Lucy leaned a little closer. “If you really like animals, Daniel, then you would approve of Aesop,” she told him. “Foxes, lions, clever mice. All sorts of creatures getting into trouble and, occasionally, out of it.”
Daniel considered this, then gave a small, careful nod.
Anthony absorbed that in silence. After a moment, he said. “Mother read something similar to me once, I think. I’m not quite sure.”
Lucy did not interrupt. She let the quiet stretch and felt Daniel shift closer until his shoulder brushed hers.
“I do not remember much,” Anthony went on, his voice steady but subdued. “Only that she did not laugh loudly. She spoke softly. She kept her distance from Father most of the time.” He frowned, as if trying to recall something just out of reach. “We had meals together. A few. She would ask about my lessons.”
Daniel’s fingers twisted in the fabric of his coat.
“She died when Daniel was born,” Anthony said simply. “That is what everyone says.”
Lucy nodded slowly, careful not to press too hard. She shifted on the rug, so she was level with him, her skirts pooled neatly around her knees.
“What else do you remember of her, Anthony?” she asked. “Not what everyone says. Just what you remember.”
Anthony hesitated. His gaze drifted toward the tall windows.
“I didn’t get to... see her a lot,” he said at last. “She always kept to herself.” He frowned slightly. “She did not spend much time with us. At least, not with Father present. I’m not sure if they liked each other that much. But I recall she smelled nice,” he added softly. “Like flowers.”
Lucy’s chest tightened. She smiled at him. “That sounds like a very important thing to remember.”
Anthony nodded. “After she died, nothing changed at first. The house stayed the same. The servants stayed. Father stayed.” He paused, then added, more quietly. “But it felt… emptier. As if something had gone missing, and no one spoke about it.”
Lucy considered that. “What about your father?” she asked carefully. “Did he ever speak of her to you?”
Anthony shook his head. “Not really. He does not speak of things that are finished.”
“That must be difficult,” Lucy said, her tone thoughtful rather than pitying. “To love someone and then be expected to forget them because time has moved on.”
Anthony smiled softly. “Father says remembering does not change what happened.”
Anthony’s smile lingered only a moment longer before he straightened. He rose from the floor gently and brushed the imaginary dust from his trousers.
“I must return to my studies,” he said, already stepping back. “Father will not be pleased if I skip.” His gaze flicked briefly toward the door then back to Lucy. “I hope you will keep Daniel company. He truly wants to spend some time with you. He thinks you’re very pretty—like his favorite flower.”
Lucy opened her mouth to respond, but Anthony had already offered a polite nod, the sort one learned early in a house where courtesy mattered, and turned away. His footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving a sudden silence behind him.
Lucy remained seated for a moment, her thoughts lingering on what had been left unsaid. Slowly, Lucy turned her attention to Daniel. He sat where Anthony had left him, hands clasped in front of him, dark eyes fixed on the window as though the garden beyond might rescue him from conversation.
“What is your favorite flower, Daniel?” she asked curiously.
He startled slightly, and for a moment, Lucy thought he might not answer at all.
“The primrose,” he said at last, barely above a whisper.
Lucy smiled at once, the sort of smile that asked nothing further of him. “The primrose,” she repeated. “That is a very fine choice.”
“They grow low,” he added, as if offering an explanation. “Near the ground. You have to look for them.”
She tilted her head slightly. “How old are you, Daniel?”
“Eight,” he replied after a moment.
“Eight,” Lucy repeated with a small nod. “I think you are quite clever for your age.”
His lips twitched, the faintest hint of pride breaking through his reserve, and Lucy counted that as a victory. She glanced toward the windows as an idea formed in her head. “Would you like to play a game outside?” she asked lightly. “The morning is too fine to waste indoors.”
