Page 63 of Duke of Moonstone
He followed though he wasn’t quite sure why.
Emily had reached the elms and was standing beneath the largest one with her head tipped back, staring up into the canopy. Frances arrived beside her, slightly breathless, one hand pressed to her bonnet.
“What have you found?” Frances asked.
“The branches go all the way up. Higher than the house.”
“They do indeed.”
“Could a person climb to the top?”
“A person could. Whether a person should is another question entirely.”
“I should like to try.”
“Perhaps when you are a bit taller.”
Alexander reached them. Emily turned to him immediately. “How tall must one be to climb a tree?”
He looked up at the elm. Considered it with more seriousness than the question probably warranted. “Tall enough to reach the first branch without assistance.”
“How tall is that?”
“Taller than you are presently.”
Emily frowned. “I am growing very fast. Miss Bennet says so.”
“Then it should not be long.”
Frances was looking at him. He could feel it—that particular quality of attention she directed at him when he said something she had not expected. He kept his gaze on the tree.
They continued walking. The path wound along the edge of the Serpentine, with the water catching the light in shifting patterns. Emily darted ahead then back then to the side, attracted by every new thing the park presented. She was like a compass needle spinning between attractions—a duck, a flower, a uniquely shaped pebble, a man walking three dogs at once.
“How many legs do the dogs have all together?” she asked.
“Twelve,” Alexander said before he had decided to answer.
“And with the man?”
“Fourteen.”
“That is a great many legs.”
“It is. He is well-supplied.”
Frances pressed her lips together. He saw it from the corner of his eye—the effort of suppressing a smile—and something warm moved through his chest that he attributed to the weather.
“Are the ducks cold?” Emily was leaning over the water’s edge, peering at a pair of mallards with the intensity of a naturalist conducting fieldwork. “The water must be cold.”
“Ducks have special feathers that keep them warm,” Frances said, crouching beside her. “They are quite waterproof.”
“Waterproof! Like a coat?”
“Exactly like a coat. A very fine one that they never have to take off.”
“I should like a coat I never had to take off.”
“You would grow tired of it eventually.”
