He had called her Serena.
And she had let him.
Chapter Sixteen
Dawn came slowly, the storm gradually wearing itself out as the sky began to lighten. By the time the first pale rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, the thunder had faded to a distant rumble, and the rain had gentled to a soft patter against the windows.
Nathaniel had dozed fitfully in the chair beside Rosie’s bed, jerking awake every time the thunder crashed, checking on his niece each time before allowing himself to drift off again. He was exhausted in a way that went beyond mere physical tiredness—a bone-deep weariness that came from a night of high emotion and vigilance.
But he also felt, strangely, more alive than he had in years.
Rosie stirred as the morning light strengthened, her eyes fluttering open to find Nathaniel still in the chair beside her.
“Uncle Nate?” Her voice was sleep-thick and confused. “You stayed.”
“I promised I would.”
She sat up, Marianne still clutched in her arms, and looked around the room as though reassuring herself that everything was as it should be.
“The storm is over,” she said.
“It is.”
“And you didn’t go out. You didn’t leave.”
“I didn’t leave.” Nathaniel reached out and smoothed a strand of hair from her face. “I told you, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”
Rosie’s lower lip trembled, and for a moment Nathaniel thought she might cry again. But instead, she launched herself from the bed and into his arms, hugging him with a fierce strength that took him by surprise.
“I love you, Uncle Nate,” she mumbled against his shoulder.
The words hit him like a blow—not painful, but powerful. His eyes stung with sudden tears.
“I love you too, Rosie,” he said, his voice rough. “So much.”
They held each other for a long moment, uncle and niece, survivor and survivor. And when Rosie finally pulled back, there was something different in her eyes—a trust that had not been there before. A security.
“Is Miss Collard better?” she asked. “Ella said she was poorly yesterday.”
“She is feeling much improved, I believe. But we should let her rest this morning, to make sure she recovers fully.”
“Can I bring her breakfast in bed? Mrs McConnor lets me help carry the tray sometimes.”
Nathaniel smiled despite his exhaustion. “I think that would be a lovely idea. Miss Collard would appreciate it very much.”
Rosie beamed, her fears of the night apparently forgotten in the face of this new mission. She scrambled out of bed and began planning what should go on the tray—toast, and tea, and perhaps some of Cook’s special preserves, and definitely a flower from the garden if any had survived the storm.
Nathaniel listened to her chatter, his heart full of an emotion he could barely name.
This was what it felt like, he realised. This was what being a family felt like—not the cold formality of duty and obligation, but this. This warmth. This connection. This willingness to sit through storms and fetch hot water bottles and hold small hands in the darkness.
This was what Serena had given him.
Not just healing for the children—though she had done that too. Not just order and routine, and educational progress. She had given him back his family. Had shown him that he was capable of love, of presence, of being the guardian his nieces and nephew needed.
She had given him back himself.
And he had no idea how he would ever be able to repay her.
