calm his breathing and wait for his rushing blood to settle down. His back was to the twins, and he dreaded turning around. He was dying inside, ravaged by guilt that he’d hired that woman, that monster, to care for his children. And he’d been too busy trying avoid them to see that they were suffering.
Suffering in the same way he had.
Slowly, he turned around, terrified of what he’d see in their eyes.
But when he raised his gaze off the floor and looked into their faces, they hurled into motion, launching themselves at him with almost enough force to knock him over.
“Oh, Daddy!” Amanda cried out, using an endearment she hadn’t uttered for ages. He’d been “Father” for years now, and he’d forgotten how sweet the other sounded.
And Oliver—he was hugging him, too, his small, thin arms wrapped tightly around Phillip’s waist, his face buried against his shirt so that his father would not see him cry.
But Phillip could feel it. The tears soaked through his shirt, and every sniffle rumbled against his belly.
His arms went around his children, tightly, protectively. “Shhhh,” he crooned. “It’s all right. I’m here now.” They were words he’d never said, words he’d never imagined saying; he’d never thought that his presence might be the one to make everything all right. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry.”
They had told him they didn’t like their nurse; he hadn’t listened.
“It’s not your fault, Father,” Amanda said.
It was, but there seemed little point in belaboring the fact. Not now, not when the time was ripe for a fresh start.
“We’ll find you a new nurse,” he assured them.
“Someone like Nurse Millsby?” Oliver asked, sniffling as his tears finally subsided.
Phillip nodded. “Someone just like her.”
Oliver looked at him with great sincerity. “Can Miss—Mother help to choose?”
“Of course,” Phillip replied, tousling his hair. “I expect she’ll want a say. She is a woman of a great many opinions, after all.”
The children giggled.
Phillip allowed himself a smile. “I see you two know her well.”
“She does like to talk,” Oliver said hesitantly.
“But she is terribly clever!” Amanda put in.
“Indeed she is,” Phillip murmured.
“I rather like her,” Oliver said.
“As do I,” his sister added.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Phillip told them. “Because I do believe she is here to stay.”
And so am I, he added silently. He’d spent years avoiding his children, fearing that he’d make a mistake, terrified that he’d lose his temper. He’d thought he was doing the best thing for them, keeping them at arm’s length, but he’d been wrong. So very wrong.
“I love you,” he said to them, hoarsely, with great emotion. “You know that, don’t you?”
They nodded, their eyes bright.
“I will always love you,” he whispered, crouching down until they were all of a level. He drew them close, savoring their warmth. “I will always love you.”
Chapter 17
. . . regardless, Daphne, I do not think you should have run off.
—from Eloise Bridgerton to her
sister the Duchess of Hastings,
during Daphne’s brief separation
from her husband,
mere weeks into their marriage
The ride to Benedict’s was rutted and bumpy, and by the time Eloise stepped down at her brother’s front steps, her mood had gone from bad to foul. To make matters worse, when the butler opened the door he looked at her as if she were a madwoman.
“Graves?” Eloise finally asked, when it became clear that he was beyond speech.
“Are they expecting you?” he asked, still gaping.
“Well, no,” Eloise said, looking quite pointedly beyond him into the house, since that, after all, was where she wanted to be.
It had started to drizzle, and she was not dressed for the rain.
“But I hardly think . . .” she began.
Graves stepped aside, belatedly remembering himself and allowing her entrance. “It’s Master Charles,” he said, referring to Benedict and Sophie’s eldest son, just five and a half years old. “He’s quite ill. He—”
Eloise felt something awful and acidic rise in her throat. “What is wrong?” she asked, not even bothering to temper her urgency. “Is he . . .” Good heavens, how did one ask if a young child was dying?
“I’ll get Mrs. Bridgerton,” Graves said, swallowing convulsively. He turned and scurried up the stairs.
“Wait!” Eloise called out, wanting to ask him more, but he was already gone.
She slumped into a chair, feeling sick with worry, and then, as if that weren’t enough, rather disgusted with herself for having been even the least bit dissatisfied with her own lot in life. Her troubles with Phillip, which in truth weren’t even troubles at all