“No,” Rafe muttered with a pout as he plucked at one of Eliza’s blooms absently.
“Did she cheat? Or is it possible that she simply won, and that feels unfair to you?”
“It’s not fair! I’m older. She shouldn’t be able to beat me!” Rafe plucked another flower from the earth, and Benedict hid his wince—the sight of Eliza’s dedicated efforts meeting their demise left him tetchy. She would never fret about her cornflowers and daisies in the face of their son’s upset, but that didn’t mean Benedict had to like the destruction.
“I’m older than your Aunt Bella, and she bests me in most things.”
“Does she cheat?”
“Rafe, sprig, just because we lose—no matter how used to winning we are—doesn’t mean that someone else cheated. When you beat me, are you cheating?”
“No.”
“As Posy grows, there will be more and more things that she will be better at than you are. Just as there will be plenty of things that you are better at than her. And those things will change with your interests and as you grow. There may be people in your life who do try to cheat you. But that should never be your first thought. And there should always be proof behind the accusation. Losing when you thought you would win is not proof.”
His son’s gaze was firmly fixed on the daisy he was plucking petals from, but Benedict could sense he was making some headway.
“If you always crycheatwhenever you lose, then you rob yourself of the opportunity to learn, to improve. I want those opportunities for you. You’ll fail thousands of times in your life. And you never know which one might change your life.”
“What do you mean?”
“I failed the night I met your mother. And it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Because if I hadn’t, she wouldn’t be my wife, and we wouldn’t have you and your sister. And I cannot imagine anything worse.”
His son’s dark eyes were wide, but no longer sad when they met Benedict’s. “So you would not be ashamed of me?”
Benedict’s heart cracked in two. His father’s voice had once madecheatandfailurefeel like a life sentence. They would feel like an opportunity to Rafe. Benedict would make sure of it. His arms enveloped the boy before he’d made a conscious decision to do so.
“I have never and will never be ashamed of you. Not for anything you’ve ever done or ever could do. Nor will your mother. I am so proud to call you my son every day. Have I done something to make you worry?”
“No. It is only, Mama said it was embarrassing for you when I won last week.”
“Oh, sprig, your mama was teasing me. She is not actually embarrassed for me.” Benedict recalled the moment clearly—only because Eliza had been referencing a very different, all too pleasurable, sort of game they had played the night before. A game Benedict had been all too eager to lose,embarrassinglyeager in fact. A game his son would never, ever know about.
“Are you sure?”
“I promise. And I’m sure she’ll tell you herself. Now, what should we do with the rest of our morning?”
Rafe caught the edge of his lip with his teeth, gnawing it for a moment. “I owe Posy an apology.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea, sprig.”
“Can I give her flowers too? Mama always likes them.”
“I’m certain Posy will love that. What kind do you want to give her?”
“She loves yellow. Maybe some yellow ones?”
“Absolutely perfect,” Benedict assured him. Together, they crafted a bouquet of wildflowers—some more crumpled than others.
The sun was high in the sky by the time the Sinclair boys returned to the house, each with his own yellow bouquet. They found Eliza and Posy in the nursery enjoying a tea party with such esteemed guests as Miss Marples, the rag doll, and Mr. Franklin, the tin soldier of Rafe’s that Posy had claimed as a suitor for the doll.
Rafe stepped into the room ahead of Benedict, bouquet clasped between both hands. When he hesitated for a moment, Benedict rubbed his back with a palm.
“I’m sorry, Posy. I know you didn’t cheat.”
Benedict’s daughter, with her light curls and dark eyes, smiled encouragingly. “I forgive you—as long as you promise not to do it again.”
“I promise. I brought you these,” he said, thrusting the ragged bouquet out to his sister.
