No one paid attention.
* * *
The morning was cold enough that James could see his breath, which he found he did not mind.
The carriages were being loaded in the drive with trunks and a basket of something Cecily had insisted on bringing for the kitchen. Thomas was trying to load his own boot unassisted into the boot compartment, which the footman was managing with admirable patience.
“Walk with me,” William said.
It was not quite a request.
James glanced toward the house, where Isadora stood on the steps with Letitia, laughing at something, her shawl pulled close against the cold, her breath visible too. He looked back at William.
“Briefly,” he conceded. “Before they’re ready.”
They walked along the gravel toward the edge of the drive where it curved into the trees, out of earshot of the bustle behind them. William had his hands behind his back.
“Good visit,” he commented.
“Yes. It was good for Isadora too.”
“Thomas did not break anything. That’s notable. Last time he was at your estate, he broke a vase that I’m fairly certain belonged to your grandmother.”
“It belonged to my grandmother’s sister. It survived two wars and one French invasion of the original estate. It did not survive Thomas.”
“He’s very sorry about it.”
“He is not sorry about it. He told me yesterday that it was an excellent vase for throwing things into and that he had simply tested the theory.”
William laughed, his breath fogging in the cold. “That sounds like him.”
“He is vocal.”
“He gets that from Cecily.”
“He gets the volume from you.”
William kicked a loose stone off the gravel path with more force than necessary, which James recognized as the gesture he made when he was working up to something and using his feet to count the interval.
“Eleanor asked me this morning whether Violet would remember her when we come back,” William admitted.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her babies remember the feeling of people, even if they do not remember the specifics.” He glanced at James. “I do not actually know if that’s true. It seemed like the right thing to say to a four-year-old.”
“It’s probably true,” James said. “She settles faster when Eleanor’s in the room. I noticed it yesterday.”
“Did you?”
“I notice most things about her now,” James said, keeping his voice light. “It happens, apparently.”
William was quiet for a moment, his eyes trained on the path ahead.
“You’ve changed,” he noted.
“I’ve inherited a duchy and a child in the space of one evening. I should hope I’ve changed.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
