At the nursery door, he paused.
Chapter Eight
“It’s all right, my dears,” Imogen whispered, her voice a soft, rhythmic lullaby. “It is all right to miss them. It is all right to feel as though the world is too big and too cold today. Crying doesn’t make you weak. It just means you have a heart that loves very well. I know what it feels like…”
The schoolroom was dimly lit, the only sound the ragged, hitching sobs of two broken-hearted boys. Imogen sat on the low divan with her arms wrapped tightly around both twins while Ambrose watched quietly from the shadows of the hallway.
Philip’s face was buried in the crook of her neck, his tears dampening her green wool dress, while Arthur leaned against her shoulder, his silence shaking even more heartbreaking than his brother’s cries.
“You do?” Arthur asked, his eyes wide as he looked up at her.
“I do, my dear,” she said softly, as she began to sing a lullaby.
She smoothed Philip’s hair, her touch steady and sure. Slowly, the frantic gasps slowed. The heavy tension in Arthur’s small frame began to bleed away, and his body relaxed.
Imogen gave the boys one final, lingering squeeze. “Arthur, would you be so kind as to find that book about the constellations? The one with silver ink? Start reading the first page aloud to Philip. I need to speak with Mrs. Higgins for a moment, and I shall be right back.”
Arthur wiped his eyes with his sleeve and nodded. As his small, shaky voice began to drone out the names of stars, Imogen slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.
Ambrose didn’t move as she approached him. He looked down at his boots, a long, weary sigh escaping him.
“How do you do it?” he asked, his voice barely a rasp. “How do you calm them so easily? They were ready to tear the house down minutes ago.”
“Children are just little people, Your Grace,” Imogen said, leaning back against the doorframe. “They are not some fantastical, unreachable beasts. They have the same hearts as we do, only they lack the armor we’ve spent years building around us. They need to be heard, to be understood. They need to know that even the unpleasant feelings, the anger and the grief of profound loss, are allowed to exist.”
“I told them to move on,” Ambrose muttered, his jaw tight as he ran his hand along his beard. “I thought it would help. I thoughtif we didn’t look back, they wouldn’t fall. This is new to me, Miss Lewis.”
“You dismissed their sadness,” she said, her sharp green eyes meeting his. “And by doing so, you made yourself a stranger to their pain. They don’t feel comfortable around you because they think you don’t care.”
Ambrose sighed heavily. “I have no idea how to approach them. Every time I try, they act out, or they bring up Thomas, and I…” He trailed off, unable to finish.
“You are the only family they have left,” Imogen stepped closer. “You are their only anchor in this world, which they feel is set against them like a stormy sea. But right now, instead of providing emotional security, you are tossing them into the storm alone and wondering why they’re drowning.”
Ambrose stared at her intensely, trying to read her expression and failing. “How did you become so wise? Did someone toss you out into the storm alone?”
Imogen froze. “I have seen enough to know what loneliness feels like,” she whispered. She cleared her expression and looked back at him. “Come inside with me.”
“No.” Ambrose hesitated, stepping back. “I’ll only make it worse.”
“You won’t. I am right here. Come. This is what you are paying me for, is it not?”
She opened the door and led him in. The boys shriveled instantly, Philip ducking his head behind the book. Imogen placed a hand on Ambrose’s arm, a brief, daring contact that he leaned into, and guided him to a chair near the boys.
“Your uncle has something he’d like to say,” Miss Lewis said, creating a bridge where there had been an abyss. “Set the book down, dears.”
The silence was agonizing as they all awaited what would come next. Ambrose looked at the two boys, then at their governess. She gave him a small, encouraging nod.
“I…” Ambrose started, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “I’m also sad. I miss your papa quite a lot. Every day. He was so very dear to me.”
“You…” Arthur looked up, his eyes wide. “You do?”
“I do. I suppose… I didn’t want you to be sad, so I tried to hide my own heartache. But that was a mistake.” Ambrose leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “I loved your father. Very much. And when I look at you, Arthur, I see the way he used to hold his head when his mind was set. And Philip, you have his bright blue eyes.”
Ambrose sank slowly onto the edge of a low stool, his heavy velvet coat bunching at his sides. He didn’t look at the boys directly yet; instead, he stared at his own hands, as if searching for a memory buried beneath his skin.
“My brother, your father, was the finest climber in the county,” Ambrose began, his voice dropping to a low, rhythmic cadence that drew the boys’ eyes like a magnet. “But he was a terrible liar. Absolutely hopeless.”
Arthur turned slightly, his jaw still tight, but his curiosity winning out. “Papa said you were the one who always got into trouble!”
