A small voice interrupted. “Will you read us that book, Father?” asked six-year-old Edward, sitting up and hugging a wooden soldier to his chest.
Evander’s smile turned playful. “Do you have any interest in the Roman Empire?”
Charles, only four and always eager to contradict his elder brother, wrinkled his nose. “It sounds boring.”
Edward frowned and promptly punched his brother’s arm. “Don’t say that! You’re boring!”
“I am not boring!” Charles shouted—and promptly lunged at him.
Olivia took a step forward to intervene, but Evander caught her arm gently. “Let them have their fun.”
“They’re going to hurt each other,” she warned, already half-wincing.
But instead of cries, there came only a tangle of limbs and bright giggles as the boys wrestled. It was chaos, of course, but familiar chaos. Home.
She rested a hand on her stomach, where the baby had begun to stir again. “For my sanity’s sake, I’m hoping this one is a girl.”
Evander smirked. “If she’s anything like you, she’ll terrorize the boys and rule this house before her first birthday.”
Olivia chuckled and lifted the book again, flipping open to the title page. Her fingers traced the simple, heartfelt dedication:To my mother.
“I’m glad you dedicated your first book to your mother,” she murmured.
“My first book?” he asked, surprised.
She nodded, her voice sure. “I have no doubt it’ll be the first of many.”
Evander glanced down at the leather spine again, something proud and disbelieving in his gaze. “Let’s hope the public agrees and it flies off the shelves.”
Olivia arched a brow. “It may not be a French romance novel, but it is very good.”
Evander snorted. “Surely there’s a better use of your time than reading such sentimental nonsense.”
“There isn’t,” she declared. “Not when the doctor insists I rest so much. There’s only so much needlework a woman can do.”
At that moment, their sons reappeared, faces flushed. “Can we name this baby?” Edward asked eagerly.
Olivia’s instincts flared. “That depends. What would you name it?”
The boys exchanged a look before Edward leaned in to whisper something to Charles. Whatever it was, it nearly sent the younger boy into a fit of laughter.
“If it’s a boy,” Edward announced with mock gravity, “we should name him Fitznibble Doggington.”
Olivia’s lips twitched. “And if it’s a girl?”
“Dorcus Figgle,” Edward said proudly.
Olivia pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress the laugh that threatened to burst free. “Those names are certainly… unique. But I think your father and I will manage the naming this time around.”
A dark-haired nursemaid appeared in the doorway. “It’s time for the boys’ riding lesson.”
Charles immediately perked up. “Can I ride your horse, Father?”
Evander tousled the boy’s hair. “Let’s stick to your pony a little longer, shall we?”
Charles scowled, dragging his feet as though on his way to the gallows. Edward lingered just long enough to murmur, “That was a good decision. Charles isn’t very good at riding.”
“I amgood!” Charles hollered, bursting back into the room and tackling his brother again.
