He really was home, wasn’t he?
The governess appeared at their side, ready to take the child if needed. She did not say anything but flicked her eyes to Oliver a couple of times, as though gauging how difficult it was going to be to get him through his evening routine.
“I don’t want a bath,” Oliver said in a loud whisper to Freddy, as though he could feel her cruel intentions in the twilight. “I’m not dirty.”
“You are a little dirty,” Freddy replied reasonably. “We spent all day in the dirt, didn’t we?”
“No!” Oliver protested on a yawn. “I don’t want a bath. I’m not sleepy.”
“I can see that,” Freddy told him, letting the boy nestle into his side and put his lolling head on his shoulder. “I’ll just take you up to the nursery anyway, hm? Just to see that everything is in order.”
“Noo,” Oliver protested, yawning one more time.
Silas glanced over with a faint smile, falling into step beside them. “Your cousin Vivian hates bath time too,” he said to Oliver, brushing a bit of hair behind the boy’s ear, “unless we make extra bubbles in the water. Have you ever had extra bubbles?”
Oliver considered this, twisting the fabric of Freddy’s jacket between his fingers. “Extra? I don’t think so.”
“Oh, well, that’s a shame, isn’t it?” Freddy said, raising his brows at the governess, whose face had suddenly sharpened with intent. “But you don’t want a bath tonight, so I suppose we won’t be able to try it out.”
Oliver frowned. “I might have one,” he said after considering it, “if there are extra bubbles.”
Freddy chuckled, wondering if he’d just been the recipient of a very young Hightower boy learning how to bluff. Would Oliver take after Freddy or Claire in that regard? It could go either way.
He saw the boy to the nursery and into a bubbly bath basin and stayed for the washing and the drying and the transfer to pajamas. He took the comb from the governess, who walked him through how to comb Oliver’s hair without making him cry, for the boy was still very sensitive to the pain of snarls and knots.
She asked, politely and uncertainly, if Freddy himself wouldn’t like to tuck Oliver into bed tonight, since he had already stayed through the bath.
“Oh,” said Freddy, surprised by the offer and perhaps feeling a little out of his depth. “Without you?”
“If you like, my lord,” she said, as though she would be unbothered one way or the other.
“Yes, Papa, please,” Oliver put in, already sitting in the nest of his blankets, blinking with eyelids that had gone heavy with the weight of nighttime. “Please.”
Of course he couldn’t decline such a request. No one could.
The governess stayed in the corner of the room, lest Freddy need a lifeline, but did not otherwise interfere or instruct.
Freddy managed to fluff the pillow, to draw the blanket, to kiss the brow without incident. When Oliver requested a story, Freddy remembered Claire’s letter, and offered the Wild Hunt and the Cuckoo. Oliver, however, only wanted the Stone King, one more time.
Oliver fell asleep before the witch could issue her first decree. He slipped right out of the world and into dreams the way a child should, unburdened and easy.
Freddy kissed him one more time. He inhaled the scent of his damp hair. And he backed away as quietly as he could, wondering how he had ever lived a day of his life without this boy in it.
He pondered that question all the way back to his room. He had felt something similar once, many years ago, after he had seen Claire on that staircase in the Fletcher house. It hadn’t been as simple, of course, and certainly nowhere near as pure, but he had felt it. One look at Claire Yardley and he hadn’t remembered what his life had been without her in it.
They were his. And he was theirs.
Freddy knew that in his bones.
He climbed the staircase, anticipating his own hot bath and soft bed. It had been a long day, yes, but it had also been actually perfect.
He’d done it. He’d demanded a perfect day and he’d gotten one.
How about that?
He shook his head in wonder, realizing that he had likely been expecting disaster all the while. When none had arrived, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Perhaps he didn’t need to do anything at all. Perhaps, like Oliver, now he could bathe and sleep without any worry, at least until tomorrow.
He pushed the door of his bedroom open and paused, surprised to find Silas inside, standing by the window and looking out over the darkened expanse of the Nook below them.
