
Eric bent and lifted Elise carefully beneath her arms. She settled against him without the slightest uncertainty, one hand immediately reaching toward the horse’s neck.
“There,” he murmured. “Slowly.”
The gelding lowered his head obligingly.
Elise laughed and continued her slow movements against the neck. “There you are,” she whispered to the horse. “I knew you’d be nice.”
Adeline spoke next. “Elise, would you like to see the rest of the grounds?”
“I would be happy to show you them,” Eric chimed in as he gently set the little girl back down.
“Can we take the horses?” she asked, her eyes never leaving the gelding.
“No, they are being worked with the stable hands, but we can always stop back here on our way back up to the house.”
Elise thought about the offer for only a moment before she lifted her arm toward him, hand extended. Eric’s hand wrapped easily around hers and shook once.
Her face lit up with satisfaction. “Agreed.”
The forest lane beyond the paddocks offered welcome shade beneath towering oaks, their branches weaving together high overhead until sunlight reached the path only in scattered patches.
Conversation wandered as easily as the walk itself.
“Why is the western meadow unused?” Adelaide asked.
He thought very seriously about her question before replying. “It is due to what I mentioned before about the drainage difficulties.”
She remained thoughtful for only a moment before offering her suggestion. “Perhaps you could try redirecting spring runoff before reseeding the lower pasture.”
He looked at her. “That might actually work.”
“I should hope so. The slope of the land there,” she pointed. “It makes the plan most sensible.”
“No,” he said, almost laughing. “I mean… I had not considered approaching it from that direction.”
She shrugged lightly. “My father always said land generally tells you what it needs if one is patient enough to listen.”
He found himself nodding. Before thinking better of it, he said, “If you wished… there is no reason you could not oversee portions of the estate yourself while you’re here.”
Adelaide stopped walking. “You’re serious?”
“Yes, and I am sure Atlas would rather enjoy having something off his plate.”
“You would entrust me with Wolverton?”
“I would entrust you with improving it.”
For a moment she simply looked at him, and then she smiled—the kind that reached her eyes. The kind that he found nearly impossible to look away from. “I should like that very much.”
The words settled between them with surprising ease, and he felt a tension release from between his shoulders that he had not known he was carrying.
Then a sharp shout ahead of them shattered the moment. “Look out!”
Eric turned quickly.
A groom struggled desperately with the reins of a young mare farther up the lane. The horse tore free, eyes wild, hooves striking the packed earth as it bolted directly toward them.
Toward Elise.
Everything happened at once.
Eric lunged.
One arm swept the child against his chest just as the mare thundered past, close enough that its shoulder brushed his coat. Wind and dirt exploded around them before the horse disappeared down the lane, several stable hands racing after it.
Silence followed.
Then Elise began to cry frightened little sobs against his shoulder.
Eric looked down instinctively. Her face was streaked with tears, lower lip trembling, dark curls fallen loose across flushed cheeks, and the world stopped.
For one impossible heartbeat he wasn’t standing beneath Wolverton’s oaks. He was nine years old again.
His sister stood before him with tears spilling down her face after scraping her knee on the garden stones, reaching for him with that same helpless expression because she believed, without question, that her brother would make everything right.
The weight in his arms was Elise.
Not Violet.
But for one impossible, devastating moment, his heart had forgotten the difference.