Loving Rose: The Redemption of Malcolm Sinclair (Casebook of Barnaby Adair) by Stephanie Laurens Page A

outstripped her abilities, at least in arithmetic. Under Glendower’s acutely observant, not to say piercing, gaze, she felt like squirming, but instead she held his gaze and tried to think.
    As if he’d seen enough and understanding had dawned, Glendower sat back in his chair. His gaze still on her face, he said, “As I believe I’ve mentioned, I’m waiting for a summons and intend to remain here until it arrives. However, even with my investments and the repairs to this house, that still leaves me with free time—as now.” He glanced at Homer, who was hanging on his every word. “Perhaps, with your permission, Mrs. Sheridan, I could assist in furthering Homer’s studies?”
    Thomas remembered what it had felt like when he had reached the limits of his tutors’ capacity to expand his horizons and engage his questing mind. How different would his life have been—how many people would still be alive—had there been someone to take an interest in him and steer him on at that point? Instead, he’d been left to find his own way forward, to forge his own path, and that had not, in the end, turned out well for either him or wider society.
    Now here was Homer, in many ways similar to his long-ago self, reaching much the same point, but at an even earlier age, and Thomas had the time, and the abilities, to steer Homer on in the right fashion.
    Thomas looked up the table at his housekeeper. His expression as open as he could make it, he arched a brow.
    She didn’t immediately accept the offer—one that would solve what he knew she already recognized as a problem. Instead, her eyes searched his, scrutinized his expression; he could almost hear the thoughts clashing in her mind.
    She didn’t want to be beholden to him. Against that, Homer and his well-being were paramount to her, something she would—and almost certainly had—made sacrifices for.
    Thomas paused, then opened his hands, wrists still resting on the table, palms out, to her. “No conditions.” He glanced at Homer and added to deflect the boy’s mind from those words, “And not just in arithmetic but in all the other disciplines, too, and you’ll have to promise to work hard.”
    His eyes huge, his expression stating that he hardly dared hope, Homer nodded eagerly and, with Thomas, looked up the table at Rose.
    She met Thomas’s gaze, held it for an instant, then said, “If you’re sure you can spare the time?”
    Thomas smiled easily, confidently. “I am.” He looked at Homer as the boy drained his mug of milk; he’d already eaten two slices of bread and jam. As Homer lowered his mug, Thomas asked, “Are you ready to face more arithmetic—this time rather more challenging?”
    “Yes!” Homer beamed and pushed back his chair.
    With a nod down the table, Thomas rose, too, and followed the irrepressibly excited boy back to the dining room.
    There, he got Homer to show him the last exercises Rose had set—basic and boring, indeed—then he devised a series of steadily advancing exercises that would lead Homer step by step into more challenging levels of mathematical manipulation.
    Leaving Homer working his way through the first of those, Thomas reviewed the other subjects he himself had been exposed to at Homer’s age. Recalling a book that had stirred his interest in geography, he returned to the library, tracked down a copy tucked away on a bottom shelf, and, triumphant, took it with him back to the dining room.
    Homer was still busy, and would be for the next hour or so.
    Thomas set the book down on the table. When Homer looked up, Thomas nodded at the tome. “When I was about your age, I read that—it’s an adventure story set in Africa. You can take it up to your room or even outside—it’s not so much a schoolbook as a book that makes you want to learn more.”
    Homer smiled and reached out to draw the book closer. He read the title, then glanced up at Thomas, head tilting. “Did you learn at home, like this, or did you go to