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Timothy chose that precise moment to demand attention once more, flailing a sticky hand toward his father’s cravat, and the moment dissolved into laughter and mild chaos, which Anna told herself she was grateful for.

She was not entirely certain that was true.

Later, once both twins had been settled – Lucy dozing contentedly against Anna’s shoulder, Timothy finally worn out from his own dramatics – Hudson remained seated across from her, his ruined shirt forgotten, watching the two of them with a gentle expression.

“What is it?” she asked softly, mindful of her tired children.

“I was only thinking,” Hudson said, “Of what they might become. When they are grown.”

Anna considered his words, glancing down at her daughter’s small, sleeping face.

“I think of it too. More than I would like to admit.” She hesitated, then found herself continuing, the words slipping free before she had entirely decided to share them. “I worry for Timothy, in particular.”

“Why is that?”

“He feels things so deeply already. Every sound startles him, every change unsettles him, and he cries so easily – not from temper, but from something softer than that. I fear the world will not be gentle with a boy who feels so much.”

Anna’s sighed deeply, and voice grew quieter. “Society does not forgive tenderness in men. I have seen how it is mocked, how it is treated as weakness. I do not wish that for him.”

Hudson was quiet for a long moment, his gaze moving from Timothy’ cot to Lucy’s sleeping face in Anna’s arms.

“I do not think you need worry,” he told her finally. “Not so long as he has his sister.”

Anna glanced up. “What do you mean?”

“Look at her.” Hudson nodded toward Lucy, a faint, wry smile playing at his lips. “She is not yet five months of age and already I can see it in her – that particular fire that suffers no fools. She will grow into a formidable young woman, mark my words, and heaven help whichever soul dares to be unkind to her brother in her presence. I suspect Timothy’s gentleness will be very well protected indeed.”

Something in Anna’s chest eased at that, a worry she had carried quietly for weeks loosening its grip at last.

“I suppose I imagined he would need protecting from the world, and I had not considered that his protection might come from within our own household,” she admitted. “I have spent so long thinking of myself as their only defense. It is strange, to imagine sharing that duty.”

“You are not obligated to share it, if you would rather not,” Hudson replied, and though his tone was even, there was something careful beneath it, as though he were bracing himself for her answer. “I know I forfeited much of my claim to that role, in the manner I first came to it.”

“I do not think that is entirely true any longer,” Anna murmured slowly, surprising herself with how easily the words came. “You have been here. You have shown up, even when I gave you little reason to expect gratitude for it. That must count for something.”

“It counts for a great deal to me,” Hudson said, just as quietly. “I only wish I had understood sooner what I stood to lose by staying away.”

Anna glanced at him properly then, struck by the rare openness in his face, the absence of the guarded composure he so often wore like armour. She thought of the year she had spent believing him entirely without feeling – cold, distant, more concerned with propriety than with people – and wondered, not for the first time, how much of that judgment had been fair, and how much had simply been easier to believe than the alternative.

“You truly believe that?”

“I do.” Hudson’s eyes met hers, steady and sincere in a way that made her breath catch. “I have learned, of late, not to underestimate the women in this family.”

Anna felt her cheeks warm, and she looked down at Lucy to hide it, though she suspected he had seen it regardless.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For saying so.”

“I meant it.”

They sat like that for a while longer, the quiet air broken only by the twins’ soft sighs, and Anna found herself thinking, with a clarity that startled her, that she was glad – deeply, simply glad – that he was here. Not merely for the children’s sake, but for her own.

It was a dangerous thought to entertain, and she knew it. She had built careful walls around her heart for good reason, had told herself for a year that she required nothing from this man beyond civility and the occasional company for appearance’s sake. But sitting here, watching him watch their children with such unguarded warmth, she was no longer certain those walls were serving her as well as she had once believed.

Eventually, the hour grew late enough that Hudson rose, glancing at the pocket watch he had left in his discarded coat.

“I have matters to attend to,” he said, with what sounded like reluctance. “Owen expects me within the hour.”

“Of course.” Anna nodded, rising as well, careful not to disturb Lucy. “Thank you for this today. I know it was not – I know you did not have to stay so long.”