As she stepped inside, her sharp gaze flickered briefly toward Alfred, who stood silently.
Arthur was well aware of his mother's sharp gaze and knew she had probably already noticed that he was one of his servants within her manor.
But contrary to his worries, she ignored the fact that Arthur's servant had infiltrated inside.
"I noticed you didn't eat much at breakfast. I thought… perhaps you might like to have a little something now... together with me."
It wasn't merely a simple suggestion but an attempt to mend the relationship between them.
It was a tentative bridge, fragile as glass.
"Have a seat for now, Mother. Let us have some tea, why not."
She turned toward the maid still stationed by the doorway.
"Anne. Bring the snacks and tea."
"Yes, Madam."
Arthur stepped toward the set of chairs arranged before the fireplace, their polished wood catching the firelight. With a slight nod, he gestured to the seat across from his.
"Please, make yourself comfortable."
She settled into the seat with elegance. She carried the quiet dignity of nobility, but Arthur couldn't help noting the stiffness in her posture, the uncertainty she tried so carefully to hide.
"Where's Theo?"
"He's having his lessons at the moment."
"I see."
The silence hung between them, heavy and awkward, the kind that had nowhere to rest. The kind that clung to the walls and settled in the space between heartbeats.
A few moments later, the maids entered, placing an assortment of delicate pastries on the table. The pot of steaming tea followed, its lid clinking gently as it was set down. The faint aroma of chamomile unfurled into the air, subtle and familiar.
'It seems it's still her favorite.'
Arthur hadn't yet reached for his cup when he felt her gaze settle on him, lingering longer than it should have.
"Does it not suit your taste?"
He shook his head.
"No. It's a fine tea. But… it's time for taking my herbs."
She blinked, as if startled by the mundane truth of it.
"I see."
Arthur turned his head toward Julia, who stood quietly by the far wall like a shadow.
"Bring me my pipe."
"Yes, young master."
She departed with a bow, footsteps muffled against the carpet.
After a brief pause, Adelaide tentatively spoke again, as though prying open a door she had long sealed shut.
"Arthur... I heard about last night. From my husband. Are you… alright?"
Arthur stilled for a moment.
'Is she… worried about me...?'
It sounded absurd, utterly unbelievable to him.
After all, he was quite unfamiliar with the word worry because his father had never asked him before if he was okay.
Not when he bled. Not when he fell. Not when he spent sleepless nights grappling with the cold silence that had become his only company.
And now, this woman, who had remained a distant constellation in the skies of his life, was asking if he was alright?
'What is this strange emotion that I'm feeling?'
It wasn't warmth. No, it was something quieter and heavier. A strange, unfamiliar ache curled deep in his chest.
He inhaled through his nose, letting the breath steady him. He schooled his expression into its usual calm and spoke up.
"I... I'm fine, Mother. There's no need for your concern. I'm not a mere child anymore."
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them instantly.
Her face didn't crumble, but something shifted. A flicker in her eyes, a softening at the corners of her mouth. Like a memory passing behind her gaze.
'Damn it. It seems I just reminded her of a wound. Or perhaps a time she'd rather forget.'
Arthur was good at many things but never in the matters that held fragile emotions.
'How does one fix something so delicate?'
Just as he was consumed by his guilt, a thought struck him, sudden and sharp.
'Yes. That might do the work.'
He turned to Julia, who had just returned with the pipe in her hands.
"Julia, go and bring that thing over here. You may take this servant with you."
She arched a brow slightly but complied after a moment.
"Yes, young master."
His mother tilted her head slightly.
"What is it?"
Arthur gazed at his mother for a while, then spoke up.
"A portrait... My portrait, to be precise."
Her lips parted slightly in surprise, but he continued to speak.
"I heard you had an old portrait of me. But it must be outdated by now, right? I've grown… so I thought you should have a new one instead."
"I… see."
Moments later, Alfred entered the room with the portrait in his hands.
"May I open it right now...?"
"Sure."
Julia stepped forward and peeled back the protective covering with careful hands, revealing the painted image beneath.
The portrait contained a picture of Arthur, dressed in a tailored black suit, the embroidery fine and understated, matching the exact hue of his eyes. Turquoise, vivid even in oil and canvas.
His mother stared at it for a long time. Then, slowly, a faint but genuine smile bloomed on her face.
"You almost resemble your father in his youth."
"Huh...? Do I...?"
"Yes... You take after him far more than I think you take after me."
"Are you… disappointed by that?"
She exhaled softly and shook her head as she replied.
"No. Your eyes still resemble mine, don't they? Even if that's the only thing that lets others recognize you as my son."
A smile tugged at his lips.
"Then that's enough, isn't it?"
Their eyes met, and for the first time, they didn't feel the uneasiness. The tension and distance that always remained between them was nowhere in sight.
She nodded, a quiet peace settling into her features.
"…Yes."
She turned toward Anne.
"Anne, have this hung in my room."
"Yes, Madam."
She set down her empty teacup with a faint clink, the sound delicate as porcelain meeting polished wood.
Her gaze lingered on him, not long enough to be called affectionate, yet just enough to betray a moment's hesitation, as if she wished to say more but found herself unable.
She stood up from her seat with practiced grace, the folds of her silk dress trailing softly over the carpet as she murmured.
"It seems I've taken up too much of your time. I'll head back now."
Arthur leaned back into the high-backed chair, exhaling quietly as he tilted his head slightly.
"Very well, Mother. Ah. And could you please tell Theo that he's welcome to visit anytime, if he wishes to spend some time with me."
She paused just long enough for it to be noticeable, then offered a gentle nod.
"I'll be sure to let him know."
'Or so I told her to do. But... where did it all go wrong? Why is there this much work...?!'
The weight of responsibility loomed before him in the form of a towering stack of documents, their presence oppressive.
He brought a hand to his temple, massaging the dull ache forming just behind his eyes, and cast a weary glance at the desk that stretched before him like some sacrificial altar.
Eloise had assured him that it was a short delivery, but Arthur felt as though the entire estate's burden had been poured onto his shoulders.
"Haah..."
A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he reached once more for the pen.
'I didn't know I would say this the same day. But… Father… I miss you. Truly.'
Beside him, Eloise stood in composed silence. Her posture betrayed nothing, but he could feel the weight of her gaze, sharp and calculating, as if silently measuring the hours he had left before he crumbled beneath this growing mountain of responsibilities.
'Ha.ha. Not today, Eloise. I won't give up anytime soon.'
Knock. Knock.
"Who is it...? Is that you, Theo?"
The door opened and a small figure entered the room quietly, his expression alight with excitement.
"Brother... Are you busy right now...?"
Arthur exhaled through his nose and softened his tone.
"Ah, Theo. Brother has quite a bit of work today. Why don't you sit and have some snacks while I finish up?"
His golden curls bounced as he nodded, an eager smile blooming on his youthful face.
"Alright, Brother!"
He turned toward Julia, who had entered behind after a moment.
"Bring some snacks for Theo."
"Yes, young master."
Theo, meanwhile, had already turned his curious gaze to the silent figure standing at Arthur's side. His eyes sparkled with innocent wonder.
"Brother, may I ask who the lady standing beside you is?"
"She's my aide, Theo. She works for me."
Eloise shifted at last, her movements subtle, fluid. She inclined her head with measured grace, her voice calm and refined.
"My name is Eloise Whitmore. It's a pleasure to meet the Young Lord of the Granville household."
Theo puffed out his chest a little, visibly trying to mimic the refined manners he must've seen adults perform during formal occasions.
"I am Theodore Granville, my lady. It is an honor to make your acquaintance."
Arthur glanced sidelong at Eloise, and to his surprise, her expression softened slightly. A crack in the porcelain. A moment of quiet amusement, or perhaps… fondness?
He leaned back in his chair once more.
"Theo, would you like to converse with Eloise while I finish the rest of my work?"
His eyes brightened instantly.
"Sure, Brother. If Lady Eloise is alright with it."
Eloise gave a graceful nod, her voice warm but formal.
"I would be honored, young lord."
And with that, the two began talking.
Their voices drifted through the room, filling the quiet with laughter, questions, and the lightheartedness only children could summon.
After a long while, the work was finally over.
The final stroke of his pen glided across the last sheet, sealing away the day's labor in a flourish of ink.
He leaned back with a sigh, his joints stiff and thoughts sluggish.
His gaze sweeped across the sea of completed documents like a commander surveying the aftermath of battle.
"Eloise. The ones placed on the left side require some revision. I've marked the sections that need attention. Once it's done, bring them back for my signature. And the ones on the right side are complete."
"I understand, young master."