“It is!”
“Aye, well. Perhaps ye can lend it to me if ye can part with it. It would be nice to have a good novel to read on our trip back to Ealdwick Manor in the next few days.”
“Only if ye call me Elspeth.”
“Aye, Elspeth. And please, call me Isla.”
“I think you and I will be spending a lot of time together,” Hugo said to Benedict as he wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
“Agreed, I do not think we have any choice in the matter,” Benedict said with a wry grin. “Tell me, how is your fencing these days? As good as when you were at Eton?”
“Better,” Hugo taunted as he shifted his body to face him. “There is no way you could beat me, Your Grace. Unless you do not play fair.”
“Is that a challenge? Surely, I always play fair-”
“Oh, you two! Well, shall we go check on the lads?” Elspeth said as she set down her teacup with a clink. “And Fiona as well, of course.”
“What a marvelous idea,” Isla said as she rose to her feet. “I would love to see the nursery!”
The group made their way out of the drawing room and up the grand staircase, laughing and joking along the way. The ensuing scene in the nursery was everything Benedict was not accustomed to. Most of Oliver’s younger days were a blur, tucked into the recesses of his mind. His care was left to nurses, nannies, and governesses as Benedict tried to wrap his mind around caring for a child as a single father.
In the bright, toy-strewn nursery, Oliver was playing happily with Matthew. He was a dark-haired boy, only a few years older than Oliver, with light freckles along his cheeks and a wide smile. They tumbled over floor cushions and built tall, wobbly towers of wooden blocks. Their laughter rang out, a cheerful echo through the halls.
It is a nice sound,Benedict thought as he considered how he might be able to coordinate more playdates for his young son.It might be good for him to spend time with boys his own age.
Isla stood, leaning against the wall, chatting easily with Elspeth about the Christmas presents they had bought for loved ones.
“I found the loveliest ribbon for my dear friend, Marion,” Elspeth said. “It is light lavender with delicate beading! Perfect for her complexion. I cannae wait for ye to meet her one day.”
“How grand,” Isla said as she dropped her voice to an almost whisper. “When we have a private moment, I cannae wait to tell ye what I got for my husband!”
Isla’s effortless conversation with Elspeth made the formal visit feel like a fireside chat among the oldest of friends, bringing a reluctant smile to Benedict’s face once more. The camaraderie was infectious, and he was powerless against it.
A maid brought in a large cradle then, carefully placing it near the fire. Inside, nestled in thick lace, was Fiona, the Arrowfells’ newest addition.
Oliver and Matthew paused their game, drawn by the quiet movements of the small girl who cooed like a dove. Oliver approached the cradle cautiously, his face scrubbed of all mischief, replaced by wonder. He peered down at the sleeping baby, who was swaddled tightly, her tiny hands peeking out from the top of the fabric.
“She’s awfully tiny,” Oliver whispered, looking up at Isla, his wide blue eyes shining. “Are all babies this small?”
“Aye, they are,” Isla nodded, smiling. “She is a lovely little thing, is she nae?”
Oliver looked at the baby, then at Isla and Benedict, then back at the baby.
“Oh Isla! Oh Papa!” Oliver exclaimed, forgetting the hushed tone of the nursery. He skipped to his father, tugging on Benedict’s perfectly tailored coat. “She is so good! Matthew was telling me that she’ll be ready to play with him in a year! Just a year. Can you believe it?”
“That is remarkable,” Benedict said with a tight smile, unsure where the conversation would lead.
“Can we have a baby like her? Or a boy? When am I going to have a wee brother or sister, Papa? Oh! It would be the best Christmas present in the world. I would finally have someone to play with. I would not be so alone!”
Alone.
Benedict’s composure shattered, his jaw locking so tight the muscle twitched at him in protest. He felt the blood drain from his face, replaced by a sudden, icy shock. The request was so innocent, yet it sliced through every carefully constructed boundary he had placed and the man he refused to be.
The man I cannot be.
Benedict was a machine built for contracts and commitments, not cradles and care. He was made to provide a sound future for his son, not a nurturing environment bustling with children. He was foolish to think he could walk this thin line with Isla; to think it would not snowball into something he could not see through to the end. He cursed himself for being so willing to come back to London, for being in such a vulnerable position in the first place.
I must pull myself together…
