“I missed you,” he gasped between tears. “I missed you so much, I thought you weren’t coming back, I thought?—”
“Shh.” Maribel sank to her knees on the gravel, heedless of her gown, and cradled him close. “I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart. I would never abandon you. Never.”
“But you left?—”
“I did. And I am so sorry for that. But I promise you, Oliver—” She pulled back just enough to see his face, to wipe the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs. “—I promise you that I will never leave without saying goodbye properly. And I will always, always come back.”
Oliver’s lower lip trembled. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
He threw his arms around her neck again, and Maribel held him while her own tears finally spilled over. She had not realized how much she had needed this—the solid weight of him in her arms, the reassurance that he was real and whole and still hers.
Eventually, his grip loosened. He pulled back, his face blotchy but transformed by a smile.
“Wait until you see what we did,” he said, his words tumbling over each other. “His Grace and me, we planted new flowers in the garden, and Thomas is back because His Grace gave his father a job with more money so Thomas can stay forever and ever, and we made a fort in the east wing, and His Grace reads to me every night but he does the dragon voice all wrong, you have to teach him?—”
“Oliver.”
The voice was quiet but carried across the drive with unmistakable authority. Maribel looked up.
Thaddeus stood at the top of the steps, unmoving. His eyes followed her as she moved, though he did not say anything more. But she could see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. He was afraid, she realised. Uncertain of his welcome.
Good. He should be.
Oliver grabbed her hand. “Come on! You have to see everything!”
But Maribel did not move. She rose slowly, brushing gravel from her gown, her gaze locked on Thaddeus. Oliver tugged at her hand, impatient, but she gently disentangled her fingers.
“Go inside and wash your face, sweetheart,” she said softly. “I will join you just now.”
Oliver looked at her, wide-eyed. “You’re not leaving again? Or making me leave?”
“No. I just need to speak with His Grace first.”
He hesitated, then nodded and ran up the steps, darting past Thaddeus and disappearing into the house.
Maribel climbed the steps slowly, each one bringing her closer to the man who had broken her heart and was now asking—begging—for a second chance.
She stopped two steps below him, so they stood at eye level.
“Lady Maribel,” he said quietly. “I did not know you were coming today. If I had, I would have?—”
“Would have what? Prepared speeches? Arranged the house to maximum advantage?” She shook her head. “I did not inform you deliberately. I wanted to see what you have been doing when you believed I was not watching.”
Something passed across his face—understanding, perhaps, or acceptance. “And what have you concluded?”
Maribel studied him. He looked different than he had at Lady Eleanor’s. Still imposing, still austere, but there was something softer in his features now. A weariness that suggested sleepless nights. A vulnerability that had not been there before.
“I received letters,” she said. “From Oliver. From Mrs. Allen. I know what you have been doing. The reading. The garden walks. Thomas returning.” She paused. “The small, daily acts of showing up.”
“It is not enough.” His voice was flat. “I know that. But it is all I know how to give.”
“Is it?” Maribel climbed the final two steps, bringing them face to face. “Because two weeks ago, you told me you wanted partnership. Not help, not convenience, but genuine partnership. Was that another pretty speech, or did you actually mean it?”
Thaddeus met her gaze without flinching. “I meant it.”
“Then prove it.” She lifted her chin. “Give me authority over Oliver’s future. Not just the practical day-to-day care that you have begrudgingly allowed, but legal authority. Joint guardianship, formally documented. So that I can never again be dismissed or overruled when it is inconvenient for you.”
