The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,117
And Isobel knew that he loved seeing his son working at being the best father he could be.
The children’s nanny approached and Isobel passed the sleeping Juliet off with gratitude. Not that she didn’t love holding her daughter, but she was heavy. It was time for her nap anyway. Soon, James would follow, though he would battle until the last second before his eyes gave in to sleep.
Her sister Astrid came up beside her where she was leaning on the balustrade and offered her a glass of champagne. Isobel smiled and declined, hiding her sudden blush. “I can’t.”
Astrid’s eyes widened. “Are you…?”
“Possibly. I’ve only just found out.”
“Congratulations,” Astrid said. “Does Winter know?”
Isobel shook her head and bit her lip. “I haven’t told him yet. I’m a bit afraid to tell him. He’s only just gotten comfortable with being a father to a pair of rambunctious twins.”
Astrid fought laughter. “Didn’t he tell you he wanted eight children?”
“He did, but I think he changed his mind after the first few months of no sleep with James and Juliet. Even with a children’s nurse, he insisted on trying things himself.”
“He’s a good father,” Astrid said, her eyes panning from her own husband and children to where Winter stood with Kendrick and James. “How have things been?”
This time Isobel couldn’t hide her telltale flush. “Can’t complain.”
“Goodness, with a blush like that, it’s no wonder you’re with child.” Astrid barked a laugh and nudged her fondly in the shoulder. “My, how far you’ve come from that little girl who turned her nose up at anything that wasn’t proper.”
“I guess she grew up.”
Astrid met her gaze. “Into a remarkable woman. I’m proud to call you my sister, you know. Even though at times it’s hard to believe that the scandalous Lady Darcy came from that prim head of yours.”
“And Clarissa’s.”
“Oy, wenches, did I hear my name?” Clarissa squealed, edging her way between them and flinging an arm over each of their shoulders.
“Goodness, Clarissa, you smell like the floor of a public house.”
She gave an unladylike snort. “I do not! I am the bride. I smell like delicious.”
“Yes, dear, you smell like delicious.” Isobel signaled to a nearby footman and gave Clarissa a glass of water. “Drink this. You’ll thank me.” Obediently, she drank the water, and Isobel made her drink another. “Don’t want to be too pissed for your wedding night, do you? You remember the code?”
Clarissa brightened. “What would Lady Darcy do?”
“Exactly.”
Astrid laughed. “You two are ridiculous. Though I admit even I ask myself from time to time, what would Lady Darcy do? It seems you’ve spawned an entire generation of independent female thinkers.”
“That was the plan,” Isobel said.
Over the past year, she and Clarissa had mutually decided to retire the infamous Lady Darcy, despite her popularity. Her last letter to her adoring public had been equal parts heartfelt and scandalously vulgar, and had ended with an irreverent: now, piss off and make up your own minds! Seemed like her readers were vociferously taking her up on that.
Though Lady Darcy had retired from her writing career, she wasn’t totally gone. Isobel had also donated the dowry that Winter had put aside in a trust for her to a handful of women’s shelters in poorer districts in London in Lady Darcy’s name. She and Clarissa had also decided to set up the Lady Darcy Fund for deserving young women who wanted an education but did not have the means to pay for one.
A sudden wail made all three women perk up. Obviously exhausted and fighting it, James seemed to be throwing a tantrum. Winter made quick work of calming him down, though he hoisted him up on his shoulders and walked toward the house. Isobel met him at the entry, turned her face up for a kiss from her husband, and took the cranky toddler into her arms.
“Nap time,” she said.
“No nap, no nap, no nap,” he babbled. “Mama, no.”
“Yes, nap,” Isobel said and hugged him close, humming a lullaby softly under her breath.
By the time she’d climbed the stairs to the nursery, he was out like a blown candle. She tucked him into the cradle beside his sister’s, smiled at the nurse, and nearly crashed into her husband who was waiting outside the door.
“Do I get tucked into bed?” he whispered, nuzzling her ear.
As always, her blood simmered beneath her skin at the barest touch of his lips. “You’re a grown man and it’s not bedtime. And all the guests are downstairs.”