Bastin strode forward and peered into his friend’s face. “It’s not your words that convince me; it’s your face—there’s a sort of refreshed and rested look to your countenance that it previously lacked.”
“Thank you,” Henry said, vindicated. He picked up his morning tea and gulped it down, grimacing when tasting the now-cold liquid.
“Cold, is it?” Bastin raised his eyebrows, looking amused.
Henry nodded.
“It ought to be. The butler brought it in this morning.”
“What time is it now?” Henry reached for his pocket before remembering he was in his dressing gown.
“Past noon. I hope you will join us for tea. Violet said you were helpful in the classroom yesterday, and Ottilie will want to hear all about your first day.”
“I enjoyed it. I intend to return for Wednesday’s class if she’ll have me.”
“Don’t worry; you’ll be employed full-time before the year-end.” Bastin strolled to the door but paused before pulling it open. “Although, I’d prefer to see you published,” he said.
Henry deflected Bastin’s remark and smoothed his hand over his unshaven jawline.
“I’ll need a shave before I come down.”
Bastin nodded as if understanding Henry wasn’t yet ready for that conversation and exited the room.
Henry proceeded with his ablutions, thinking again of Anne. Her terror in the theater continued to disturb him. He could not help but acquaint it with an earlier memory. A young woman, whom he’d held in his arms for mere seconds, her face darkened by the shadows of the night, had aroused a similar feeling inside him. He now knew that young woman to be Annabel Leonard, who had genuine reason to be fearful. But did Anne?
If she did, he’d find out. And he’d send the culprit to an early grave.
He sighed, picked up the parceled doll he’d purchased for Alice, and went downstairs.
“Henry!” Ottilie looked up from the block tower she was building with her little girl. They sat on an ornate pale blue rug, bordered and patterned with gold swirls. Wood blocks, each containing a letter of the alphabet, sat in a tower between mother and child. “I’m so pleased you made it back in time to dine with us. Did you manage to complete your errands in Canterbury?”
“I did, indeed. I had a very special errand to take care of whilst I was there. He crouched next to the child, who sent the blocks toppling to the ground with her chubby hand and then fell into a fit of giggles when Ottilie let out an exaggerated gasp.
“This is for Alice.” He handed the package to Ottilie.
“Oh, Henry, how thoughtful of you.” Ottilie untied the string and unwrapped the brown paper to reveal a curly-haired, brown-eyed porcelain doll. “Look what Uncle Henry brought you, Alice.” She picked up the doll and held it up for her daughter. “She has blond curls, just like you.”
“Baba!” Alice’s face lit up, and she grabbed the doll’s delicate white lace dress.
“Gentle,” Ottilie warned, still holding onto the doll.
Alice leaned forward, grabbed a tiny fistful of the doll’s hair, and pulled it toward her.
“Careful, darling,” her mother warned again.
Henry wondered if his choice had been a mistake but changed his mind when a smile spread on Alice’s face as she brought the doll to her chest and hugged it.
“It’s perfect for her,” Ottilie said. “Did you pick it out yourself?”
“The shopkeeper helped,” he said with a shrug. Again, he said nothing about Anne. He wanted to keep that private. He wasn’t certain what Ottilie or Violet would think about him spending time with a student—even if she was an adult who’d already been married.
“You seem happier today,” Ottilie remarked.
“I feel better. And I had an enjoyable day yesterday. I rather like Canterbury.”
“I hope that means you’ll be extending your stay with us.”
“Yes, I think that very likely.” Henry smiled to himself. “Very likely, indeed.”
