“Your father,” Temperance said, advancing one step, “is not here.”
Joseph turned and ran, and she ran after him.
It was not her most dignified moment. She was twenty-five years old and she was chasing a ten-year-old boy down a landing with a torn seam flapping behind her and absolutely no plan beyond the principle of the thing.
But he had started running and something about the particular quality of his laugh made stopping feel like the wrong thing to do.
“The wardrobe!” she called, gaining on him as he rounded the corner. “Everything in it! I’ll throw the whole lot in the garden!”
“You wouldn’t dare!” He was laughing properly now, the composure entirely gone, pelting down the corridor with his perfectly combed hair.
“The mud by the rose bed is particularly good this time of year!”
“Miss Hosmer!”
“One word to Biscuit and he’ll have your boots before breakfast. Ha!”
Joseph let out a shout of laughter and ducked around the corner, and Temperance rounded it after him to find him pressed against the wall with his hands over his mouth, shoulders shaking, attempting to muffle the noise and failing entirely. She stopped in front of him, slightly out of breath, and they regarded each other for a moment.
“Say you’re sorry,” she said, between breaths.
He shook his head, still laughing.
“Joseph.”
“It was an accident.”
“It was an accident that requires an apology.”
“Miss Fairweather,” He pressed his lips together, trying to recover himself. “She said a gentleman never apologizes for accidents because an apology implies culpability.”
“Miss Fairweather,” Temperance said, “sounds exhausting.”
She leaned against the opposite wall and looked at him and something settled warmly in the middle of her chest.
“I’ll tell you what. You apologies for the dress, and I will apologies for threatening your wardrobe.”
He considered this. “You’ll leave the clothes alone?”
“All of them.”
He almost smiled.
“Sorry about the dress,” he said, and it came out without the chin-up stiffness. This time it was genuine.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry about the wardrobe.”
He nodded, once and they stood together in silence for a few moments.
“Your posture is actually fine,” Joseph said, after a while.
“Was it ever not?”
“No,” he admitted.
She laughed. It surprised him, as though the sound was something he had not entirely expected.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s see if there’s anything left from luncheon.”
