Emmeline’s chest tightened. “Aaron?”
He did not answer.
Miss Harrow stepped closer at once, her voice careful. “Your Grace, perhaps we should return by the upper path.”
Emmeline looked from the governess to Aaron, and understood there was something here she did not know. Something sharp enough to frighten him silent.
She wanted to ask. Wanted to kneel and take his hands and say,What happened here?But she remembered Rowan’s warning, remembered the way his face had closed whenever the past came near, and for once, caution held her tongue.
Instead, she lowered her voice. “I think the pear fortress can wait until after luncheon.”
Aaron blinked, but his gaze stayed on the water.
“After?” he whispered.
“Yes. I am always a better judge of fortresses after cake.”
His eyes flickered to hers. “Cake?”
“If the kitchen can be persuaded.”
For one breath, he only looked at her. Then his shoulders loosened, barely. “We c-can go b-back?”
“Of course,” Emmeline said gently.
Aaron swallowed and nodded.
Emmeline turned first, giving him room to follow without feeling watched. Behind them, the river kept moving, but she did not look back.
They began back toward the house by a narrower path through a cluster of trees.
For several minutes, Aaron said nothing. Emmeline let the silence remain, only matching her pace to his shortened steps. The breeze moved through the branches above them, stirring leaves into a soft, restless whisper.
Miss Harrow walked behind them, and though the governess remained composed, Emmeline felt the woman’s watchfulness on her back.
The river sound faded.
Then a small, broken whimper came from somewhere beyond the low hedge to their right.
Aaron stopped again, but this time the fear in him changed shape. His head lifted. “Did you hear that?”
Emmeline turned. “I did.”
Another whimper came, thin and pleading.
Aaron’s eyes widened. “It is hurt.”
He was moving before Miss Harrow could caution him. Emmeline gathered her skirts and followed, pushing through a gap in the hedge into a small shaded hollow where the grass grew long and damp beneath the trees.
The whimper came again.
“There,” Aaron breathed.
Near the roots of an old oak, half-hidden beneath a tangle of fallen leaves, was a puppy.
It was small, mud-streaked, and miserable, with floppy ears too large for its head and a pale patch on its dark muzzle. It looked up at them with round, frightened eyes, then gave a tiny shiver that seemed to pass through its whole body.
Aaron dropped to his knees at once. “Oh.”
