“Bien,” she said. “Milord Philip and Milady Rebecca are just waking from their nap.”
“I asked Linda Crosby to come over a bit later and lend a hand,” Matthew said.
“Already here!” Linda followed us through the door, carrying not one but two Marks & Spencer bags. She handed one to Marthe. “I’ve brought the next book in the series about that lovely detective and her beau—Gemma and Duncan. And here’s the knitting pattern I told you about.” Linda and Marthe had become fast friends, in large part because they had nearly identical interests in murder mysteries, needlecraft, cooking, gardening, and gossip. The two of them had made a compelling and utterly self-serving case that the children should always be attended to by family members or, failing that, both a vampire and a witch working as baby-sitters. Linda argued that this was a wise precaution because we didn’t yet understand the babies’ talents and tendencies—though Rebecca’s preference for blood and inability to sleep suggested she was more vampire than witch, just as Philip seemed more witch than vampire given the stuffed elephant I sometimes saw swooping over his cradle.
“We can still stay home tonight,” I suggested. Matthew’s plans involved an evening gown, a tuxedo, and the goddess only knew what else.
“No.” Matthew was still overly fond of the word. “I am taking my wife out to dinner.” His tone indicated this was no longer a topic for discussion.
Jack pelted down the stairs. “Hi, Mum! I put your mail upstairs. Dad’s too. Gotta run. Dinner with Father H tonight.”
“Be back by breakfast, please,” Matthew said as Jack shot through the open door.
“No worries, Dad. After dinner, I’ll be out with Ransome,” Jack said as the door banged closed behind him. The New Orleans branch of the Bishop-Clairmont clan had arrived in London two days ago to take in the sights and visit with Marcus.
“Knowing that he’s out with Ransome does not alleviate my concerns.” Matthew sighed. “I’m going to see the children and get dressed. Are you coming?”
“I’ll be right behind you. I just want to stick my head in the ballroom first and see how the caterers are getting along with the preparations for your birthday party.”
Matthew groaned.
“Stop being such an old grouch,” I said.
Together Matthew and I climbed the stairs. The second floor, which was usually cold and silent, hummed with activity. Matthew followed me to the tall, wide doors. Caterers had set up tables all around the edges of the room, leaving a large space for dancing. In the corner, musicians were practicing tunes for tomorrow night.
“I was born in November, not June,” Matthew muttered, his frown deepening. “On All Souls Day.
And why did we have to invite so many people?”
“You can grumble and nitpick all you want. It won’t change the fact that tomorrow is the anniversary of the day you were reborn a vampire and your family wanted to celebrate it with you.” I examined one of the floral arrangements. Matthew had picked the odd selection of plants, which included willow branches and honeysuckle, as well as the wide selection of music from different eras that the band was expected to play during the dancing. “If you don’t want so many guests, you should think twice before you make any more children.”
“But I like making children with you.” Matthew’s hand slid around my hip until it came to rest on my abdomen.
“Then you can expect an annual repeat of this event,” I said, giving him a kiss. “And more tables with each passing year.”
“Speaking of children,” Matthew said, cocking his head and listening to some sound inaudible to a warmblood, “your daughter is hungry.”
“Your daughter is always hungry,” I said, putting a gentle palm to his cheek.
Matthew’s former bedroom had been converted to a nursery and was now the twins’ special kingdom—complete with a zoo full of stuffed animals, enough equipment to outfit a baby army, and two tyrants to rule over it.
Philip turned his head to the door when we entered, his look triumphant as he stood and gripped the side of his cradle. He had been peering down into his sister’s bed. Rebecca had hauled herself to a seated position and was staring at Philip with interest, as if trying to figure out how he’d managed to grow so quickly. “Good God. He’s standing.” Matthew sounded stunned. “But he’s not even seven months old.”
I glanced at the baby’s strong arms and legs and wondered why his father was surprised.