Mrs. Plum looked at the horse, then looked at Isadora. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
She went to the small adjacent room, Violet already distracted by Archibald, and the door closed softly behind them.
The nursery fell quiet.
James looked at the door, then looked at the remaining toys on the blanket. He stood and straightened his coat with the composed ease of a man who had not been in the middle of saying something a moment ago.
“I’ll have Mrs. Holt send up tea to your sitting room,” he offered, “if you’d prefer a quiet afternoon.”
Isadora looked at him for a moment.
“You should go outside.”
They both turned to find Mrs. Plum holding Violet.
“Both of you,” she added, carefully lowering Violet to stand on her feet, and she toddled forward, her arms outstretched for balance. “Fresh air. You’ve been in this room since one o’clock, Your Grace, and His Grace has been in his study since before that. Neither of you has seen the outdoors since you arrived.” She paused. “She’ll play for at least two hours. Go.”
CHAPTER 12
The back door let them out into the walled gardens, which then opened through the east gate onto the wider path that followed the parkland, the grounds opening out on the left into the long grass and old trees of Ashbourne proper.
The roses had all bloomed, the beds in their late summer state, full and slightly untidy in a way that was either charming or requiring attention depending on one’s view. The air was cooler than it looked from the window, the light filtering through the trees.
Isadora was glad she had brought out her shawl.
It was a good walk. She could see why the nurse had suggested it.
“She is taking the afternoon feeds better,” she said with a small smile. “The ten o’clock feed was easier today. She did not fuss at the transfer.”
“Henderson mentioned that Mrs. Plum’s contract needs renewing before December,” James revealed. “I want to make sure she stays. She has been steadier than I expected after the first week.”
“She is very good with Violet.” Isadora paused. “Though she does not always warm her hands before she picks her up, which Violet does not like.”
“Reasonably.”
“Very reasonably.” She adjusted her shawl. “I mentioned it, and she took it well.”
“You mentioned it to Mrs. Plum?” James asked.
“Was I not supposed to?”
“No. You—” He paused. “No. You were right to. I simply—” Another pause. “I would not have thought of it.”
“You would have noticed Violet’s reaction and attributed it to something else entirely,” she guessed.
He was quiet for a moment. “Probably.”
They walked on.
The path took them along the kitchen garden wall, the espaliered trees neat against the stone, and then widened toward the longer stretch running down to the lake. The water was visible at the bottom of the slope, flat and silver in the fading light.
“She’ll need skating lessons when she’s old enough,” James murmured. “The lake freezes some years, and the children from the village are used to skating on it. My cousin allowed it.”
“And you’ll continue it.”
“I see no reason not to.” A pause. “By the time she’s old enough to skate, it will already be a tradition.”
Isadora looked at the lake.
