Chapter 4
William moved to the side to get out of the way of the hoop that rolled toward him.
It passed close to his boot before slowing, and he sent it back with a light kick.
Henry caught it neatly and returned to the girl beside him.
She tried again, her small face intent, and Henry adjusted the hoop for her with quiet patience.
Henry stepped back a little, giving her room to try again. She lifted the stick with careful attention, her brows drawn together as she focused on keeping the hoop steady.
Henry watched her with the seriousness of a boy determined to teach something properly. When the hoop wobbled and then straightened, he gave a small nod of approval, pleased with her progress and ready to show her the next step.
William slowed as he reached the open stretch of lawn. The girl’s curls shifted as she bent over the hoop, and Henry stood close beside her, focused on the game. It was a sweet and simple scene.
William looked around the garden, checking whether anyone else was nearby. The lawn was quiet, and the shade beneath the large tree stretched across the grass in an even line. He scanned the area to see who might be responsible for the little girl.
He looked toward the trimmed hedges, expecting a maid or nurse to appear from behind them. A small shawl lay folded neatly on a nearby bench, suggesting someone had been sitting there not long before.
William turned slightly, searching for movement or a voice that might call to the child. The garden remained quiet, and then a figure in the shade caught his attention.
A woman stood a short distance away in the shade, watching the children with a composed, attentive posture. William could not look away. Her expression was calm, her stance assured, and her presence drew him in.
When she stepped forward, the sunlight revealed her fully, and he took in her neatly arranged dark hair, the soft curls gathered but still visible, her slender figure, and her fair, flawless skin. The thought came to him without hesitation:
She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
William blinked once, adjusting his stance so he would not appear to stare. He glanced toward the children to regain his composure, then allowed his gaze to return to her again.
She called the girl at once. “Clara,” she said, her tone calm.
Clara’s head lifted, her eyes wide from the suddensound.
“Yes, Mama?”
She stepped closer, her expression composed but clearly expectant. “There you are. You went farther than you should.”
Clara’s gaze lowered, her cheeks warming. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
“That is alright. Just be more mindful next time.” The woman’s voice was gentle and reassuring.
She reached the children quickly; her attention fixed on the girl.
As she approached, she glanced toward William, and their eyes met.
The look was direct and without any attempt to conceal her concern.
Her brown eyes were clear and steady, catching the light as she looked at him.
She did not linger on him. She turned her focus back to the child.
The woman stepped into the space between William and the little girl, placing herself strategically where she could shield the child if needed. Her hand settled on her daughter’s shoulder, firm and protective, while acknowledging Henry with a small nod.
William watched her, struck by the quiet certainty of her movements. Her protectiveness was immediate and unhesitating, and he found himself admiring the strength of it.
Sensing he may appear intrusive, William cleared his throat. “I am sorry if I startled you,” he said. “I only wished to see that all was well.” He paused, aware of the formality required. “I am William Manners, Duke of Roxburghe.”
He heard the slight stutter in his own voice and tried to control it.
I should not sound like this. She will think I am incapable of a simple introduction.
The woman hesitated. Her hand remained on the girl’s shoulder, her posture still guarded. She studied him with careful attention, weighing him with a seriousness he felt acutely.
“Your Grace,” she said quietly. “I am Mrs. Sarah Shaw.”
Her voice was calm, but her eyes stayed alert.
William nodded his head. “My son, Henry.”
Henry stepped forward and offered a slight bow.
Mrs. Shaw acknowledged him with a composed nod. “My daughter, Clara.”
Clara curtsied toward the duke, her hands lightly holding her skirt. “Your Grace,” she said softly.
As Clara rose, William’s gaze returned to Mrs. Shaw. In the light, he noticed the faint freckles across her nose and upper cheeks, which would have been easily missed had he not been looking at her directly.
Clara looked up at her mother, then toward Henry, clearly wanting to return to their game.
Mrs. Shaw gave a small nod, granting permission.
Clara hurried back to Henry, who was already setting the hoop upright again.
The two children resumed their play at once, laughing as Henry placed the hoop around his neck.
William offered a light remark, hoping to ease the tension he sensed in Mrs. Shaw. “It seems they have devised their own rules for the game.”
She glanced at the children, then back at him and offered a slight smile.
She is cautious, but she is not afraid. Thank God.
William let out a slow breath, relieved that she did not seem alarmed by his presence.
He adjusted his coat sleeve, a small, practical movement to occupy his hands.
Her cautious manner did not trouble him.
It only made him more aware of how he should speak to her.
He hoped she might allow a few more moments of conversation.
Wanting to know more about this beautiful creature, William cleared his throat. “Have you lived in this area for some time? I have not seen you before.”
They walked a few steps along the grass, keeping an easy pace behind the children as Henry rolled the hoop forward and Clara ran beside him.
Mrs. Shaw stayed slightly ahead of William, her posture straight, her attention divided between Clara’s movements and the path before them.
William matched her stride without crowding her, aware of her guarded composure and careful distance.
Ahead of them, Henry rolled the hoop in a wide arc, calling for Clara to watch how far it would travel. Clara ran after it with quick steps, and Mrs. Shaw’s eyes followed her daughter with steady attention, her posture remaining straight as she walked.
She slowed and met his eyes with composed politeness, returning to his question. “No, Your Grace. Not long.”
Her answer is careful. She gives nothing more than she must.
“You are settled nearby?” William asked, trying again.
“I live here on Lady Vane’s estate,” Mrs. Shaw explained.
She adjusted her pace, keeping Clara within sight. “Do you live nearby, Your Grace?”
“Not far,” William replied. “It is a reasonable distance.”
Mrs. Shaw nodded once, acknowledging the answer.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked.
“Only a few days,” she said quietly.
William considered her answer, watching her expression. “And what is your role here, Mrs. Shaw?”
“I am Lady Vane’s companion,” she repeated, her tone steady.
A companion? He thought, looking away so he would not betray his thoughts. With speech like this? Her manners are too well-formed for the role. Something does not fit.
He nodded once, keeping his voice mild. “Lady Vane has been welcoming, I trust?”
Mrs. Shaw nodded her head. “She has shown me every kindness these first days.”
She did not elaborate. Her eyes held his for a moment before she looked away.
She avoids detail and every reply is measured. She is guarding something.
Suddenly a squirrel darted across the lawn and Henry let the hoop fall.
Clara gasped and pointed, and the two children ran after it with quick, uneven steps.
The squirrel reached a tree and scrambled upward, disappearing into the branches.
Henry laughed, looking back toward the adults for permission.
Mrs. Shaw gave a small nod, allowing them to continue their chase. William slowed his pace beside her, stopping as the children circled the base of the tree, searching for where the animal had gone.
William kept his tone steady. “You find the arrangement agreeable?”
“It suits our needs,” she said.
Her voice stayed calm, but a slight heaviness appeared in her expression when she paused. It lasted only a moment, yet it was a clear, small strain beneath her composure.
She seems weary, and I believe she has been carrying something for a long time.
William slowed his pace slightly, giving her a little more space.
He considered whether to continue asking questions, aware that pressing her would be unwise.
Her quiet strain stirred something in him.
He wanted to understand her circumstances, though he knew he had no right to inquire further, keepinghis thoughts to himself.
He watched her for a moment, trying to understand her. Mrs. Shaw’s speech was refined, her posture controlled, and her manners careful, yet her position was low. She presented a calm demeanor, yet her eyes showed quiet fatigue.
There is more to her than she allows me to see.
At that moment, Henry spotted a patch of tiny wildflowers near the base of the tree and crouched to inspect them, calling Clara over to see the ones with the brightest color.
Clara knelt beside him, pointing out a smaller bloom tucked between blades of grass, and the two of them examined their little discovery with complete absorption.
“What did you do before coming here, Mrs. Shaw?” William asked, trying to make sense of everything.
She shifted the subject with quiet firmness. “Do you often make a habit of appearing unannounced in gardens, Your Grace?”
Her tone was polite, but it was clear she would not entertain his line of questioning.
William shook his head. “Not as a rule.”
She allowed a small smile. “Then we shall say it is an unusual morning.”
A tiny giggle rang through the air as Clara bent to pick two of the tiny wildflowers they had been examining, holding them carefully so the stems would not break. Henry found another and offered it to her with a shy sort of pride.
Clara accepted it, then looked toward her mother, her small hand already lifting the flowers as if to show her.
Mrs. Shaw’s attention shifted, recognizing the gesture.
Clara ran to her, the flowers held tightly but safely, and Mrs. Shaw brushed a thumb over the petals, approving their neat condition.
She glanced toward the house. “I should take Clara inside. She has been in the sun long enough, and we will put these flowers in water.”
William gave a small nod. “A pleasant morning to you both.”
Henry parroted him, adding a polite, “Good day, Mrs. Shaw. Goodbye, Clara.”
Clara held her flowers close and offered a soft, careful farewell. “Goodbye, Your Grace. Goodbye, Henry.”
Mrs. Shaw tilted her head in acknowledgment, her composure unchanged, and guided Clara toward the house.
William watched them go, certain she was not as simple as her position suggested, and that she carried something unspoken, much like he did.