Sophia stepped past him, acutely aware of how close they stood in the narrow doorway. She caught his scent. Sandalwood and something darker, something that made her pulse skip. She pushed the awareness away and entered the room.
“Sophia!”
Oliver launched himself from a small table in the center of the room, his face transformed by joy. He crashed into her skirts and wrapped his arms around her legs, squeezing with all his four-year-old strength.
“Master Oliver.” The nursemaid rose from her chair, her voice carrying a gentle rebuke. “Remember your manners.”
“Mind how you greet a lady.” The Duke’s voice came from the doorway, where he had stationed himself like a sentry.
“It is all right.” Sophia crouched down to Oliver’s level and returned his embrace. His small body trembled against hers. “I am happy to see you too, darling.”
Oliver pulled back, his face shining. “Come see what I made!” He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the table. “Mrs. Palmer and I have been building a castle. It has a moat!”
Sophia allowed herself to be led. On the table sat an elaborate construction of wooden blocks, complete with a tower that listed precariously to one side. Oliver pointed to each feature with pride, explaining the strategic importance of the moat and the secret tunnel he had built for escaping dragons.
“A secret tunnel.” Sophia settled into the small chair beside him. “How clever. Did you think of that yourself?”
“Papa told me about them.” Oliver’s voice softened. “He said real castles have them. For when the bad men come.”
Sophia’s chest tightened. She glanced toward the doorway. The Duke stood rigid, his face a mask, but something flickered in his eyes. Pain, perhaps. Or guilt.
“Your papa was very wise.” She smoothed Oliver’s hair. “I brought you something. Would you like to see?”
Oliver’s eyes went wide. “A present?”
She handed him the wrapped package. Before he could tear it open, the duke’s voice cut across the room.
“What is that?”
Sophia looked up. He had moved from the doorway, stepping into the room with his brow furrowed. “A small gift. Nothing extravagant.”
“Oliver does not need indulgence.” His jaw tightened. “Or bribery.”
Heat flashed through Sophia. She opened her mouth to respond, but Oliver had already torn away the paper.
“A book!” He held up the slim volume, his face radiant. Then recognition dawned, and his expression shifted to something deeper. Something that made Sophia’s heart ache. “Mama had a book like this. The same pictures on the front.”
He scrambled from his chair and ran to the shelves along the wall, returning moments later with another thin volume. He held them side by side, his small fingers tracing the matching spines.
“They go together.” His voice held wonder. “Like a set.”
“It is the second volume.” Sophia glanced at the duke, whose face had gone pale. “Your mama loved the first one. She read it to you when you were tiny. I thought you might like to have the rest of the story.”
At the mention of Jane, the Duke flinched. His gaze snapped to Oliver, watchful, as if braced for an outburst.
But Oliver only smiled. A real smile, bright and uncomplicated. “Mama would like that I have both.” He turned to Sophia, clutching the books to his chest. “Will you read to me? Please?”
“I would be honored.”
They settled at the small table, and Oliver pressed close to her side. Sophia opened the new volume and read, letting Oliver turn the pages, letting him interrupt with questions and observations. She pointed to the illustrations and asked him what he thought would happen next. He responded with the boundless imagination of childhood, inventing plot twists and happy endings that bore no resemblance to the actual story.
She glanced up once, twice, three times. Each time, she found the Duke watching them. His expression had shifted from suspicion to something she could not name. Not warmth, exactly. But perhaps the absence of coldness.
When Oliver grew restless with the book, she let him lead her to his drawings. He spread them across the table with the pride of an artist presenting his masterwork—lopsided houses, stick-figure people, and a large yellow circle that he informed her was the sun.
“This one is Mama and Papa.” He pointed to two figures holding hands. “And this is me. And this is our house in the country.”
“It is beautiful.” Sophia’s voice caught. “Your mama would have loved it.”
