She did not know what came next. But for the first time in four years, she was not afraid of it.
Chapter Thirty-One
“You built all of this?” Annabelle stood in the entrance hall of Lyra House, her head tipped back, her gaze moving across the fresh plaster and the new wainscoting and the light fixtures that cast warm pools across the floorboards.
She had been asking to see the orphanage for weeks, and Lucien had run out of reasons to delay.
He had not been inside the building since the night he stood at its door at dawn with his hand flat against the wood. Crossing the threshold now felt like walking into a room where someone he loved had recently died. Everything was the same. Everything was different.
“The contractors built it,” he said. “I oversaw.”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it.” Annabelle ran her fingers along the new railing as they climbed the staircase. “Youenvisioned this. You took a workhouse full of neglected children and turned it into a home. That is remarkable, Lucien.”
He said nothing, because the wordhomepressed against a bruise he could not afford to touch. Not here. Not in this building.
Mrs. Neal met them at the top of the stairs. She curtsied to Annabelle and greeted Lucien with the measured warmth of a woman who had watched him come and go for months and understood more than she said.
“The children are in the schoolroom, Your Grace. The new tutors have settled in well. Mrs. Harding is conducting a reading lesson, and Miss Peel has been working with the younger ones on their letters.”
“May we look in?” Annabelle asked.
Mrs. Neal glanced at Lucien. He nodded.
They approached the schoolroom. Through the open door, Lucien saw the children at their desks, slates in hand, their attention on a gray-haired woman reading from a book. Mrs. Harding was competent and thorough, but the room lacked the spark it once held.
Toby spotted them first. His face lit, and he waved with unrestrained delight.
“Lucien!”
Mrs. Harding turned, startled by the interruption.
Annabelle leaned close. “They call you by your Christian name?”
“It is what I asked of them,” he whispered. “Here, I am only Lucien.”
Mrs. Harding allowed a pause, and the children surged forward. Toby reached him first, arms tight around his waist, followed by Billy, Angelica, and the rest, a rush of small bodies and eager voices. Lucien bore it with awkward affection, his hand settling on Toby’s head.
Annabelle crouched to their level. “You must be the famous children I have heard so much about. I am Lady Annabelle, Lucien’s sister.”
“Are you here to teach us?” Angelica asked.
“I fear I would be a terrible teacher. I know very little about stars.”
“Elinor knows about stars,” Billy said. “She taught us the constellations. Orion, Cassiopeia, Lyra. That is why it is called Lyra. Lucien named it after her lesson.”
The words landed without thought. Lucien felt them all the same.
“Did she?” Annabelle said, very quietly.
“She came at night,” Toby added. “Every week, when she could. She brought slates and chalk and sometimes Newton. He is her cat. He hisses at people he does not like.”
“She sat right there,” Angelica said, pointing to the front. “And Lucien sat with us on the floor and took notes.”
Lucien cleared his throat. “Lady Elinor visited on occasion. During our courtship. She took an interest in the children, and I thought it would be?—”
“Lucien.” Annabelle’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Stop.”
He did.
