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The next evening, Jacob, the Earl of Caldwell, sank into the armchair by his fireplace and loosened his cravat with a weary sigh. He had never felt so drained as he felt every night after dinner.

It didn’t used to be like this. Most of his life, he’d had dinner in his study, behind his desk while reading a book, working, or going through his correspondence. He hadn’t needed to change his attire or pause his activities when Mrs. Clarke had come in and brought him his plate.

Now it was different. And it was his own fault.

In his misguided attempt to make the children feel at home, he had invited them to share dinner with him, with the exception of the youngest. And he’d quickly found out it was a mistake.

He didn’t know how to talk to children. They definitely didn’t feel comfortable enough to initiate the conversation either. So the dinners were filled with tense, awkward silence.

Perhaps he needed to turn one of the guest rooms into a children’s dining room. Yes, that would be infinitely better. That way, they’d be able to share dinner with their youngest sibling if they wished.

What if that made them think he didn’t want to have dinner with them? Would it make them think they weren’t welcome or that they were a burden? That was the last thing he wanted them to feel.

It wasn’t easy having them in his house. He’d never felt as uncomfortable in his own home as he had in the last few weeks since the children had moved in. But it wasn’t their fault.

Jacob just wasn’t used to sharing his space with anyone. For years, he had spent his days in complete silence. Monthly check-ins with his tenants, the occasional conversations with his business partners, and brief exchanges with his servants were enough for him to not crave further human connection.

Now, most of the day, there was chatter around the house, musical instruments playing, the sounds of footsteps, laughter, and even crying. It overwhelmed him.

More painful than his dwindling comfort, however, was the awkwardness and tension that filled the air whenever he and the children shared the same space.

With a sigh, Jacob took off his spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes. The room swam before his eyes as he sank deeper into the comfort of his chair.

How had his sister managed these children? Louisa had made motherhood look effortless. He had seen her, and the children, no more than once a year, but the chaos of her household had never troubled him. She had always seemed entirely in command. He, on the other hand, felt like a man drowning.

A dark-green blob caught his attention on the other side of his room. Jacob leaned forward but failed to identify the foreign object. He put on his spectacles and was surprised to see green leaves peeking out of the clay pot on his dressing table. Jacob frowned. He didn’t recall placing it there.

He stood and approached the alien object.

Epipremnum aureum.

A plant that infamously didn’t flower and thrived in the dark. Known better by its common name—Devil’s Ivy.

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. He had never thought of having a potted plant in his room. Interestingly, he didn’t mind being there.

At least, this one was alive.

Chapter 3

Dear Lydia,

It is good to read about your adventures in London. A part of me wishes I could join you, but another part knows I am safer in the country.

The children are healing, though it has not been easy. Little Rosie still has nightmares and is frightened by sudden loud noises. Because of her hearing issue, she startles easily if someone approaches from behind, and once she begins to cry, it can take quite some time to calm her down. So far, she won’t allow anyone besides her sister or me to comfort her. I’m afraid finding a nanny won’t be easy. But aside from that, she is the sweetest little girl—she loves to be held and cuddled.

She’s also wonderfully loud when expressing her happiness and excitement, and it warms my days.

Elise is a strong young lady who has taken on the role of mother to her younger siblings, even as she grieves. She looks after them and even tries to help me with household matters—a perfect little lady. She’s already acting like the mistress of the house.

But I hear her crying at night, and my heart breaks for her. I don’t know whether it’s right to intrude on such a private moment, or how else I might help her through her grief. I don’t suppose you have any wisdom to share? I can only hope that, with the new governess’s help, and once she gets used to her studies and the rhythm of routine, she might regain some part of her childhood.

Robbie, the middle child, is more reserved and keeps to himself most of the time. He’d rather lock himself in his room with books and journals than spend time outdoors. He’s quite like his guardian in that regard.

Speaking of the earl, he is still as reclusive as ever. Aside from supper time, he barely acknowledges the children’s presence in the house, spending most of his time locked away in his study or the glasshouse. Though he does occasionally inquire about their general welfare.

I have to admit, there’s something comforting about his quiet demeanor… Perhaps because the gentlemen I came across in the past were quite the opposite and brought nothing but destruction into my life.