A pair of gentlemen passed, mid-argument over some parliamentary matter. One of them glanced back at her as though expecting recognition. Lila met the look calmly and continued on.
People noticed what they wished to notice.
It had always been so.
She turned the corner toward Rosehaven House, the street narrowing and quieting as it moved away from the market bustle. A laundress leaned from an upstairs window shaking out a sheet that billowed briefly over the pavement.
Lila stepped aside to avoid the drifting fabric.
“Thank you, miss!” the woman called.
“You’re welcome.”
The doorways here were familiar. The same cracked step outside the tailor’s shop. The same brass knocker polished each morning by the maid next door. Predictable things. Manageable things.
Her grip tightened slightly on the edge of her portfolio.
Henry’s music page lay inside.
Three uncertain notes written in a careful, stubborn hand.
She could still see the way the boy had looked at the keys before pressing them. Not fear exactly. Not quite.
Expectation.
Lila slowed her pace.
The truth was inconvenient. Helping Henry Wolfton was not simply a lesson. It was becoming a responsibility. And responsibilities had a way of drawing attention.
Her gaze lifted briefly toward the end of the street.
Fenwick had not appeared.
But absence was not safety.
She had learned that lesson long ago.
“Very well,” she murmured.
If he chose to interfere, he would find that she was not easily persuaded.
Lila Edgewood had built her life by standing her ground, not by waiting for permission to move.
She reached the familiar steps of Rosehaven House and paused.
The curtains stirred behind the front window. Someone inside had noticed her return.
Of course they had.
Nothing in this house escaped observation.
Lila had grown used to that kind of watchfulness.
What she had not expected was to recognize it again across the pianoforte, in the quiet patience of a father standing still while his son searched for courage.
She straightened her gloves once more, then placed her hand on the door handle.
“Tomorrow,” she said softly to herself.