He hugged her, brief, fierce, and uncomplicated.
Something in Marcus’s chest loosened, painfully.
He had not expected a child’s embrace to undo him so completely.
Lila rose slowly. Marcus offered a hand without thinking. She hesitated, then accepted it. Her fingers were light in his.
The effect was devastating.
They continued toward Dover Street.
At the corner near Rosehaven House, Lila slowed. Lace curtains stirred in the windows, the boarders watching.
“You may leave me here,” she said quietly.
“We will walk you to the steps,” Marcus replied.
She closed her eyes briefly, not in resistance, but in emotion too tangled to sort.
Henry tugged her hand again. “Miss Edgewood, will you be all right tonight?”
“I will,” she said gently. “You needn’t worry, my dear.”
Henry nodded, solemn, as though accepting a vow.
Marcus walked her the final steps to the door. The gesture felt bold in daylight. Bolder in silence.
Lila turned, her hands folded, posture drawn tight within the gaze of the house.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“You are welcome,” Marcus replied. His voice lowered. “If you need assistance, at any hour—”
“I cannot call on you at any hour,” she whispered, shocked.
“You can,” he said quietly. “If anything happens, word sent to Mrs. Dove-Lyon will reach me.”
Her lips parted. A breath. A tremor.
A truth she was not ready to speak.
Henry lifted his hand in a small wave. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice warming. “Tomorrow.”
She opened the door, paused, then looked back at Marcus.
Not out of fear.
Out of something far more dangerous.
Trust.
The door closed gently behind her.
Henry slipped his hand into Marcus’s as they walked away.
“Papa,” he said softly, “why does Miss Edgewood look sad when she goes inside?”