Winston looked down at his daughter. She had his stubborn mouth When she slept, the two combined in an innocence that was neither his nor Sarah’s, only Louisa’s.
“I will not have her frightened,” he said. “I will not have her hurt. Will you remain?”
He hated the plaintive tone of his voice. He was a Duke. He commanded. He did not ask. Adeline nodded.
“It is a matter of care. Not of either one of us. I will remain.”
He took a chair at the foot of the bed as if it were a throne to which he had been appointed and where he must acquit himself of his duties with dignity. Adeline stepped back to give him the space of that small ceremony. She gathered the shawl more closely about herself. Only now did he see that her feet were damp, the hem of her gown smeared with thin, clean mud. His boots were no better. He had left damp prints all down this corridor like a fox.
“You should change,” he said. “You will take a chill.”
“I shall be quite well,” she hesitated. “With your permission, I will sit in the dressing room until she has been deeply asleep an hour. If she stirs, I can be here before she wakes enough to run.”
“Good.”
The word was inadequate. “Thank you.”
He heard the roughness and could not sand it smooth. “I am…Adeline, I am in your debt.”
“You owe me nothing.”
She colored. He rose then, because he could not sit without trying to touch her, and if he tried to touch her, he did not know what he would become. He went to the hearth and used the poker to shift the coals until they glowed more stoutly. Adeline moved toward the door, then paused and turned back, drawn by some gravity he recognized because it tugged at him also.
“You did very well,” she said. “It is no small thing for a man who commands to practice being…still.”
The word found its mark and lodged there. He bowed his head to it.
“I am not a good man,” he said. The admission startled him. It seemed to startle her. He did not stop. “I am not patient. I am not pious. I break before I bend.”
“You obeyed the orders of a Lady-In-Waiting,” Adeline said. “You bent.”
He wanted to say that he had not done it for virtue. He had done it because if he had not, he would have died standing at the edge of the mere. He only inclined his head. Adeline opened the door to the dressing room and slipped in. She did not close it fully. He could see the spill of lamplight, the suggestion of her small figure settling into a chair, the faint outline of the shawl about her. The sight steadied him. He found that he could, at last, lay his hand upon Louisa’s coverlet and count his daughter’s breaths without counting also the seconds between one disaster and the next.
He thought of Adeline humming in the dark. He thought of three pairs of damp footprints through the carpets of the house. He sat and watched. Louisa dreamed whatever children dream when their bodies are safe and their hearts uncertain. The wind gave up arguing with the windows and went to trouble other roofs.
Chapter Nineteen
The morning was still and fine. Sunlight glimmered on the dew, and the kitchen maid had carried the breakfast table onto the terrace so Louisa might take her chocolate in the air. Bees drifted through the lavender borders, and from somewhere down the drive came the distant clop of hooves. Adeline lifted the pot and poured.
“Not too much sugar,” she said, though Louisa’s spoon was already halfway to the bowl.
“I had some peculiar dreams last night,” Louisa said. “I dreamed that I went walking with my mother.”
Adeline ensured that her smile did not leave her face.
“Really? How was that peculiar?”
“It just felt peculiar. Like I shouldn’t have been doing it. I was afraid of being caught,” Louisa replied.
“Well, you needn’t be. Especially not in a dream,” Adeline replied.
Louisa frowned at her. “Are you staying? Please say you are. I was ever so worried last night that you were leaving us.”
Adeline felt the sorrowful question as a blade to her heart. She sipped tea and was pleased that she could reassure her charge.
“I have spoken to your father, and he has asked me to remain your governess at least for the next week, which will fulfill my month’s trial. But he will need to find a permanent replacement.”
“I shall be beastly to her and make her leave,” Louisa scowled.
