“He rarely leaves the house. He has no playmates. His primary companion is a nursemaid ten times his age.” Hugo sipped his drink. “Prisoner may be strong, but it is not entirely inaccurate.”
Edward stared at the fire crackling in the hearth. The leather chair creaked beneath him as he shifted. White’s bustled with its usual afternoon crowd, gentlemen reading papers and conducting quiet business, but the noise faded to a distant hum.
He had spent little time with Oliver since that first disastrous dinner. Had read him one story, filled one water jug, and otherwise maintained a careful distance. The boy needed stability, not the awkward fumbling of an uncle who did not know how to be a parent.
“I do not know what to do with him.” The admission emerged rough. “At a fair. In public. What if he runs off? What if he makes a scene?”
“Then you will find him and manage the scene.” Hugo’s voice softened. “Edward. He is four years old. He wants to eat sweets, watch puppet shows in the park, and have someone pay attention to him. It’s not complicated.”
“It feels complicated.”
“Only because you are thinking about it too much.” Hugo leaned forward. “Go to the fair. Let the boy have fun. Let yourself have fun if you remember how. And if Lady Sophia happens to be there looking fetching in a bonnet, well.” He grinned. “Consider it a bonus.”
Edward did not dignify that with a response.
But he went.
The fair sprawled across the green, a riot of color and noise that assaulted Edward’s senses the moment they arrived. Stalls lined the paths, hawking ribbons and toys and roasted nuts. Children shrieked and darted between adults. A juggler tossed flaming torches into the air while a crowd gasped and applauded.
Oliver’s hand tightened in his.
Edward looked down. The boy’s eyes had gone wide, his small body pressed close to Edward’s leg. Fear or excitement, Edward could not tell. Perhaps both.
“Stay close,” Edward said. “Do not wander off.”
Oliver nodded without speaking.
They walked the perimeter of the fair, Mrs. Palmer trailing behind with her hands clasped and her expression wary. Edward steered them away from the thickest crowds, away from the stalls selling sticky sweets, away from anything that might cause mess, chaos, or tears.
Oliver grew restless within minutes. He tugged at Edward’s hand, craning his neck toward a stall selling spinning tops. Edward pulled him back.
“Not now. We will look later.”
“But I want to see.”
“Later.”
Oliver’s lower lip jutted out. His steps slowed to a sullen drag. Edward felt the familiar frustration rising in his chest, the certainty that he was doing this wrong, that he was clueless on how to make a child happy.
“Your Grace.”
The voice slid through him like sunlight through clouds. He turned.
Lady Sophia stood before him in a pale blue gown, a simple bonnet framing her face. Her mother hovered beside her, smiling warmly. But Edward barely noticed Lady Brimsey. His attention fixed on Sophia, on the way the afternoon light caughtthe green of her eyes, on the slight flush that crept across her cheeks when their gazes met.
“Lady Sophia.” He bowed. “Lady Brimsey. How pleasant to see you.”
“Sophia!” Oliver released Edward’s hand and launched himself at her skirts.
She laughed and crouched to embrace him. The sound of her laughter loosened something in Edward’s chest. He watched her smooth Oliver’s hair, watched the boy’s face transform from sullen to radiant, and felt a pang of something that might have been jealousy.
“Have you seen the fair yet?” Sophia asked Oliver. “There is so much to explore.”
“Uncle Edward says we have to stay away from the crowds.” Oliver shot him a resentful glance. “And I cannot have any sweets.”
“I did not say that.” Edward’s jaw tightened. “I said later.”
Sophia rose, and her eyes met his. Something flickered there, an understanding that bordered on challenge. “Perhaps we could walk together? I know the fair rather well. My father used to bring me when I was Oliver’s age.”
