“You look like someone who’s ’aving…having a rough go o’ it.”
Tears welled in his brown eyes.
“Everyone hates me,” he said between hitched breaths. “I can’t do anything right.”
He buried his head in his arms again.
Fancy placed a light hand on his shoulder, which shook with his sobs. When he didn’t pull away, she put her arm around him and sat with him while he got it out, the way her ma had done for her and her siblings whenever they had a low moment.
Eventually, Toby quieted, and she said, “Feeling better?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” His cheeks stained red, he averted his gaze.
When he pulled away, Fancy didn’t stop him. Growing up with her brothers, she knew how embarrassed males could get when it came to tears or any sign of perceived weakness. Her brothers would rather get a bloody nose than be caught crying.
“You needn’t stand on formality with me, dear,” she said gently. “Call me Fancy.”
Nodding, Toby wiped his sleeve over his eyes. “Will you promise not to tell anybody that you saw me crying?”
Fancy made a quick decision. “I will on one condition.”
“What is it?” he sniffled.
“I want to know why you were crying.”
He looked at her, his bottom lip quivering. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” she suggested.
“It’s just that I try to get things right, but I always get everything wrong,” he blurted. “Last night, I nearly pelted you with an oyster. This morning I wanted to see if Jonas would take me riding, but when I went to ask him, I accidentally ran into him and made him spill the whisky he was holding all over his waistcoat. He called me a cl-clumsy oaf and told me to stay clear of him in the f-future.”
Toby looked away, clearly trying to stop himself from crying again.
Fancy briefly wondered why Jonas was drinking whisky in the morning.
Aloud, she said, “Accidents do ’appen…happen, I mean. To everyone.”
“Does everyone have multiple accidents every single day?” Toby asked morosely.
Oh dear. The boy had a point.
“Have you always been, um, prone to accidents?” Fancy asked.
Toby gave a forlorn nod. “When Papa visited Mama when they were both alive, Mama only let me see Papa for a few minutes. She didn’t want me to embarrass her. Eleanor got to visit as long as she wanted because she’s perfect.”
Fancy’s heart hurt for the boy. “No one’s perfect, Toby.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said with a quivery sigh. “You don’t know what it’s like when everything you do is wrong.”
“I understand that more than you know,” Fancy said with feeling.
“How could you? You’re so pretty, grown-up, and nice. Everyone likes you.”
Touched, and a bit astonished by the boy’s perceptions, Fancy felt that she had to be honest.
“That’s flattering, Toby, but it isn’t true,” she said earnestly. “I spent the entire morning trying to improve my manner o’ speaking so that I won’t embarrass the family name. And my lessons didn’t go well.”
Toby blinked. “Why not?”
“I keep dropping my h’s no matter ’ow…how hard I try not to,” she said ruefully. “I almost gave poor Mr. Stanton a fit of apoplexy. And when Aunt Esther tried to teach me table manners, I kept confusing the salad fork and the fish fork. And I spoon my soup the wrong way.”
“There is a wrong way?” Toby’s freckled brow wrinkled.
“Not in my family,” Fancy admitted. “But according to Aunt Esther, you’re supposed to spoon away from you.”
Toby pursed his lips. “I never thought about it before.”
“That’s probably because you are doing it right.” Fancy smiled at him. “See? You do plenty of things well. But I suppose it’s ’uman…human nature to remember the things we do wrong.”
“I guess,” Toby said doubtfully. “But I’m not good at anything important.”
Fancy was beginning to wonder if Toby’s lack of self-confidence had something to do with his accidents. Maybe if he doubted himself less, he might be more surefooted in the things that he did.
On impulse, she said, “I don’t believe you, Toby. Everyone is good at something.”
“Not me.”
“Yes, you are,” she insisted. “It’s like the soup…you might not even realize you’re good at something because it comes to you so naturally that you take it for granted.”
Toby chewed on his lip. Then hesitantly, he said, “It is not a real skill. Or an important one.”
“Tell me,” she urged.
“I like animals.” He hitched his shoulders, looking embarrassed. “And they seem to like me. Or, at least, they like me more than people do.”
“Why, Toby, that is a marvelous talent to have,” Fancy said excitedly.