From behind Louise’s mussed hair, she offered a wobbling smile. “A bad dream. We all have them sometimes.”
“Do you want to talk about the dream? Perhaps find the meaning behind it?” he asked.
“Meaning behind a dream?” Henrietta’s eyebrows pulled together, and that familiar condescension she often donned sent a profound relief through him. If she could give a look like that, then surely she would overcome whatever had so disturbed her sleep.
His niece popped up from where she’d been lying against Henrietta’s legs. “Let’s have warm milk and tarts.”
“In the middle of the night?” Now she was fully aware, pulling herself into a sitting position, and with the worry abating, Dominic became conscious of how exceptionally lovely she looked with her gold-streaked hair floating in disarray about her face. “I hardly think that would be good for your digestion.”
“But it is eminently good for our constitutions,” Dominic remarked, winking at Louise.
His niece hopped off the bed, an expression of glee upon her face that was no longer little girl, but not quite woman. “I can tell you where Cook keeps her secret stash.”
And so it was that ten minutes later, Miss Henrietta Gordon joined them in the kitchen. She’d thrown on a dress, though Dominic was not sure how as he’d heard they were quite cumbersome to put on by oneself. No doubt the practical woman had found a way without a maid. As she came in, he found himself exhaling with relief because color had seeped into her lips and cheeks. There was no longer that empty, fearful cast to her gaze that had caused his stomach to quake.
She surveyed the array of sweets Louise spread out on the servants’ table. Her mouth made a small circle of wonder. “You were not jesting.”
“Of course not.” Louise lifted her chin, giving Dominic such a proud, knowing look that he at once felt a swelling surge of pride followed quickly by a wave of shame. While he’d been licking his wounds at his cottage, Louise had been mourning the death of her parents alone.
Certainly he’d visited every so often, but those small moments could not ease the immense loss she suffered. How incredibly selfish he’d been. All the more reason to ensure Louise’s happiness and health before ceasing to give in to Old John’s blackmail.
Henrietta sidled into a chair between Dominic and Louise. She had put her hair up, but not well. Tendrils curled against her cheeks, making her look softer and vulnerable. There was a great choking feeling in Dominic now. A sense of being propelled toward a future he wasn’t sure he wanted or needed.
“How is it that you know Cook’s secret hiding places? And that she has not caught on?” Henrietta snagged a tart.
Louise smirked. “My father taught me how to pilfer.”
“He always had a sweet tooth,” Dominic said ruefully.
“What was he like as a child?” Louise popped a whole tart in her mouth.
Trying not to laugh at the unladylike unawareness she displayed, he took his own biscuit and nibbled a corner before answering. “Your father was responsible and kind. He helped all those who asked, but he had a weakness, Louise. A fatal flaw, if you will.”
Her eyes widened, and Henrietta was surreptitiously shaking her head at him, trying to warn him not to say anything to hurt his niece’s feelings.
Smothering a grin, he picked off a piece of cookie and twirled it between his fingertips. “Not only did Edmund sneak treats in the middle of the night, but I’d follow him. And inevitably your father would get frustrated with me. I was the little brother. The annoying twit who wouldn’t leave him alone with his biscuits. And sometimes, he lost his temper with me.”
Both ladies watched him warily, listening.
He broke off a piece of biscuit, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger. A puckish urge swept through him. As though in honor of his brother, the boy who had led forays into the woods with sticks, scampered up trees, the man who had faith enough in Dominic to leave him in charge of his daughter, he flicked the tiny biscuit ball at Louise.
Henrietta gasped as the crumb flew past her startled gaze and flopped against Louise’s forehead before falling to the ground.
* * *
Half an hour later, Henrietta picked the last piece of evidence of their sweets war from the kitchen floor. Louise was sprawled on a long bench against the wall, fast asleep. Dominic worked at the other end of the room, awkwardly sweeping a corner that received the brunt of the ammunition.
“You made a mess, Miss Gordon.” He straightened from over the broom, his dimple deep, as though he’d heard her thoughts.
“Only because my target kept moving.”
“You blame the target and not your aim?” He set the broom against the wall and walked over.
“My aim is superb,” she retorted, but she was laughing, too. “Did your brother really throw cookies at you?”
“Every time.”
They sat at the table, facing outward, their backs resting against the surface. Louise slept on, her hands tucked beneath her head and her face as still and perfect as a trusting babe’s.
“And did you two pick up after yourselves?”
His face pleated into a laughing scoff. “Cook did.”
“The same cook?”
“Yes, she’s been here as long as I can remember. Used to swat my hands with her spatulas. Edmund and I made a game of snatching and running. One of us distracted Cook while the other grabbed the sugary loot.”
“What a perfectly lovely story.” Henrietta looked down at her own hands. They were capable and steady.
“Did you never sneak into your kitchens at night?”
Though the question was innocent enough, it brought her back to the reason they were up in the middle of the night in the first place. A shudder rippled through her.
“That looks like a no.” Dominic’s low voice filtered through her struggle
