“With respect, Your Grace,” she said, carefully controlled, “Julian is not manipulating me. He is engaging. There is a difference.”
Edward’s jaw tightened. “You are new to this household.”
“And Julian is new to being expected to grieve in silence,” she replied before she could stop herself.
The words hung between them.
Edward felt something sharp twist in his chest.
He forced his voice to remain even. “You will adhere to the schedule.”
Miss Fenton held his gaze, frustration plain now. “An hour,” she said. “That is all I ask. An hour outside, with supervision. Clara Bennet and one of the other maids will accompany us. If it proves unproductive, I will not raise the matter again.”
Edward hesitated.
He did not like conceding ground, least of all in matters concerning his son. And yet Julian’s eyes had lifted, hopeful andwary all at once, fixed not on Edward, but on the promise in Miss Fenton’s voice.
“One hour,” Edward said at last. “No more.”
Miss Fenton exhaled, relief softening her features. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Julian brightened instantly.
“Come,” Miss Fenton said, gathering her things. “We should make the most of it.”
As they turned toward the door, voices echoed from the hall beyond.
Edward recognized one immediately.
“Still terrorizing the staff, Averleigh?”
Christopher appeared first, coat immaculate, expression bright with mischief. At his side walked Lady Amelia Carrington, elegant as ever in pale blue silk, her posture effortless, her smile sharpened by familiarity.
Edward inclined his head. “Christopher. Lady Amelia.”
“Edward,” Amelia said warmly, her gaze lingering a beat too long. “Ashford looks well.”
“It survives,” he replied.
Julian shifted closer to Miss Fenton.
Edward cleared his throat. “Julian. You have guests.”
Julian straightened. “Good morning.”
Christopher grinned. “There he is. Growing taller every time I see him.”
Amelia bent slightly, assessing Julian with customary ease. “You are as handsome as your father,” she said lightly—then softened it at once. “A young lord must always mind his posture.”
Julian flushed.
Miss Fenton inclined her head politely. “Good morning.”
Amelia’s gaze flicked to her briefly—cool, dismissive—before she turned back to Edward. “Shall we have tea in the gardens? It’s such a rare, clear morning.”
“As you wish,” Edward said.
Miss Fenton took Julian’s hand. “We should go.”
