You and your Husband Benedict visited his family a couple days at Aubrey hall in summer never hurt anyone. You’re barely settled on the picnic blanket before the garden fills with noise—laughter rolling across the lawn, skirts brushing past, someone calling out a warning that is immediately ignored. Aubrey Hall always feels alive, but today it hums.

Sebastian, you’re 10 month old son, sits between your legs, plump and warm, his attention caught by everything at once. Hyacinth darts past in a blur of curls and mischief, earning a sharp “Hyacinth!” from Violet that holds no real authority. Gregory crouches nearby, waving a blade of grass like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

Sebastian watches them all—then decides he must join them.

You feel his fingers curl around yours, surprisingly strong. With a determined little sound, he leans forward and pulls himself up, knees wobbling as his bare feet press into the grass. You steady him at once, heart jumping as he sways.

“There you are,” Violet says warmly. “Up already.”

Sebastian grins, proud of himself, but standing still clearly isn’t enough. He leans again, tugging at your hand, impatient. You laugh softly, bracing him, but before you can shift or speak—

Benedict is already there.

You hadn’t noticed him approach, but when you look up he’s smiling, eyes fixed on Sebastian with that quiet, thoughtful focus that means he’s been watching for a while. He crouches in front of you both without a word, hands already reaching out.

“I thought,” he says gently, “he might like a bit of help.”

Sebastian lights up instantly. He releases your finger and grabs Benedict’s hands, small fingers wrapping around his father’s with complete trust. Benedict adjusts his grip, lifting Sebastian’s arms above his head, bending low so they’re level—careful, steady, patient.

“All right,” Benedict murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Sebastian takes a step. Wobbly. Benedict shifts backward smoothly, matching him. Another step follows, then another, Sebastian giggling as his feet press into the grass, delighted by the movement, the freedom, the attention.

“Would you look at that,” Colin calls from nearby. “He’s walking before Gregory ever did.”

“I absolutely did not,” Gregory protests immediately.

Anthony folds his arms, watching with a frown that’s far too serious for the moment. “He should have shoes.”

“He’s fine,” Benedict replies easily, still walking backward, never taking his eyes off Sebastian. “He likes the grass.”

Sebastian stumbles forward suddenly, laughing as he bumps into Benedict’s chest. Benedict bends at once, keeping his hands in place so Sebastian stays upright, forehead pressing briefly to his curls.

“That’s enough,” he says softly. “Very impressive work.”