Page 21 of Beyond First Impressions
“Thomas?” she called gently.
The hum ceased.
There was a brief, expectant silence—and then the unmistakable sound of hurried, unsteady steps.
“Lizzy!”
The name came with triumph, as though he had discovered her rather than the reverse.
Elizabeth stepped just within the room and bent slightly, lowering herself enough that when Thomas reached her, his small hands collided with her skirts rather than her knees. Her movements helped not only him, but aided in keeping her balance when he came running, eager to show affection.
“There you are,” she said softly, her free hand finding his shoulder.
He pressed closer at once, wrapping his arms about her with all the certainty of one who had never known restraint.
Elizabeth laughed quietly and shifted her walking stick aside, bracing it against the wall before bending fully to lift him.
“You have grown heavier,” she said as she straightened, settling him against her hip.
Thomas made a pleased sound at this observation, as though increased weight were an accomplishment to be admired.
“I was told you were attempting escape,” she continued.
He shook his head with solemn conviction. “No.”
“No?”
“No,” he repeated, then added with great seriousness, “Running.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Ah. That is quite different.”
He nodded, satisfied.
She moved slowly toward the small chair near the window, her steps precise but unhurried. The light there was good—soft, steady, not so bright as to strain her eye but sufficient to bring the nearer world into clarity.
As she sat, she adjusted Thomas in her lap, turning him slightly so that she might see his face more clearly.
“There,” she said. “Now I may properly inspect you.”
He regarded her with equal seriousness, his small brow furrowing as though he, too, had business to attend to.
“Cold?” she asked, brushing her fingers lightly along his cheek.
He considered this. “No.”
“No?” Elizabeth repeated.
He shook his head again, then leaned forward and pressed his face briefly against her shoulder, as though to prove his well-being.
Elizabeth’s expression softened.
“You must not alarm your mother so,” she said gently. “She will think you quite unwell if you refuse to be still.”
“I am not still,” he said, with immediate contradiction.
“I see that.”
He shifted in her lap, reaching for the ribbon at her sleeve. His fingers closed around it with determined curiosity.
