With a smile a mile wide, Hartwell closed the door to his rooms behind him and leaned against it.

He felt like doing something completely crazy, like jumping three feet high, punching the air and shrieking 'yeehaa!' at the top of his lungs.

For the first battle was won: he was a courting man!

Waking up half the household however did not seem like the best idea if they wanted to keep their courtship private, so he had better find some other way to expend this sudden excess energy.

Maybe he could go riding instead? Yes!

He pushed himself away from the door, and striding across the room, he pulled at his cravat. Yes, riding was just the thing: gallopping across the fields, he could…

Blast.

Passing the window, he caught sight of the moonlit wintery landscape outside. And recalled to his chagrin that thaw had begun to set in today, accompanied by a light rain earlier this morning. And with the clear sky they had right now, all that water would have frozen over by nightfall. Only a fool would risk life and limb and his horse to go gallopping around on such a treacherous ice plain. And even though he may be in the mood to do something utterly foolish, deliberately risking death at this high point in his life was not what he had in mind. Of all the bad luck…

Turning back to the room, he finally managed to tear off his cravat, and shrugged out of his coat as well. There. If riding was not possible, what other options did he have?

He threw the discarded garments over a chair and poured himself a drink.

Stephen Fitzwilliam – a courting man!

"To Miss Kenway!" he announced to the empty room, and threw back the whole glass at once. "May she soon agree to become my wife!"

That thought actually sobered his exuberance a bit, and he fell down in a chair. For he had better face it: he was getting seriously ahead of himself now. The first battle was won, yes: she had agreed to a courtship with him.

But winning the first battle did not mean winning the war. The real work was only just beginning: getting to know each other better, and trying to determine whether they would suit as lifetime companions. In the present euphoria it might feel like there could be no doubt that she was the one for him, but his experience with Agnes had taught him that you could not be too careful in matters like this. He would have to get to know her a lot better before he would be willing to take the plunge and actually propose.

He leaned his head back against the headrest and sighed in a smile. The turn of her countenance he would never forget when she had told him, "I have decided I would be happy to welcome your courtship." A mixture of nervosity and sweetness, happiness tinged with a little dread, and although clearly not entirely convinced, there was something of a hesitant stubbornness in her features that said she was resolved to give this endeavour a serious try nonetheless.

He had scarcely dared to believe his ears though, and had not dared to move a single muscle for fear of breaking the spell until a delightfully impish smile had started to spread across her face. "Well, I guess that means we are courting now," she had said.

Hearing that, he had finally dared to let go of his breath. "Miss Kenway, I…" A gulp. "Thank you."

Silence as they self-consciously beamed at each other by the sounds of Mrs Davies's Passacaglia.

"But…" he had hesitated at last. "Are you sure? Really sure, I mean?"

Her eyebrows had shot up. "Do you want me to back out again?"

"No! No, of course not! It's just…" He had raked ten fingers through his hair. "It is all so sudden, so… so…" He shook his head, unable to find the words. "I believe my brain has a little trouble catching up with the fact that you actually said yes. It's like I am totally frazzled."

She had chuckled at that. "Well, maybe we should give your brain a few minutes to unfrazzle then, because there is something we really need to discuss before we go any further."

"Anything," he had pleaded emphatically.

"Is your brain sufficiently defrazzled?"

"Try me."

"Alright. That is – if you will allow me to continue being so open and honest for a few more minutes?"

He had given her his most incredulous look. "Miss Kenway, may I remind you that we are now officially courting? And the whole purpose of a courtship is to get to know each other. We can only accomplish that if we are open and honest with each other."

"I know, but…" She had let out something between a sigh and a chuckle. "You are also still my master."

"Not when we are courting – I do not court my subordinates," he had refuted. "Yes, I imagine there might come up situations where the lines are a bit blurred, but generally, now that we are courting, you may assume that I regard you as an equal."

She had made no reply; instead, she had searched his face for… for what?

"Do you need your master to order you to be open and honest with me?"

That had brought out a laugh in her. "Yes. Maybe that would be best." He really liked the sound of her laugh.

"Very well then: Miss Kenway, you said there is something we absolutely need to discuss before we take this courtship any further. I hereby order you to be completely open and honest with me."

She had chuckled at that. "Alright – it is about your overly generous safety net. You assured me I was welcome to negotiate the numbers, so that is what I would like to do. For I do not want twenty thousand pounds. That sum is insane."

"But…" He shook his head a little as if to clear it. "Miss Kenway, I just want to provide for you in case this does not work out."

"Assuming your cousin is an honourable master who pays his staff as he should, that is what you would be doing when you find me another position. Why should I need more?"

"Yes, but I want you to be secure. Really secure. Times are uncertain, inflation has been rife these past years… I just want to make sure you would not have to starve in the hedgerows in case something… something unforeseen happens."

She had scoffed at that. "Maybe a duchess needs eight hundred pounds a year in order not to starve, but I assure you most people manage perfectly well on a fraction of that."

"Like what?"

"Fifty, sixty pounds per annum, if you insist? On top of a governess's wages, that would make me a lavishly rich woman – even when taking in the inflation."

All he could do at that point was stare at her, completely dumbfounded; he still chuckled at the memory.

"Miss Kenway," he had half stammered at last. "Do you have any idea how much money this estate brings in?"

"About twelve thousand per annum?" she thought. "That is what I have heard. But I confess I cannot really wrap my mind around such numbers."

"It is closer to fifteen actually, but…" A deep breath. "Miss Kenway, this estate brings in more money than I know what to do with – even after deducting the allowances for my parents and my brother. So if we were to marry, your pin money alone would amount to considerably more than those eight hundred pounds."

"Oh." That had silenced her for a bit.

"I don't mean to frighten you with my riches," he had explained as gently as he could. "But really, I have the means to be generous. And I would really like to see you provided for even without a governess's position. Believe me, I can afford it. And… well, I was also thinking that it might make you more easily accepted if you were to come to the marriage with a dowry of twenty thousand pounds."

She had scoffed at the notion. "Where would I have gotten that kind of money from."

"Some distant relation? Nobody need know the details."

"Then why was that money not used to save Hendon Hall? No," she asserted. "I will not accept twenty thousand pounds. That is the kind of sum I imagine you would settle on your wife; not just a little nest egg to keep me out of the hedgerows."

It had seemed like the better part of valour not to mention at that point that the Fitzwilliam heirs traditionally settled more than double that amount on their wives. Instead, he had opened the bidding with, "How about five thousand pounds then."

It had taken a little haggling back and forth, but in the end, Miss Kenway had reluctantly gone along with three thousand seven hundred and fifty pounds, which would give her an annuity of a hundred and fifty pounds per annum, and with the additional stipulation that in the case of severe inflation, he would be allowed to reopen the negotiations.

He smiled by himself. Financially, Miss Kenway and he truly came from totally different worlds.

But she sure was something!

Miss Kenway smiled as she laid out the children's assignments for the morning. Being courted made her feel oddly special. And surprisingly good!

Her smile widened as she thought back to yesterday evening – Marie's excited hugs when they informed her of the night's developments, and the master walking her back to her rooms with Marie trailing unobtrusively behind.

And when they had reached her door, the master had bowed over her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips, just like Saturday evening. Again, it was not a kiss, but…

"Good night, Miss Kenway," he had earnestly wished her.

"Good night, sir," she had replied on autopilot, as out of nowhere, the flames were suddenly shooting up her cheeks. For in that semi-moment, her mind had suddenly conjured up an image of him taking her in his arms and kissing her goodnight.

She still blushed at the brazenness of the thought. Fancies like that were not only improper, but also highly premature. They were just courting after all – no more, no less. So she really ought to keep a cool head and not let her imagination run away with her like that.

She was just getting Philip's daily reading practice ready when the man himself walked in.

"Miss Kenway." Another bow and brush over her knuckles. "I hope you are well this morning?"

"I am indeed, sir," she replied with a self-conscious curtsey. "And how about you? Did you sleep well?"

"I did indeed." He nodded to the window, where the rain pelted against the panes. "I was hoping I could join your lessons this morning – at least until the weather clears a little."

She couldn't help a chuckle at his utterly transparent tactics. "I am not sure there would be much for you to do, sir. I had a history essay planned for the two eldest, and I know you are well aware that Philip's reading does not exactly improve when he has two adults egging him on."

"Well, I…"

But there was Ginny, and their little tête-à-tête was aborted.

"Good morning, Papa." He got a hug, and the continued conversation flowed on around her as she got ready for the morning's lessons. And when Henry, too, joined them, she decided she might as well explain their morning task to them right away.

Henry and Ginny got started on their respective tasks with little delay, and Miss Kenway impatiently glanced at the clock. Where was Philip? It was nearly ten past the hour!

"I will go and see what is keeping him," the master said quietly, and with a nod, he walked out of the room.

The nursery was just down the hallway; he could already hear Mrs Davies singing there as she tidied the rooms. He knocked on the door and immediately stuck his head in. "Mrs Davies?"

"Yes, sir?" Her face lit up even more when she saw him. "And how are you this wonderful morning, sir?"

He couldn't quench a big grin. "Wonderful indeed. But ehm… where is Philip?"

"Philip?" She shook her head. "Is he not in the schoolroom? I sent him out, what… ten, fifteen minutes ago."

"Well, he never got there. I had better go and find him then. Could you perhaps look around the floor here?" He grinned. "Maybe he has caught the hide-and-seek bug."

Mrs Davies rolled her eyes at that. "You Fitzwilliam children are all the same."

Hartwell chuckled, and went on his way to the music room. After all, just in case he was not playing hide and seek, that was the most logical place to look for Philip.

Mrs Davies's reaction made him chuckle. She was right of course. Henry and Ginny, too, had gone through a phase when they loved nothing better than to seek out the most ingenious hiding places around the house. So had he and Gregory, and later Richard. The joy was not so much in remaining undetected, but in gleefully showing off your clever hiding place once you were found. And Matlock Manor was a treasure trove of marvellous hiding places. If Philip was not in the music room, he would have to call in some help from the staff, or else he could be searching for his son all day.

And indeed: Philip was not in the music room.

He grinned. He had no pressing matters waiting for him; he could indulge the boy for a bit.

He called together a few footmen and maids, and quickly divided the floors and wings among them. There were some chuckles and sighs when they realized what was expected of them, but fortunately, they knew the house and its hiding places almost as well as he did – if not better.

Still, it was nearly half an hour before a maid came to find him with the message that Master Philip had been found in the upper guest wing.

He smiled, and thanked her. "I will go and see him then. Could you perhaps tell the others that the search is over and they can return to their regular duties? And I would appreciate it if you could drop by the schoolroom and tell Miss Kenway that Philip has been found and will be joining her shortly."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

He straightened up from the floor where he had been about to open a 'secret' storage place, and dusted off his knees. The upper guest wing, eh? Yes, there were some wonderful hiding places there. He wondered which one Philip had chosen.

He jumped up the stairs, and to his surprise, he found a solemn footman standing by an open broom closet in the guest wing. That was not much of a hiding place, was it? There were much better ones here, like that alcove behind his greatgrandmother's giant knotted tapestry, or…

Oh well. He would play along.

He winked and grinned at the serious looking footman. "Thank you, Charles. I will take it from here. You may return to your duties."

The man bowed and left, and Hartwell peered into the semi-darkness of the broom closet. "There you are! What…?" The jovial words caught in his throat. Huddling on the floor there against the back wall of the closet was no gleeful boy playing hide and seek. "What's wrong?"

Philip just shrugged, and refused to meet his eyes. In fact, he seemed on the verge of tears.

Hartwell squatted down in front of him and placed a comforting hand on his son's knee. "Hey, what is wrong?"

A half shrug was his only reply.

"Philip?"

The boy brushed across his eyes, but still would not look at him.

"Philip? I really want to help you, but I can only help if you tell me what is wrong."

"I…" A shuddering breath. "I don't want to go to the schoolroom anymore." A sniff. "At least not before breakfast."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Why? Is it somehow better after breakfast?"

Philip ducked down his head, and still refused to look at him. "No more reading at least," he finally mumbled.

Ah. "Philip, I know it is…"

"Am I dumb?" the boy interrupted him.

"What?! No! Of course you are not dumb! No – you are a bright and intelligent boy, with some amazing…"

"Then why can't I learn to read…!?" The tears were streaming down his face now.

"Oh, Philip…" Hartwell pushed himself to his feet and lifted the boy up in his arms, where he immediately clung to him.

"Everybody can read," the boy cried in palpable despair. "So why can't I learn how?"

"I don't know, Philip," his father was forced to admit. "But I do know it is not because you are dumb. Someone who plays the pianoforte as beautifully as you do cannot possibly be dumb."

Philip just kept crying over his shoulder, and Hartwell decided he might as well get comfortable on a chair in the hallway instead of hovering in the dark closet. And once he had arranged Philip's legs so he could sit down, he just held the boy close as he cried inconsolably.

But his mind was making angry overtime. Who had told the poor boy that he was dumb?! Surely Miss Kenway would not. But then who? Henry or Ginny? Yes, children could be cruel to each other sometimes. Or Monsieur Girardaux? Philip positively worshipped the man, so if he had said something derogatory, it would have hit very hard. Or had it perhaps been someone from the staff?

"Philip," he pressed as soon as the boy seemed to calm down a bit. "Who told you you were dumb?"

"Nobody," Philip sniffed. "I just…" He began to cry again.

So it was his own deduction. That was harsh, but it was one less problem at least.

"Philip, listen to me. You are not dumb. Far from it, in fact."

"Then why can't I learn to read like everyone else?! I'm not stupid! If everyone can learn to read, but I can't – that means I must be really dumb. If everyone else can do it…!"

"Philip, you are not dumb! I don't know exactly how it works, and the scientists, too, are only just beginning to understand how the brain works. But I suspect there are simply a few communication lines in your head that somehow got mixed up. But that does not make you dumb."

"Well, can't they fix me then?"

Hartwell sighed, and rubbed his son's back. "I am afraid not, my boy. Maybe in a hundred years or so, they might know enough to actually try and fix people's brains. But that is too far off to help you."

Philip began to sob again at that. "But I don't want to be dumb…"

"You are not dumb," Hartwell tried to imprint upon him for the umpteenth time. "Dumb people cannot read a music score – you can, and fluently so. Dumb people cannot play the pianoforte the way you do. Dumb people do not recognize the name of a music piece based on nothing but the note patterns on the sheet music. They do not outshine their big sister in the multiplication tables either. Dumb people cannot play chess properly, and they certainly cannot build such carefully thought out structures as you regularly build with your blocks. You can do all that, and more – so you are definitely not dumb."

"But if I'm not dumb, then why can't I learn to read?"

Hartwell sighed, and pressed a kiss in his son's dark hair. "I don't know, Philip. I really don't know. I wish I did; then perhaps I would know how to help you. Believe me – it is almost as frustrating for Miss Kenway and me as it is for you. We want to help you, and we are trying, but…" He sighed.

"How?" a sullen Philip demanded.

Another sigh. "Philip, you are a bright and intelligent boy. And you can read music fluently, so it must be possible for you to learn how to read letters and words as well. We just have to find a way that works for you. But that is a matter of trial and error: sometimes things work out quite nicely and you take a big step forward, and sometimes, our ideas lead to nothing. Remember the colour code?"

Philip grimaced. "Red-blue-yellow-green-yellow-red."

"See? You remember – so you are not dumb. It did help you to learn how to spell your name, did it not? But then we discovered it did not quite work as well for all twenty-six letters. So we had to come up with something else. But that is our responsibility – Miss Kenway's and mine. Your responsibility is to keep trying and never give up. For once you stop trying, then you will never learn. So if you want to learn how to read, you have to keep trying."

Philip hid his face against his chest in shame. "I've stopped trying sometimes."

"Not really." His father rubbed his back. "It is completely understandable to lose heart sometimes when you don't see results. But in the end, you always went back and tried again, did you not?"

Philip made no reply.

"Philip, do you have any idea how proud I am of you?"

Philip grimaced.

"And I am not talking about your music now; I am talking about your reading. For years now, you have been trying and trying and trying and trying again… Your perseverance in this is truly amazing! Believe me – if you had learned to read in a week, I could not be half as proud of you as I am today!"

"Really?" Philip looked confused. "Don't you want me to read?"

"Of course I want you to read. I merely meant that I am so proud of you because you keep trying, no matter how difficult it is for you. But you still keep trying and trying and trying… That is what makes me so proud. If you had learned to read in a week, it would have been like, 'Oh, nice, Philip has learned to read!' And then I would have gotten on with my day. Will you believe that I do not even remember the exact date that Henry and Ginny learned to read? But I sure will remember yours; that will be the greatest victory since we evicted the Romans from England!"

Philip laughed a little at that; he was glad to hear it.

"You really think I can learn to read?"

"Absolutely. A boy as bright and intelligent as you, who reads music fluently? It must be possible. You just keep trying. And I am sure that one day, we will find a strategy that works for you."

Philip sighed with something of contentment, and hugged his father.

Returning the hug, Hartwell pressed a kiss in his son's hair. "I love you, Philip. Never forget that, alright? Regardless of whether you can read or not – I love you. You are my little boy, and I will always love you."

"I love you, too, Papa. But I'm not little."

Hartwell chuckled – they were back on familiar terrain. "You may not be so little in size anymore, but I have two boys: a big one and a little one. And you happen to be the little one of the two, so whether you like it or not, you are definitely my little boy."

Philip did not protest any further; instead, he looked up and pleaded, "When I grow up, can I please stay with you?"

Hartwell smiled. "Sure – if that is what you want. We can discuss it when you are a little older, alright? But first let's get you back to the schoolroom. Miss Kenway is probably wondering where we got off to."

Philip groaned. "Do I have to? I would much rather stay with you until breakfast. I'm not giving up," he hurried to add. "Just one day with no reading lesson. Please?"

Hartwell chuckled. "Alright then – one day with no reading lesson. But I do think we ought to inform Miss Kenway, so she can stop worrying. So off to the schoolroom we go!"