Page 6 of When She Was a Governess
He followed the child across the room, careful not to trip over the scattering of blocks and dolls that had colonized the rug. Amelia climbed into her chair and began pouring invisible tea from the tiny pot into three cups, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth in concentration.
“This one’s yours, Uncle Henny.”
“Thank you,” Henry said gravely, accepting the empty cup with both hands. “How very generous of you.”
“And this one’s Miss Sophia’s,” Amelia said. “But Mr. Buttons gets the pink cup because he’s the baby.”
“I see,” Henry replied. “Then I shall endeavor not to spill mine.”
Sophia’s pink mouth curved into a smile. How pretty she was. Lamplight fell across her as she bent to pour Amelia’s tea, catching in the pale gold of her hair, a braid coiled neatly at her nape, with a few rebellious strands curling near her cheek. Her skin was almost translucent, fair as milk, and the contrast made the curve of her pink mouth all the more striking. Her eyes, when she lifted them to him, were a clear, startled blue, the exact shade of the sea on a sunny afternoon.
She wore a simple gown of gray wool with a white collar. As she reached across the table to steady Amelia’s teacup, the sleeve slipped back from her wrist, revealing a narrow white scar along the ridge of her right hand.
He looked away at once, but not before something inside him twisted. Had it come from her childhood? From the cruelties she’d mentioned to him earlier? He could not stand to think of anyone hurting an innocent child.
“Would you care for sugar, my lord?” Miss Ashford asked.
“Indeed. Though I’m not certain where one finds it.”
“Here.” Amelia pinched the air delicately and dropped two invisible lumps into his cup. “Now you stir.”
Henry dutifully stirred. “Perfect.”
Amelia beamed at him.
The compliment, unexpected and guileless, made him want to do a jig and he was not the dancing type. He glanced toward Sophia, who sat quietly observing, her expression unreadable.
“Would you like a biscuit, Uncle Henny?”
“I would, very much.”
“They’re lemon.”
“My favorite.”
Amelia handed him a wooden block with all the ceremony of a hostess serving scones at Gunter’s.
He took it solemnly and pretended to take a bite. “Delicious.”
Amelia giggled so hard she nearly toppled from her chair. Henry caught her just in time, his large hands steadying her small shoulders. For a moment she rested there, looking up at him trustingly, and he felt something in his chest tighten and give way all at once.
Sophia’s gaze met his over the child’s golden head, making him think the invisible tea was spiked with brandy.
A soft knock sounded at the door. One of the maids entered, carrying a tray with a small covered dish and a glass of milk. “Nursery supper, miss,” she said, curtsying.
“Thank you, Lucy,” Sophia replied. “You may leave it there.”
Amelia brightened at the sight. “Rice pudding?”
Sophia smiled. “Yes, it is time for your supper.”
Amelia turned to Henry. “Uncle Henny can stay and have pudding too.”
Henry shook his head. “Perhaps another day. I must go dress for supper. I’m dining this evening with Cousin Charlotte. Do you remember her?”
Amelia shook her head. “Is she a fine lady?”
“The finest,” Henry said. “My best friend since I was your age.”
