“I shall accept that as praise.”
“It was intended as such.” He turned his gaze back to the garden. “Miss Collard, may I ask you something?”
“You may ask. Though I reserve the right not to answer.”
He smiled faintly. “When you accepted this position, what did you expect to find?”
She considered. “Disorder. Grieving children. An absent guardian. I expected to do what was required of me, restore some measure of order, and eventually move on to another position when I was no longer needed.”
“And is that what you found?”
“Partially.” She chose her words with care. “The children were not neglected, precisely, but they were... adrift. Grieving without guidance, struggling without support. And the guardian—” She stopped, uncertain how to continue.
“The guardian was absent,” Lord Greystone finished quietly. “Hiding in his study. Avoiding his responsibilities.”
“The guardian was grieving too,” Serena corrected gently. “And doing the best he could with what he had. Which was more than I expected, in truth.”
He turned to look at her, something vulnerable in his expression. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that most men in your position would have sent the children away. Packed them off to boarding schools or distant relatives, removed the burden from their shoulders. You did notdo that. You kept them here, ensured they were cared for, even if you could not always be present yourself.” She held his gaze. “That is not nothing, my lord. That is love, even if it did not always look like it.”
Lord Greystone’s throat worked. For a moment, he seemed unable to speak.
“You see things,” he said at last. “Things I would prefer not to see in myself.”
“Is that a fault?”
“I cannot yet decide.”
They fell into silence as the afternoon waned, watching the children move through the fading light.
Neither named what was taking shape between them.
Neither needed to.
Some understandings, after all, require no words at all.
Chapter Ten
The village fair arrived on a day of brilliant sunshine—a rarity in Derbyshire, and a gift that felt almost like an omen.
Serena dressed with particular care that morning, choosing her best gown—a deep blue muslin that flattered her complexion, though she told herself no one would remark upon it—and arranging her hair with more attention than usual. She assured herself this was merely prudent. She would be in public, representing the Greystone household. It had nothing whatsoever to do with Lord Greystone, nor with the way he had looked at her in the garden three days earlier, nor with the conversation that had lingered in her thoughts ever since.
The children were beside themselves with excitement. Ella had abandoned all pretence of maturity and could scarcely keep still. Samuel, emerging from his customary reserve, peppered Serena with eager questions about what they might see. And Rosie had dressed Marianne with a tiny ribbon provided by Cook, insisting that her doll must look her very best for such an important occasion.
“Uncle Nate is coming with us,” Ella announced, as though this were the most astonishing development imaginable. “He never attends the fair. He says crowds give him headaches.”
“Perhaps he has reconsidered,” Serena said evenly.
“Perhaps he has other reasons,” Ella replied, with a knowing look that brought unwelcome warmth to Serena’s cheeks.
Eleven years old, Serena reminded herself firmly. Entirely too young for such insinuations.
They assembled in the entrance hall; the children dressed in their finest and scarcely able to contain themselves. Lord Greystone descended the stairs, and Serena—quite unnecessarily—looked away quickly, her heart stuttering.
He looked well. That was all. Well, in his dark coat and pale waistcoat, his cravat tied with unaccustomed precision, his hair neatly arranged. There was nothing remarkable in it, nothing to justify the sudden quickening of her pulse.
“Are we ready?” he asked, his gaze passing over them all and lingering—only for a moment, so brief she might have imagined it—upon Serena.
