“Gentle, now,” she called as he reached toward a particularly spectacular pink bloom. “We look with our eyes, not our hands.”
Henry looked back at her with a serious expression, one that almost reminded her of Edward. She merely smiled at him, and he waddled forth, examining nearly every flower with attention. She followed at a leisurely pace, allowing him the freedom to discover whilst remaining close enough to prevent disaster.
“Bee!” he announced suddenly, pointing at a fat bumblebee working its way through the lavender. “Big bee, Mama!”
“It is a big bee, good boy!” she announced. “He’s collecting pollen. Do you think you can say that?”
“Pollen,” he repeated carefully, testing the word. Then, without warning, he set off at an unsteady run after the bee, his small legs pumping with comic determination.
She could not help it—she laughed, the sound bubbling from her stomach, through her throat as she watched her son’s unsteady chase. Henry’s pursuit of the bee was utterly futile, of course, but his enthusiasm knew no bounds. He chased it from the lavender to the roses, from the roses to the herb garden, giggling wildly each time it buzzed just beyond his reaching fingers.
She had not noticed Tobias until Henry suddenly changed direction, abandoning his pursuit of the bee entirely. She followed the child’s gaze and found Tobias standing at the edge of the garden, perfectly still, watching them with a curious expression.
Henry made a beeline for his uncle, his face alight with joy.
“Up! Up!” Henry demanded, toddling toward him with arms raised and complete confidence in his reception.
Tobias dropped to one knee immediately, opening his arms as Henry barrelled into them. He lifted the boy with careful strength, settling him against his chest, and Henry immediately patted his face with both small hands.
“Papa,” the child said clearly, then seemed to realize what he had said. His little brow furrowed in confusion even as his hands continued their exploration of Tobias’s features. “Papa?”
Amelia tensed, waiting. Expecting Tobias to correct him gently but firmly. No, lad, I am your uncle. Your papa is gone.
Instead, a smile broke out across Tobias’s lips, and he seemed to press his hands to Henry’s back a little tighter. “Lad. Perhaps we ought not to chase bees. But look… do you see the butterfly? Let’s try to catch that!”
In one fluid movement, Tobias was up—Henry on his hip.
He did not correct him.
Amelia’s heart performed some complicated manoevres in her chest. He had not broken her boy’s heart by explaining to him that he was not his father. He had let it go. Edward would havelectured the boy about maintaining appropriate boundaries and not giving him false impressions.
But Tobias simply adjusted Henry’s weight and pointed toward a cabbage white butterfly dancing among the delphiniums. “There. Do you see it? With the white wings?”
“Butterfly!” Henry cried. He reached a chubby arm towards it, then looked up at Tobias with his lower lip stuck out just a bit. “Catch it, Papa!”
“I shall catch it,” Tobias said in a mock-whisper. “But we have to be very… very quiet. Butterflies… are clever creatures. They hear everything!”
Amelia stood frozen, watching as Tobias crept through the garden with her son, both of them utterly absorbed in their impossible quest. The butterfly, of course, remained perpetually just beyond reach, but Henry’s laughter rang out each time they drew near, and it fluttered away.
Would Edward ever have played with Henry like that?Chasing butterflies, laughing, being… being carefree?
Never. The answer came swift and painful. Edward had viewed Henry as the heir, a responsibility to be properly raised according to strict principles. He had held him occasionally, always with careful formality, and had spoken frequently of the boy’s future education and responsibilities.
But he had never had a chance to play with him, and she was certain that had there been one, he would not have taken it.
“Mama! Mama, look!” Henry called, pulling her from these uncomfortable thoughts. “Flying! Like butterfly!”
Tobias had hoisted the boy above his head, making swooping motions whilst Henry spread his arms wide and shrieked with delight. Then Tobias brought him down gently, pressing a kiss to the child’s dark curls with such natural tenderness that Amelia felt her eyes sting treacherously.
“Your son,” Tobias said, turning toward her with Henry still in his arms, “is remarkably determined. A trait he inherits from his mother, I suspect.”
She moved closer, drawn by forces beyond her understanding. “He can be rather single-minded when he sets his heart upon something.”
“An admirable quality.” Tobias’s gaze held hers. “To know what one wants and pursue it without wavering, despite all obstacles.”
There seemed to be a deeper meaning to his wordsm and her heart skipped a beat. But before she could say anything, Henry yawned and stretched—breaking the loaded moment like a butterfly’s fragile wings.
“Someone is in need of a nap,” she observed, reaching for her son. But Henry tightened his grip on Tobias’s coat, pressing his head against the man’s shoulder stubbornly.
