Charlotte met his eyes. “And how did that make you feel?”
Julian frowned, considering. “Bad. A little.”
Edward watched them now, his expression unreadable.
Charlotte nodded once. “Then perhaps it wasn’t a very good sort of funny after all.”
Julian poked at his food. “No.”
Edward said nothing, but something in his posture shifted—an easing, perhaps, or a reassessment.
“She never scolded me,” Julian said suddenly.
Both adults stilled.
”My mother,” he added, glancing toward his father, then quickly back to Charlotte. “She didn’t get cross. She just … talked. And sometimes she’d make me sit beside her until I felt better.”
Edward’s face went very still.
Julian picked at the edge of the tablecloth. “I like you,” he said quietly. “Because you don’t get cross either. You just talk to me.”
Charlotte felt the weight of the moment press down around them. She chose her words carefully.
“Your mother sounds very wise,” she said softly. “And very loving.”
Julian nodded.
“And your father loves you, too,” Charlotte continued, gently, “even if he does not always know how to show it.”
Edward’s gaze flicked to her—sharp, startled.
“Parents are human,” Charlotte added, quieter still. “They make mistakes. Even very good ones.”
Julian looked between them, then nodded once, satisfied.
Dinner resumed after that, though the air had changed. Edward spoke little, his attention fixed somewhere inward. Julian ate more readily now; his earlier tension eased.
When the meal ended, Charlotte walked Julian upstairs and tucked him into bed. He was already half-asleep by the time she smoothed the covers.
“You’ll be here tomorrow?” he murmured.
“I will,” she promised.
She closed the door softly behind her.
Edward was waiting in the corridor.
“Miss Fenton,” he said.
She startled despite herself. “Your Grace.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
“Thank you,” he said at last, his voice lower than usual. “For this evening.”
She inclined her head. “Julian is a good boy.”
“I know,” Edward said. Then, after a pause, “I forget.”
