He gave her a slight nod.

She sat a little taller in her seat. “I tore my new dress climbing a tree.”

“Goodness,” Julia said. “I hope you could repair it?”

“Mr. Beecham sewed it.”

“Did he? That was clever of him.” Julia cast a glance at Jasper, as nervous about saying the wrong thing as Daisy was. But unlike with his daughter, Jasper offered Julia no guidance on how to proceed next. Indeed, he was regarding her with one of his indecipherable looks.

“Do you like to sew yourself?” she asked Daisy.

“No,” Daisy said.

“What do you like to do?” Julia included the boys in her question. “How do you pass the time now you’re not in school?”

Charlie stabbed a piece of mutton with his fork. “There’s plenty to do when it’s not raining.”

“We go out on the moors,” Alfred said. “And we have a pond, too. It’s as big as a lake. You can swim for hours.”

“I should like to see it,” Julia said.

Charlie’s gaze narrowed with skepticism. “Can you swim?”

“No,” she confessed. “I don’t know how, I’m afraid. I’ve never lived in the country.”

“I’ll teach you,” Jasper said.

Their eyes met and held. And Julia felt a spark of . . . something. The anxious trembling in her stomach transformed into the delicate flutter of butterfly wings.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’d like that. That is . . . if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he replied.

Julia had the distinct sensation that he meant it. A blush crept into her cheeks. She had to make an effort not to prolong the moment.

She turned her attention back to the children. “I hope we’ll spend a lot of time out of doors together when the weather clears.”

“It’s not all fun and games here at the Hall, ma’am. Not even when the sun’s shining.” Mr. Beecham refilled his glass from the carafe of watered wine on the table. “The boys have lessons in the mornings. We’re reading Plato, aren’t we, lads?”

“It’s better than Mr. Filbert making us read the dratted Bible every day,” Charlie grumbled.

“Charlie,” Jasper warned.

“He did make us,” Alfred said. “Charlie and me more than any of the others. He hated us.”

“Filbert’s a strict fellow,” Mr. Beecham said. “He’d have done better as a clergyman than a schoolmaster, but he doesn’t have the learning for it.”

Julia offered her glass for Mr. Beecham to refill. “He sounds like my old nurse, Nanny Plum. Whenever I was in her black books, she’d make me sit in the corner of the nursery and read from an old Bible for hours on end. She thought it a punishment.”

“It is a punishment,” Charlie declared.

“Not at all,” Julia said. “The Bible can be as exciting as a novel if you know where to look. It’s filled with countless exciting tales.”

Alfred was skeptical. “I never read any.”

“Oh yes,” Julia went on. “Let me see. There’s the story of Daniel in the lion’s den. And the one about Samson and Delilah—though it paints ladies in rather a poor light. Then there’s the story of Joseph and his coat of many colors. That’s my own favorite. It’s filled with injustice, revenge, hidden identities, and a spectacular triumph at the end. There are even prophetic dreams. Quite thrilling, I must say.”