She lifted her face to him and smiled. “I know.”
Niall’s heart clenched at the surety of her response. I’ll always protect you.
Her face scrunched in a tight frown. “You are cold, Niall.” Ophelia scuttled closer to him on the log. “We can share. It is really big.”
“My da gave it to me,” he said softly, inching over to meet her.
They sat on the log, and she removed one of her spindly arms from the jacket. Somehow he wriggled a bit of himself into the jacket, too, and warmth and her unique scent of berries enveloped him. They stayed huddled like that, and despite worrying about his family, Niall felt an unusual happiness seep into his bones. Fifi started to hum softly under her breath, staring up at the velvet beauty of the night sky.
“Wot is that ye humming?”
“It’s music for dancing. I’ve been learning these past few months.”
“To dance?”
“Yes.”
“Wot for?”
“It is important to know for when I am ready to marry.”
Niall frowned. “Marry?”
“Yes. Miss Kinney says these are especially important things to marriage.”
“You seem small to marry.”
She smiled, and the beauty of it sent his heart to his throat.
“Miss Kinney says a young girl must prepare from now to marry in the future. I am not that small. Remember that I am eight years,” she said, holding up the numbers on her hand. “Let me show you, Niall.”
Fifi stood, dipped into a most graceful bow, straightened, and then started to dance, her dirtied dress swirling around her ankles as she pirouetted. He thought the notions of rich families were odd, but she looked carefree and lovely in her dance.
There was also a niggle in his belly that he could not brush away. “Fifi, wot age will ye get married?” Surely it wouldn’t be now. He knew what married people did, kissing and the likes. He wondered if she knew. His ma and da were always kissing and hugging.
She paused in a turn. “I’ll have my come out at seventeen or eighteen, and then I’m to marry Peter Warwick, the future Earl of Langdon.”
Niall was astonished; this fellow was a nob. “You already know the gent yer to marry?”
“Mama knows it. I have not met him as yet.”
Rich people were very odd.
A shadow passed over her face, and her gaze grew far away, as if she’d retreated into herself. She returned to the log and sat with a heavy sigh. The loss of her brightness made Niall feel cold. Reaching out, he used the knuckle of one of his fingers and gently tapped her nose. “Wot is it?”
“I miss my father. I miss home. Do you think they will find us?”
“Yes,” he said bravely, though he was also scared. He was not familiar with these lands, and despite searching for hours daily, he did not see the path to take her to safety. “Your ma and pa miss you,” he said reassuringly. “They will be looking for ye.”
“My mama does not like me very much, I’m afraid. I am not certain why I thought of it just now.”
“We’ve been ’ere for five days,” he pointed out. “You miss her.”
Large golden eyes landed on him with perfect gravity. “I suppose I do. I wonder if she misses me in return.”
Niall didn’t know much, but he was sure little girls were not supposed to worry about if their mothers loved them. “I bet she does,” he said, feeling with every fiber of his being that it was important to reassure Ophelia that she was treasured.
“She does not hug or kiss me. My papa does,” she whispered, a shadow of pain in her eyes.
“My mother tells me every mama loves her children, and Da says Ma is always right.”
Her eyes widened. “Your mama sounds fanciful, and your papa…perhaps he is afraid of your mama.”
They shared a smile at the idea.
“My mama loves me…and I miss her.” To his embarrassment, his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat and squared his bony shoulders.
“What do you miss about your ma the most?”
“She ’ave the most beautiful voice,” Niall said. “Da used to say Mama has the voice of one of the angels that went missing from heaven. She sings all the time, especially when she is cooking.”
Her little mouth formed an O of surprise. “Your ma cooks?”
“Yes. Don’t yers?” Perhaps that was why she was so tiny.
“No. We have a cook who does it, Mrs. Clovis. She is very good, and she always makes my favorite cake.”
Before he could reply to that, she asked, “And does your da sing, too?”
“No, but he would make up stories. Lots of them.”
A wistful sigh slipped from her. “My papa reads to me.”
They shared another smile together, and strange but wonderful emotions filled the cavity of Niall’s chest.
“I’ll sing for you,” Ophelia said, “and maybe you’ll miss your ma less.” Before he could muster a response, she started to sing, stealing all coherent thoughts from his brain.
Ophelia’s voice was…pure and perfect. Not even his ma could rival the beautiful sound coming from a body this small. Niall stared at her, engrossed and enchanted. Each note felt as if it reached into his soul and stroked a part of him that he hadn’t known existed, and the oddest thing happened to him. That phenomenon called love his da often told him about, the one that would happen when he was grown and met a lady, happened in this very moment.
He felt it. A wrench in his heart…painful yet hopeful, the urge to protect her always, the promise to make her happy forever. They all lived within him at this moment, and the dream he had for his future shifted.
His da had been hired on to be an estate carpenter for a squire in Lambeth: a great opportunity for their family to improve their living and for Niall to apprentice under his father. Yet at this very moment, that dream vanished like ashes in the wind. No longer did he want to be a carpenter like his da.
He wanted more…yet he wasn’t certain what that more entailed.
“Why are you crying?” she softly asked.
He hurriedly swiped away the moisture from his cheek. “I ain’t cryin’; boys don’t cry.” Then he took a deep breath. “Your voice is beautiful.”
She grinned and clapped her hands, clearly delighted with his praise. “My mama does not like when I sing, and Papa says I must do it in secret.”