He found them upstairs, in Abigail’s room with the door slightly ajar and the murmur of Cecilia’s voice drifting out of it...a sound that had put an instant smile on his face. Valentine had lingered in the doorway for a moment before stepping in.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Cecilia answered him.
Abigail was nestled in bed. Her hair was already beginning to frizz from the pillows. Cecilia sat beside her, holding a small leather-bound book open on her lap.
Valentine moved quietly, lowering himself onto the bed at Abigail’s other side, careful not to shift the mattress too abruptly. She stirred only a little and offered him a faint, tired smile before turning back to the book.
“…Rosamond lifted the jar in triumph, only to find, once home, that the beautiful purple hue had been nothing more than colored liquid inside plain glass,” she read softly, her voice a gentle cadence. “Her shoes, as you may recall, had worn through entirely by the end of the week.”
Valentine tilted his head to the side, recognizing the book. “That’s The Parent’s Assistant, isn’t it?” he asked very softly.
Cecilia glanced over at him in surprise. “You’ve read it?”
He gave a half-smile as he nodded. “I had a governess who was terribly fond of moral literature. My brother and I were subjected to Lazy Lawrence and Simple Susan every Tuesday before Latin.”
“I read it too,” she replied. “Or rather. it was read to me by my mama.”
Valentine glanced down at Abigail, whose small mouth had parted slightly in sleep, then looked back to Cecilia with a faint smile.
“Was she strict? Your mother?”
Cecilia shook her head, brushing a soft curl from Abigail’s brow. “Not at all. She liked to read to us. She used to say that a good story should tuck a child in, not frighten and keep me up all night.”
He made a quiet sound, almost a hum. “My governess used it as a threat. ‘Lazy Lawrence will come for you if you dawdle over your bread.’ I used to eat like a soldier under fire.”
Cecilia suppressed a laugh. “That explains so much.” She turned to him curiously. “So, what did you think about The Parent’s Assistant? About Rosamond and her jar?”
Valentine folded his arms, watching the soft rise and fall of Abigail’s breathing. “She made her choice, and she had to live with it. That’s how children learn.”
Cecilia gave a quiet little sigh, brushing a stray curl from Abigail’s brow. “So her curiosity is punished by ruined footwear. Seems a bit draconian.”
“She was foolish.”
“She was curious.”
“She was warned,” he countered.
“She was enchanted.”
Valentine turned to her fully now, careful not to disturb the sleeping child nestled between them. “Let me guess, you think she should have been given a second chance?”
“No,” she said evenly. “I think her mama should never have offered the choice to begin with. A child that age doesn’t understand consequences.”
He arched a brow. “So are you saying that we make their choices for them forever?”
“We guide them. Until they can be trusted not to throw away a necessity for the sake of colored water,” she argued. “I understand why the lesson is important, that’s why I’m reading it to Abigail, but I think it was rather extreme considering how children think. It was to be expected that she’d choose something so beautiful.”
“I understand that, and it cost her the shoes she desperately needed.”
“She had no way of knowing the jar wasn’t what it seemed.”
“She had her mother’s counsel.”
Cecilia smiled faintly. “So you would’ve followed it, I suppose? At the age of five?”
“Of course. That’s the point.”
She gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “That explains a great deal.”
