struggled to keep his stomach from erupting before the scold was done. When the nurse laughed, he realized how correct Carrie was. Miss Oliver had a true gift for listening to others.
“Thank you,” he said when their laughter faded away.
“For what?”
“For listening while I prattled like a chatterbox. I don’t do it often.”
Her smile warmed him to his toes. “You should. You are a good storyteller.”
He was astonished how her words pleased him. Compliments he received usually had to do with how smoothly he solved problems for others on the estate. He could not recall the last time someone had praised him for something personal.
Because you never share personal things
, chided a small voice within him.
You have become so anxious not to reveal your work with Gwendolyn you cannot speak of anything in your heart.
He could not argue with that voice.
“Look, Arthur!” Bertie tugged on his greatcoat. “Ship!”
Shielding his eyes, Arthur saw sails close to the horizon. He picked up the boy so he could see more easily past the rocks at the edge of the hill.
“Cap’s?” asked the twin he was sure was Lulu.
Miss Oliver confirmed his guess when she smiled and said, “Lulu, be patient. One of these days, Cap will come back to Porthlowen.”
“Soon?”
“Very soon.”
The child’s disappointment was clear on her face. Arthur felt compelled to comfort her, but he had no idea how. Later, he must speak with Miss Oliver about the best ways to offer solace to an unhappy child.
He realized he was getting his first lesson when Miss Oliver knelt and drew some items out from under the cloth tucked into the top of her basket. As she placed them on the ground in front of the children, who crowded around to see, she kept her hands on slender sticks and fabric so the breeze did not send them skittering away.
The children asked questions as Miss Oliver added a spindle of twine to the pile, but Arthur knew what she was planning. He watched as her nimble fingers put the pieces together. When she was finished, she held up a kite. In abrupt silence, the children stared at it, giving her a chance to explain what it was and what it could do.
She rose gracefully. “Shall we try to get our kite to fly?”
The children cheered in excitement and begged to be first.
Seeing the indecision on her face, because she did not want to choose one child over the others, Arthur admired anew how careful she was to keep the tots happy and show them they were loved.
He reached for the kite. “Let’s go!”
“I think not.” Miss Oliver put her arm in front of him. “Mr. Hockbridge would not be pleased to see you running about.”
“I assure you I am fine.” He held out his hand in a silent command for her to give the toy to him. When she did not move, he said, “If you don’t mind, Miss Oliver...”
“But I do. I shan’t have you harm yourself again because you refuse to see sense.”
“Quite the contrary. I do not intend to chance injuring my leg anew.” He held out his hand. “The kite, if you please, Miss Oliver.”
For a long moment, he thought she would not give it to him; then, without a word, she held it out.
“Thank you,” he said, as he took it and looked at the children. “First we run.” At an easy trot that spared his ankle, he held up the kite. The wind caught it immediately, and it soared up into the sky.
“Look! Arthur flies kite!” shouted Bertie.
Arthur chuckled, amused by how the little boy treated him with respect, yet acted as if Arthur were his big brother. When had he last come outside to enjoy the day and do something as frivolous as flying a kite? Regret battered his heart when he realized he could not answer the question. It had been far too long since he had done anything but his duty.
Squeals of delight filled the afternoon. The children danced around, clapping while the kite dipped and rose on the breeze. Arthur gave each one a chance to hold on to the string with him. He had
“Thank you,” he said when their laughter faded away.
“For what?”
“For listening while I prattled like a chatterbox. I don’t do it often.”
Her smile warmed him to his toes. “You should. You are a good storyteller.”
He was astonished how her words pleased him. Compliments he received usually had to do with how smoothly he solved problems for others on the estate. He could not recall the last time someone had praised him for something personal.
Because you never share personal things
, chided a small voice within him.
You have become so anxious not to reveal your work with Gwendolyn you cannot speak of anything in your heart.
He could not argue with that voice.
“Look, Arthur!” Bertie tugged on his greatcoat. “Ship!”
Shielding his eyes, Arthur saw sails close to the horizon. He picked up the boy so he could see more easily past the rocks at the edge of the hill.
“Cap’s?” asked the twin he was sure was Lulu.
Miss Oliver confirmed his guess when she smiled and said, “Lulu, be patient. One of these days, Cap will come back to Porthlowen.”
“Soon?”
“Very soon.”
The child’s disappointment was clear on her face. Arthur felt compelled to comfort her, but he had no idea how. Later, he must speak with Miss Oliver about the best ways to offer solace to an unhappy child.
He realized he was getting his first lesson when Miss Oliver knelt and drew some items out from under the cloth tucked into the top of her basket. As she placed them on the ground in front of the children, who crowded around to see, she kept her hands on slender sticks and fabric so the breeze did not send them skittering away.
The children asked questions as Miss Oliver added a spindle of twine to the pile, but Arthur knew what she was planning. He watched as her nimble fingers put the pieces together. When she was finished, she held up a kite. In abrupt silence, the children stared at it, giving her a chance to explain what it was and what it could do.
She rose gracefully. “Shall we try to get our kite to fly?”
The children cheered in excitement and begged to be first.
Seeing the indecision on her face, because she did not want to choose one child over the others, Arthur admired anew how careful she was to keep the tots happy and show them they were loved.
He reached for the kite. “Let’s go!”
“I think not.” Miss Oliver put her arm in front of him. “Mr. Hockbridge would not be pleased to see you running about.”
“I assure you I am fine.” He held out his hand in a silent command for her to give the toy to him. When she did not move, he said, “If you don’t mind, Miss Oliver...”
“But I do. I shan’t have you harm yourself again because you refuse to see sense.”
“Quite the contrary. I do not intend to chance injuring my leg anew.” He held out his hand. “The kite, if you please, Miss Oliver.”
For a long moment, he thought she would not give it to him; then, without a word, she held it out.
“Thank you,” he said, as he took it and looked at the children. “First we run.” At an easy trot that spared his ankle, he held up the kite. The wind caught it immediately, and it soared up into the sky.
“Look! Arthur flies kite!” shouted Bertie.
Arthur chuckled, amused by how the little boy treated him with respect, yet acted as if Arthur were his big brother. When had he last come outside to enjoy the day and do something as frivolous as flying a kite? Regret battered his heart when he realized he could not answer the question. It had been far too long since he had done anything but his duty.
Squeals of delight filled the afternoon. The children danced around, clapping while the kite dipped and rose on the breeze. Arthur gave each one a chance to hold on to the string with him. He had
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