June 1926

Marguerite was comfortably nestled in a cushioned armchair by the open window of the library, her eyes scanning the pages of a well-worn novel. A gentle breeze stirred the lace curtains, filling the room with the fresh scent of the budding roses from the garden. The atmosphere in the room was calm, the sounds of turning pages blending harmoniously with the occasional distant murmur of Avebury Manor's staff going about their duties.

Malone stepped into the library, quietly shutting the door behind him.

"How was London?" Marguerite asked, closing her book and setting it aside on a nearby table.

"Busy as ever." Malone replied, walking over to her with a soft smile. "I thought you might like this," he continued, handing her a freshly published book.

Marguerite's eyes brightened as she examined the new arrival. "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd! Agatha Christie's latest! Oh, Malone, you do know how to lift a lady's spirits."

"I figured since you're mostly confined to resting these days, a good mystery might offer an enjoyable escape," Malone replied, smiling at her delighted expression.

"This is exactly what I needed, thank you," Marguerite said, already flipping to the first chapter. "Being in my eighth month has kept me rather sedentary, and there's only so much one can read of the classics before craving something a bit more... exhilarating."

"Anything to make your time of rest a bit more enjoyable," Malone replied, taking a seat beside her.

"Do you know when John is coming back from London? How are things out there, considering the situation?" Marguerite asked.

"It's complicated, to say the least. The city is tense, and John is neck-deep in meetings. He's doing his best to navigate through it all. He's hoping to be back by the end of the week," Malone replied, his tone tinged with concern. "And what about Veronica? Where is she?"

"Veronica took William to the village to pick up some art supplies—they're both gotten into sketching lately," Marguerite responded, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

William, now three years old and quite the chatterbox, had developed quite a fondness for spending time with Veronica. He seemed to enjoy their creative sessions immensely, showing particular enthusiasm for drawing and painting.

Feeling his stomach grumble, Malone glanced at the grandfather clock standing tall in the corner of the library. "Ah, it appears I've missed lunch."

"I'll ask Goodwin to set up a table for you," Marguerite suggested.

"I think I'll head downstairs and fix myself a quick sandwich. No need to go through all the formalities," Malone decided, standing up.

The manor staff, unaccustomed to the presence of the family in what was considered their domain, looked up in surprise when Malone entered the kitchen.

"Don't pay attention to me; carry on with your work," Malone reassured them. "I'm just here for a little sandwich."

The staff exchanged glances but went back to their tasks, each hiding a small, knowing smile.

As Malone was making his way back upstairs, sandwich still in hand, he encountered Charles Goodwin, the manor's butler who held a deep reverence for tradition.

"Ah, Mr. Malone, you've returned. I wasn't informed. Shall I set a table for you in the dining room?" Goodwin's tone was a mix of professional courtesy and subtle surprise at finding Malone procuring his own meal from the kitchen.

"No need for that, Goodwin. I didn't want to trouble anyone for a full dining room setup. I'm quite satisfied with my sandwich," Malone replied, showcasing his humbler, commoner sensibilities.

"Very well, sir," Goodwin said, managing to keep his expression neutral despite the slight breach in traditional household protocol. "If you require anything else, do not hesitate to ask."

Malone stepped out into the garden, the scent of blooming flowers filling the air. He walked along the cobblestone path, still munching on his sandwich, and spotted Veronica and William at a distance. They were seated at a tea table, their art supplies spread out before them, deeply engrossed in their artistic endeavors.

He approached quietly, not wanting to disturb their concentration, but William was quick to sense his presence. His sea-grayish eyes looked up, meeting Malone's, and a bright smile spread across his little face.

"Uncle Neddy, look!" William proudly displayed a paper full of colorful scribbles and smears.

"That's quite the masterpiece you have there, Will," Malone grinned, crouching beside him to get a closer look.

"It's a dinosaur," William clarified, pointing to a blob of green and brown. "Roar!"

"A dinosaur, you say? Oh, it's very fearsome!" Malone exclaimed, showing awe and surprise. "And what masterpiece are you creating?" Malone asked, glancing at Veronica's sketchbook.

"I'm trying to sketch the garden," she said, sharing her artwork with Malone. "It's a work in progress, but I'm getting there."

"It's lovely, really," Malone complimented, looking back up at her. "You've captured the essence of this place beautifully."

Malone set on the chair besides them.

"It's adorable how he's starting to look so much like John every day," Malone said, looking at William's earnest little face as he concentrated on adding spikes to his dinosaur.

"I know, right?" Veronica agreed. "Yes, he has Marguerite's eyes but the hair and the nose are John's. I also see it in the little mannerisms. The way he squints when he's focusing, it's like watching a mini-version of John."

"Daddy?" William piped up suddenly, seemingly picking up on the conversation. "When's Daddy coming back?"

"Your daddy will be back soon, William. He's in London taking care of important things," Malone explained gently.

"Can I show him my dino then?" William asked, his eyes round and hopeful.

"Absolutely," Malone assured him. "I'm sure your dad will be as impressed as we are."

"Roar!" William declared victoriously, brandishing his artwork like a trophy.

Clara Oswald was the nanny of young William, and though she had limited responsibilities due to the Marguerite's hands-on approach to motherhood and the additional help from Veronica and Ned, she still took her job seriously. She was in the nursery, tucking away William's toys when the door creaked open, and Mrs. Keys, the housekeeper, stepped in.

"Everything in order here, Miss Oswald?" Mrs Keys surveyed the room, her eyes as precise as a military general inspecting troops.

"Quite in order, Mrs. Keys," Clara responded, offering a polite smile. "Master William is out with Miss Layton, enjoying the summer air."

"It's nearly time for Master William's luncheon and afternoon rest," Mrs. Mildred Keys pointed out, eyeing Clara as if she was lecturing her that her job was far from idle.

Clara nodded, aware of the subtle undercurrents. "Of course. I was just going to fetch him."

"Very well," Mildred responded. "I'll have one of the maids prepare his snack and bring it up."

As Clara made her way down to the garden, she couldn't shake the feeling that the rest of the staff noticed her lack of duties. Hushed whispers and subtle side glances were hard to ignore. Yet, she also felt pride in her work, minor as it may seem to others. After all, these small tasks contributed to the well-being of a child, and in turn, to the family she had come to care for.

Clara stepped into the garden, her eyes immediately landing on William, who was sitting at a small table covered in art supplies. Veronica and Malone sat on either side of him, each engrossed in their own work.

Clara approached the small gathering and politely nodded to Veronica and Ned. "Master William," she softly called. "It's time for your afternoon luncheon."

"No, Nanny! I wanna paint more!" William pouted, his little hands gripping the paintbrush as if afraid someone might take it away from him.

Clara chuckled softly. "You can paint more later. Let's go inside now."

With a heavy sigh of surrender, William put down his brush, stood up, and held his arms out for Clara to pick him up. She lifted him effortlessly, and as she turned to leave, she saw his drawing sitting at the corner of the table.

"Shouldn't we take your wonderful dinosaur with us?" she suggested.

William's eyes brightened, "Yes! Dino must nap too!"

Clara carefully picked up the piece of paper and took a closer look as they made their way back to the nursery. She was surprised at the level of detail; for a three-year-old, William had managed an astonishing representation of a dinosaur.

"William, your dinosaur is beautiful," she couldn't help but comment. "Did you have help with this?"

"No, Nanny, I did it!" he said proudly, puffing up his little chest.

"Very impressive," Clara said, genuinely amazed. She wondered if Veronica and Malone had noticed his talent.

As they reached the nursery, Clara settled William down for his meal. While he ate, she found herself contemplating not just his artistic abilities but other talents she had noticed. William had a set of spelling blocks, and he had already mastered spelling a few basic words. More surprisingly, he showed an uncanny ability to calculate on his abacus.

Perhaps it was something worth mentioning to Lord and Lady Avebury. It wasn't that they didn't notice their son's talents; rather, they simply didn't have the specific expertise in child care to differentiate between what was typical for a three-year-old and what was exceptional.

After making sure William was comfortably tucked into his bed for his afternoon nap, Clara decided it was an opportune moment to have a brief conversation with Marguerite about William's emerging talents. She quietly exited the nursery, making her way to Marguerite's bedroom where the expectant mother usually took her own rest during these hours.

As she approached the bedroom, Clara gently knocked on the door before entering. She found Marguerite awake, lying on her bed with a few cushions propping her up. Her hand rested on her noticeably round belly, and she looked as radiant as ever.

"Your Ladyship, do you have a moment?" Clara ventured, her tone respectful yet filled with an unmistakable urgency.

"Of course, Clara, what's the matter?" Marguerite replied, setting aside the book she had been idly flipping through.

Clara took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "It's about Master William."

Marguerite's eyes widened momentarily, a flicker of concern crossing her face. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong. Quite the contrary," Clara quickly reassured her. "I've been observing some unique talents in him that I think are worth nurturing. Master William is showing an advanced level of development for his age, both academically and artistically."

Marguerite's eyes twinkled, clearly intrigued. "Really? Do go on."

Clara then detailed William's recent accomplishments with the spelling blocks and the abacus, as well as his surprisingly mature artistic abilities.

Marguerite's eyes shimmered with a mixture of pride and gratitude as she took in Clara's observations. "Thank you, Clara. I'll discuss this with John as soon as he returns from London."

"Of course, my lady."

As Clara exited the room, she felt a sense of fulfillment. It was moments like these that reminded her why she had chosen her profession. William had an exceptionally bright future ahead of him, and she was thankful to be a part of laying its foundation.