A Debt of Gratitude
"What nonsense are you spouting? My son is an indomitable man who wants to do great things. How can you stay at home every day to wash my feet? I am already very satisfied with your kind intentions. My son has finally grown up."
Maria's eyes shimmered with warmth. The afternoon light streaming through the carved wooden windows softened her features, turning her already graceful presence almost radiant. She looked at her son not as the reckless youth he once was, but as the man she had always hoped he might become.
Harrier Taylor stroked his beard slowly, studying Harry in silence.
The basin of warm water steamed faintly between them. Harry's hands were steady as he rinsed his father's feet with careful movements—far too careful for a young master who once avoided even the simplest duties.
"It seems," Harrier finally said, nodding with restrained satisfaction, "that he has indeed grown up after this journey."
