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She looked up at him, a deep blush staining her cheeks, and something inside him roared in satisfaction. She was remembering last night too.
She had been beautiful.
He could teach her.
Fire, excitement, licked along his veins. He could teach her. She would be a beautiful student. And she would...
No. No.
‘William and I were discussing going for a walk,’ she said.
‘I have plans for the day,’ Briggs said. ‘No engagement scheduled whatsoever, because I am intent upon taking William to see London.’
William looked up at him, and there was visible excitement in his eyes. William was not a bubbly child. He did not show exuberance in the same way other children did, and while Briggs did not have experience with other children, he could see the differences between them and his own son. But he had learned to accept the excitement that William felt. To treasure those moments. For they were rare and precious when his son put his joy on full display. And sometimes he pitied other fathers, for he felt the outward joy of their children was so cheap they might never learn to value it. Briggs on the other hand treated every smile like a piece of gold.
‘I have a complete list of what we might do today,’ Briggs said.
‘What time?’ William asked.
‘First it will be toast. And drinking chocolate. And then our day will begin.’
‘What time?’
And Briggs knew that he had to choose his answer very carefully. He checked his timepiece. ‘How about we leave the house at ten thirty?’
‘Yes,’ William agreed.
‘But you must wear shoes,’ Beatrice said, looking slightly triumphant.
‘I will wear shoes,’ William said, looking at Beatrice as if she had grown another head. And Briggs could only be amused by that.
‘Can I join you?’
‘For toast?’ William asked.
‘For the day?’ She directed that question at Briggs.
He was about to issue a denial, when William turned to look him in the face, which was so rare that Briggs could not help but be completely taken back by it.
‘She must come,’ he said.
‘I had thought,’ Briggs said, ‘that it would be just men.’
‘But that would be boring,’ William said. ‘Because Beatrice is not boring.’
‘Beatrice, is it?’ Briggs asked, wondering what the boy should call her, but certain it should not be her first name.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I asked him to call me Beatrice.’
‘Because we are friends,’ William said. ‘She calls me William.’
He could not argue with this unassailable logic. It was quite annoying.
‘Then of course Beatrice shall accompany us, but I will have hurt feelings that you think I’m boring.’
‘I did not say you were boring,’ William said. ‘I said Beatrice was not boring.’
And he could not argue with that either. Instead, he found himself going down to breakfast with them, where toast for William, and coffee and eggs and meat awaited the three.
