“Is that so remarkable?”
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said at once. “Mrs McConnor indicated that you generally take your meals alone, and that the children are accustomed to…”
“They are accustomed to my absence,” he said quietly. “I am aware of it, and it is a deficiency I mean to correct.” He adjusted his coat, a small, telling gesture that betrayed an uncertainty she had not expected. “You spoke of healing not occurring in isolation. It seems only fair that I test the truth of it.”
Serena inclined her head, not trusting herself to speak. That was... unexpected. And unexpected things, in her experience, were seldom without consequence.
“I shall see you in the dining room,” Lord Greystone said, and without waiting for a reply, turned and left the schoolroom.
Serena stood where she was, staring after him, a curious flutter stirring in her chest. She pressed her hand briefly to her bodice and drew a steadying breath, telling herself firmly that it was nothing more than surprise.
It was certainly not anything else at all.
Chapter Four
Luncheon was, to put it mildly, an awkward affair.
The children were halfway through their soup when Lord Greystone appeared in the doorway of the small dining room, and the effect of his arrival was immediate and unmistakable. Ella froze with her spoon suspended halfway to her mouth. Samuel shrank back in his chair, his gaze dropping to his lap. And Rosie, small and fragile, made a sound that was almost a whimper and pressed herself hard against the back of her seat.
Lord Greystone paused in the doorway, taking in the scene he had created. His jaw tightened slightly, and Serena glimpsed something that might have been pain cross his features.
“Good afternoon,” he said, his voice carefully measured. “I thought I might join you for the meal.”
No one replied.
Serena, who was seated at the end of the table nearest the door, rose at once. “How very pleasant, my lord. Please do sit down. There is ample soup, and Cook has baked fresh bread this morning.”
She kept her tone light and conversational, as though the master of the house joining a children’s luncheon were the most natural occurrence imaginable, as though three small bodies had not gone rigid the instant he appeared.
Lord Greystone crossed to the chair at the head of the table, the one that had almost certainly belonged to his brother, Serena realised with a pang, and seated himself with the cautious deliberation of a man approaching a skittish horse.
“The soup smells excellent,” he offered, and the remark was so painfully earnest, so clearly an attempt at normality, that Serena felt an unexpected surge of sympathy for him.
“It is chicken and leek,” she replied. “One of Cook’s specialities, I am told.”
“Yes. Yes, it is. Cook has been with the family for a very long time.”
Silence followed. Ella remained motionless. Samuel kept his eyes fixed on his lap. Rosie clutched her napkin with white knuckled fingers; her gaze locked on her uncle with an expression of frightened uncertainty.
Serena caught Lord Greystone’s eye and inclined her head slightly towards Rosie.Look at her,she silently urged.She needs reassurance.
He frowned faintly, not quite understanding.
Serena tried again, this time with a gentler expression and a small glance towards the youngest child.
Something seemed to register. Lord Greystone turned his attention to Rosie, and his features softened in a way Serena suspected he did not even perceive.
“Rosie,” he said, and his voice was quieter now, less formal. “I see you have Marianne with you. Is she enjoying her soup?”
Rosie blinked up at him, startled by the question. For a moment, she appeared uncertain how to answer.
“Marianne does not eat soup,” she said at last, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “She is a doll.”
“Ah.” He nodded gravely. “My mistake. I sometimes forget that dolls have very different requirements from people.”
There was another pause. Then, so softly Serena almost missed it, Rosie said, “She likes biscuits. Pretend biscuits.”
“Does she? That seems entirely sensible. Pretend biscuits are far less troublesome than real ones.”
