do play again, won’t you?” Caro asked, stopping breathlessly by the piano. “You play so well!”
“You do,” Jules added, handing Izzy a red bow to play with. “Very well.”
“Caro,” Lillian reprimanded. “Please allow our guest to enjoy himself. He is not here for your entertainment.”
Her shoulders slumped as she shuffled away from the piano and back to her spot by the tree. “Very well.”
Other than Ginny, no one had ever complimented my playing. It shouldn’t have mattered, for I’d always played for myself anyway. But it did. I liked that I had given them joy, even if for an hour or so.
Ginny slid off the bench and headed to the table the servants had set up, laden with treats and mulled wine in a large punch bowl. The older children raced toward the tree, and with Lilly’s help, began tying bows to the branches.
It was a massive pine that James had hauled into the sitting room just a couple hours ago. I’d counted five trees in all throughout the house. I’d thought it wasteful, until I’d seen the look in the children’s eyes. I realized in that moment that I would do anything to see that happiness cross Izzy’s face.
Ginny returned with a cup of mulled wine, the steam rising temptingly from the vessel. Our fingers brushed as she handed me the mug. Desire surged through me. I followed her with my gaze as she went to Izzy and picked up the child. Izzy had been giving me shy glances and smiles all evening, as if she knew I was somehow important, but wasn’t quite sure she could trust me just yet. I could wait. I was patient.
“That’s two bows!” Caro cried out. “Mummy, Ben has taken two, and you said just one!”
Ginny settled next to me, Izzy in hand. I wanted to pull her close and hug her, to press my lips to her chubby cheeks, to promise her that I would protect her from life’s miseries. I couldn’t do any of those things. Instead, while she watched me, I pressed my finger to a piano key. The sound rang out. She watched me, fascinated.
“Do you want to try it, sweetling?” Ginny cooed.
Tentatively, Izzy reached out and slammed her hand onto the keys. A cacophony of notes interrupted the cheerful bickering near the tree. I knew the others watched. Although I felt the burn of their eyes, I wasn’t going to pass up this moment to interact with my child. I would spend as much time with Izzy as Ginny would allow. I would not be my father.
“Go on then,” Ginny said softly to the child.
I was more than surprised when Izzy went to me. I caught her, holding that warm body close. She smelled of apples and powder and everything innocent. She peeked up at me and smiled. Ginny’s smile. My heart squeezed. Warmth flooded my senses, leaving me breathless. She was mine. My beautiful girl, my family. And I would do anything to protect them both.
Izzy turned in my arms and slammed her hands over and over on the keys, ruining the moment and making Ginny and I laugh.
“Oh lovely,” James muttered from the settee. “A caress for the ears.”
“She has her father’s musical interest, I see,” Ginny said quietly, so only I could hear. “Although I believe you might have to give her lessons.”
Lessons. The feelings overwhelmed. Ginny was giving me permission to spend time with Izzy. “And,” I said. “She has her mother’s smile.”
“And her father’s eyes.”
Oliver strolled into the room. Seeing him, the children squealed and raced to his side. He patted them each awkwardly upon the head. “How are you children?”
They fought over each other, trying to answer. Even Izzy squealed when she saw him, and whined to be put upon the floor. When I set her down, she raced toward the man. It was utterly astounding.
Ginny laughed. “Don’t look so put out. Children adore him for some reason.”
“It’s like cats,” James said. “The less you like them, the more they like you.”
Oliver shot James a look. “I do not dislike your children. Are they loud? Yes. Sticky, often. Do they ask too many questions? Very much so.”
“What was your point, Oliver?” William asked. “Something about thinking children are grand?”
Chris and I had tormented each other while growing up. Hell, we still did. But our relationship held an underlying bitterness. I did not mistakenly believe he wished me well. Nor did I ever assume he would mourn if I suddenly perished. But these