Page 125 of Oddity of the Ton
“E-Eleanor,” the boy added, craning his neck to meet Monty’s gaze. “It’s for Eleanor.”
“Miss Howard isn’t here, Joseph,” Monty said.
“It’s Molly. My favorite sheep. W-will you give it to her?”
“I’m sorry, Joseph. I don’t know if I’ll see her again.”
The boy closed the notebook and tucked it under his arm.
“I’m sad.”
“Perhaps Miss FitzRoy and I can find you something good to eat,” Monty said. “Would you like some of Cook’s spiced biscuits?”
The boy shook his head. “I don’t want biscuits. I want Eleanor. I miss her.”
His words, delivered matter-of-factly, pricked at Monty’s heart more than any speech articulated with emotion or tears.
He crouched beside the boy and took his hands. “Shall I let you in on a secret, Joseph?”
The boy met his gaze for a moment, then looked away.
“I miss her also,” Monty said. “I didn’t realize how much until I returned here without her. She was able to look beyond that which I portray to the world around me, to see the true man behind my façade.”
The boy nodded—and Monty smiled at the notion of such a young mind understanding his words.
“Eleanor sees people without looking at them,” the boy said. “I hate being looked at, but I don’t want to be invisible—a-and Eleanor saw me.”
Monty stared at the boy who, behind the silent, withdrawn exterior, hid a wise soul with remarkable insight. Then the boy colored and lowered his gaze. Monty touched his shoulder, but he flinched and jerked free.
Miss Akroyd approached. “Joe, would you like a custard tart? I’ve set one aside for you.”
A maid circulated among the children, carrying a tray laden with a huge pile of tarts, diminishing rapidly as several pairs of hands eagerly reached for them. With a nod, Joe slipped his hand into Miss Akroyd’s, and they returned to the fireplace, where Jenkins sat with Lottie on his lap.
“I’ve never seen my butler with such an informal attitude,” Monty said.
“Lottie’s his granddaughter,” Olivia said.
“Really? How did I not know that?”
“Because it’s the servants’ responsibility to know everything about their masters, not the other way round,” she replied. “Eleanor knew, of course. She spotted the resemblance after she visited the school the second time.”
He smiled. “As young Joseph says—she saw people without looking at them. I never thought the boy capable of such an observation—or such a speech.”
“Joe speaks so rarely that it’s wise to heed what he says,” Olivia said. “He sees much and says little. Such people are to be treasured.”
“Aren’t they just,” he said, almost to himself.
Devil’s toes—what have I done?
The enormity of what he’d lost—nay, what he’d had in his grasp but let slip through his fingers—crept toward him like a thick black tide, relentless in its determination to obliterate his prospects for a happy and fulfilling life.
He shook another measure of brandy into his glass and drained it.
I’ve made the grandfather of all mistakes, haven’t I?
“Yes, brother. I rather think you have.”
He turned to Olivia. “Did I say that aloud?”
