Chapter 9 #4
Sarah looked towards the door once more.
“I do not get angry with Father,” she said.
“Never?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Not even when he walks past the schoolroom?” Augusta asked.
The child’s eyes filled with conflict.
“I am not meant to be angry with him,” she said.
“You are allowed to feel angry,” Augusta replied. “You do not have to behave cruelly, and you should not say things only to hurt him, although feelings do not become wicked merely because they are uncomfortable.”
Sarah looked down at the book again.
“I was angry when he did not come to my birthday tea,” she admitted. “The housekeeper said he had work, and she said he would see me later, although he did not come until the next morning.”
Augusta felt her chest tighten.
“Did you tell him that you had waited?”
“No,” Sarah replied. “He gave me a necklace, and he asked whether I liked it.”
“Did you?”
“It is pretty,” Sarah said. “It has a little pearl.”
“That was not quite what I asked,” Augusta replied gently.
Sarah was silent for a moment.
“I wanted him to come to the tea,” she said.
Augusta moved from the chair to the settee, although she left a small space between them, and Sarah did not move away.
“I think your father believed the necklace would tell you that he had remembered,” Augusta said. “He is accustomed to solving problems by providing what is needed, and he does not always understand that people sometimes need his time more than they need a gift.”
Sarah picked at the ribbon holding the damaged page together.
“Does he not want to spend time with me?” she asked.
The question struck Augusta with such quiet force that she had to choose her answer carefully.
“I think he does,” Augusta said. “I also think he is frightened of doing it badly, and when people are frightened of disappointing someone, they sometimes remain distant and tell themselves that distance is kinder than failure.”
“Father is not frightened,” Sarah said at once.
“Everyone is frightened of something,” Augusta replied. “Your father may not fear the things that frighten other people, although that does not mean he is afraid of nothing.”
“What is he afraid of?”
“I cannot answer that for him,” Augusta said. “He should tell you himself one day.”
Sarah frowned.
“What should he do?” she asked.
“He should sit with you,” Augusta said. “He should ask what you are reading, and he should listen even if the story takes a long time, and he should learn the name of your pony.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “He does not know her name?”
Augusta realized her mistake at once, although it was too late to retreat without making the omission seem worse.
“He told me that he had forgotten,” Augusta said carefully. “I have already informed him that this is unacceptable.”
Sarah’s mouth fell open slightly.
“Her name is Blossom,” she said.
“Blossom,” Augusta repeated. “That is a very good name, and now I know it, which means your father will have no excuse after this evening.”
“You will tell him?”
“I will,” Augusta replied. “Although I think it would be even better if you told him yourself.”
Sarah’s expression closed again.
“He will be busy.”
“Then we will arrange a time when he is not allowed to be busy,” Augusta said.
Sarah blinked. “Can you do that?”
“I am the Duchess of Ravenhill now,” Augusta replied, although her eyes held amusement. “I have not yet discovered the full extent of my powers, but I am fairly certain they include ordering your father away from his desk for one evening.”
“He might say no.”
“He might try,” Augusta said. “Your father is very fond of saying no when he thinks it will end a discussion, although he has not yet learned that it often encourages me.”
Sarah looked at her with growing interest.
“What will we do?”
Augusta glanced towards the worn book in the child’s lap, and then she turned back to Sarah.
“We shall choose an evening when your lessons are finished, and your father has no visitors,” Augusta said.
“Then we shall have sweets brought to one of the sitting rooms, and you may choose the stories, although perhaps we should include something other than Cinderella, or I shall begin reciting it in my sleep. Your father will sit with us, and he will not be permitted to stand near the door as though he expects to escape at any moment.”
Sarah’s eyes brightened, although she tried to contain her excitement. “Father does not read stories.”
“Then he must learn,” Augusta replied. “You may teach him, and if he makes a mistake, you may correct him with the same severity you showed me.”
“Will he be angry?”
“I do not think so,” Augusta said. “He may pretend to be offended, although he secretly enjoys being challenged more than he admits.”
Sarah looked unconvinced. “How do you know?”
“I have challenged him several times,” Augusta replied. “He continues returning to speak to me, so I can only conclude that he does not dislike it as much as he claims.”
Sarah was quiet for a moment, and then she moved a little closer on the settee.
“Will you stay too?” she asked.
Augusta turned towards her.
“Of course I will,” Augusta said.