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Standing across the parlor from his mother, Marcus pulled his watch fob from his pocket and glared at it. “Claire should have been here by now,” he groused.
“She has twins, Marcus,” his mother scolded. “She’s allowed to be late on occasion.” Just then, a picture frame appeared on the wall. “Speaking of the twins,” she said, clapping her hands together with excitement. Marcus would never get used to the way Claire could come and go through paintings. She’d been able to do it ever since she was a child, and she availed herself of every opportunity to use her power now. Claire could paint a picture of a room and then walk into that room as though through a portal.
His sister’s head appeared in the painting, all strawberry blond curls and flashing eyes. “Don’t just stand there,” she barked, holding out a squirming baby. “Take one of these.”
She leaned over the edge of the painting, and Marcus had no choice but to take the babe. He held it far away from him and grimaced. Babies smelled bad, and they made a lot of noise. Claire disappeared into the painting and came back with another bundle, this one wrapped in a blanket, sound asleep. Cindy was only quiet when she slept, and that never lasted long.
“I only have two hands,” Marcus complained.
“Oh, my,” someone breathed from the doorway. Marcus looked over to find Cecelia looking toward the painting and then over at the struggling bundle in his arms, which was starting to turn a little purple.
“Some help here,” Claire said sharply as she held Cindy out.
“Here,” Marcus said, as he thrust little Lucius toward Cecelia. The baby’s little body floundered, and he grew even redder. Cecelia winced and reached for him. Marcus’s mother reclined on the settee and didn’t lift a finger. “Take one,” he said, “so I can get the other one.”
“I think I’d rather have the one who’s not screaming,” Cecelia said, and bypassed the squirming baby. She took the one from Claire with a grin and made a little tsk, tsk, tsk sound in the baby’s direction.
“Don’t wake it, unless you want it to scream,” Marcus warned. He’d spent enough time with Cindy to know. Once the child was awake, she would do nothing but make noise.
“Speaking of screaming,” Cecelia said, as she nodded toward Lucius, who was turning a startling shade of purple. “You should do something about that.”
“I plan to,” he said smugly. “As soon as his mother gets herself through the painting.” He shot Claire a heated glare. She climbed over the border of the painting as though she was climbing through a window and landed in the parlor. Then she reached a hand back into the painting and pulled Lord Phineas, her husband, through the opening. The man landed awkwardly beside her and smoothed his disheveled hair.
Marcus still stood with his arms outstretched. If he wasn’t mistaken, Lucius smelled worse now than he had when they’d arrived. “Someone take this,” he said. But no one came forward.
He looked over at Cecelia, who’d taken Cindy and sat down on the settee with the baby burrowed tightly in the crook of her arm. He sat down beside her and tried to balance Lucius on his knee. But the little guy was not happy. Not at all.
“He doesn’t like me,” Marcus complained.
“If you hold everyone at arm’s length like that,” his mother warned, “the rest of the world will dislike you just as much.”
Ouch. She should just pull that knife right out of his chest. And replace it with a dull spoon. One that she could jab into the aching wound over and over. “I don’t hold everyone at arm’s length,” he grumbled. “Just those who smell atrocious.”
The soft, clean scent of Cecelia’s hair rose up to tickle his nose. He looked down at her. She regarded the baby tucked into the crook of her arm with an air of contentment. His heart dropped toward his toes. He wanted that to be his baby in her arms. “You smell so much better than he does,” he whispered to Cecelia with a smile.
She harrumphed at him and went back to looking at the baby. Well, that was an abysmal failure. He couldn’t even deliver a compliment well. Allen came to stand at his shoulder and took the baby from his arms. Thank God. At least his brother saw fit to save him. Allen placed the baby in his mother’s arms, and the little one ceased his wailing immediately.
“I told you he hated me,” Marcus grumbled.
“He’s not the only one,” a voice said from the doorway.
Marcus looked over and couldn’t keep the corners of his lips from rising at the sight of Ainsley. “Ainsley!” he cried. He got to his feet and rushed toward her. He wanted to swing her around in his arms, but the loud clearing o
f his brother’s throat stopped him. Actually, Allen sounded like he was choking to death on a chicken bone, so Marcus turned to look at him midstride. Allen shook his head quickly. “Don’t do that,” he said quietly but sternly.
Marcus had forgotten the rules of this world for a moment. Instead, he took Ainsley’s hand and bowed low before it. “Ainsley,” he said, trying to maintain his composure. Ainsley was a sorely needed taste of home.
“Mr. Thorne,” she replied with disdain.
Good God, she hated him too? “Welcome to Ramsdale House,” he said.
“I’m not here to see you,” she warned. “In fact, I could never see you again and be just fine.”
Cecelia issued a subtle warning to Ainsley with a nod of her head. Ainsley lifted her nose in the air and ignored Marcus entirely. But she hugged Claire and Lady Ramsdale, and let Finn take her hand. Then she stopped in front of Allen and said, “Goodness, they do look quite a bit alike.”
“Yes,” his mother said. “The family resemblance is striking, is it not?”
