Page 74 of The Lady’s Deception

“I’m not,” Paris insisted. Frankly, he welcomed the distraction. The new year would usher in two of the most momentous events in his life: the birth of his first child and the first parliamentary session of the new United Kingdom, at which he would take his seat in the House of Commons. Two awesome responsibilities for which he would have sworn he was unfit, if not for the strength and assurances of his wife.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, Rosamund appeared in the doorway with Eileen, now a sleek cat, curling sinuously about her ankles. “There’s such a thing as too much quiet,” she said, echoing the words he had once spoken to her in this very room.

Before any reply could be made, a deep woof! reverberated through the house, followed by a clatter of dishes from the direction of the kitchen and a girlish shriek. Eileen’s back arched and her tail puffed to twice its normal size before she scooted off—running towards the fray, rather than away from it. “Too much quiet?” Cami sighed and heaved herself from the chair. “That’s one problem we’ve got sorted, at least.”

Paris took Rosamund’s hand and led her to the window nook, her favorite spot in the house. Whatever changes the next weeks would bring, he knew that her cleverness and her genuine concern for others would show her to be both an excellent mother and an ideal politician’s wife—no, partner.

“You’ve been helping in the kitchen, haven’t you?” he chided as he brushed his thumb through the smudge of flour on her cheek. She looked radiantly lovely, though if he’d told her as much, she would have tried to make him see her mussed hair and calico work dress and most of all her ungainly belly, swollen with his child. So he simply took in every inch of her with greedy eyes, plumped the cushions before she sat, and counted his blessings. “You’re not supposed to be on your feet, you know.”

“I wasn’t,” she insisted. “Much. Your mother is helping Mrs. Riggs with the baking. I was only observing.”

Once she was settled as comfortably as she could be, he knelt on the floor beside her, one hand resting lightly on the curve of her belly, the other hand still holding hers. Silence settled over the house, humming in his ears. He broke it only to whisper, “I love you, dear Roisín.”

He told her every chance he got. But if he spoke those words a hundred times a day, every day for the rest of his life, it still would not be enough.

And no matter how many times he said it, it still elicited the sweetest gasp from her. “Oh.” She laid her hand atop his where it cradled her abdomen. “Paris, I—”

A door slammed in the entry hall, followed by the stomping of boots. His father and brother-in-law returning from their expedition into the village, no doubt.

Gabriel’s voice rang out: “You’ll never guess what I found in the snow.”

“Hold that thought, my dear,” Paris murmured, brushing a kiss across her lips as he rose.

When he reached the threshold of the study, he stopped short, not quite believing his eyes.

“Galen?”

His brother turned and hurried toward him, his gait stiff, but no longer requiring the aid of a walking stick. “Paris! I thought to surprise you. But I’m the one who got the surprise. How came everyone to be here?”

After Paris had explained, he said, “I thought you and your Christ Church friends were celebrating the holiday in Bath?”

“Oh, well. Don’t I see enough of Lambert during the term?” Galen shrugged, indicating that the change in plans was of little consequence, though the slight rise and fall of his shoulders wasn’t entirely convincing. “Hugh Pritchard declared there was bound to be better sport in London and managed to find a sleigh, of all things. I persuaded him to drop me off along the way.”

“Your decision to come away from Bath wouldn’t have anything to do with Mr. Lambert’s sister, would it?” asked Rosamund, slipping her hand into Paris’s.

“Rosamund,” cried Galen, ignoring her question but coming forward to kiss her cheek. “Are you well?”

Her blue eyes twinkled. “I’m—”

“Did I hear Galen’s voice?” Erica raced down the stairs, Tristan following at a more sedate pace with Arthur in his arms. The middle Burke siblings wrapped one another in a hug, Erica’s brilliant copper curls tangling with her younger brother’s mop of darker red-brown ones.

As Cami had predicted, there were no more quiet hours to be had that day. Daphne and Bell were the next to discover Galen’s arrival, quickly claiming him for their side in the great snowball war. Then an hour or so later, not perfectly thawed and still replaying the highs and lows of battle, all but the very youngest members of the party seated themselves around a groaning table. Their appetites whetted by the exercise, they fell quickly on the repast, though full mouths did little to mute the constant hum—no, roar—of conversation.

When Paris at last pushed his plate away, marveling over the fact that the true feast was not until tomorrow, Galen leaned toward him. “I have something for you.”

He’d kept his voice low, but not low enough to prevent a number of heads from swiveling in their direction as he reached beneath the table and brought out a small wrapped package.

“What’s this?” said Paris, taking it from him. “A book?”

“Open it.”

He peeled away the heavy paper to reveal a slim duodecimo volume, neatly bound in tooled green leather. Flipping to the title page, he read aloud, “Poems, from the Pen of a Gentleman and a Patriot, inspired by a Celtic Muse.”

“Yours, Galen?” demanded Cami, craning her neck to see.

Their brother blushed. “It’s not much, compared to what Cami’s accomplished. Or Erica, getting to name her discovery and present her findings to the Royal Society,” he demurred. “But the early reviews are heartening.” Proud siblings and prouder parents gathered around, dismissing his attempt at modesty and offering congratulatory hugs and back slaps and shouts. “I’ve got copies for all of you in my bag,” he explained. “But I wanted Paris to have the first, because he—”

Doubted. Complained. Criticized. Reflexively, Paris shook his head. He’d been too hard on Galen when they were younger, too caught up in his own troubles to be all that an elder brother should.