Today, the men were outside, keeping a general eye on the mayhem (though nursemaids and the odd governess hovered nearby). Their lady wives had retired to the drawing room to swap stories, eat some of Cook’s excellent scones, and escape the whoops and shrieks of their combined children for a blissful hour.
Kieran shielded the sun with his hand and looked at Alex, Andrew, and Rafe.
“Of course, Ewan is thewinningest. How else do ye describe a man who has never lost?” Kieran asked. “His paintings win award after award every year. He never lost a boxing match. And let’s not start on the Highland games.”
“Maybe . . . Ewan is the mostvictorious?” Rafe offered.
“Och, I don’t care what he is,” Alex scoffed. “The man just has tae give the rest of us a chance to win sometimes.”
Kieran shook his head. “You’re just sore because he bested us all in that tug-of-war yesterday.”
“We almost had him,” Alex grumbled.
“Aye, we did,” Andrew agreed, mournfully.
“We’ll never win against him. I’ve accepted my lot,” Kieran grinned.
“Besides,” Rafe added, “Ewan always wins with grace.”
“Aye, though I don’t think Ewan is winning at the moment.” Andrew pointed across the lawn.
They all turned their heads to watch Ewan drinking tea with his second-to-oldest daughter, Lady Lily. The poor man had scrunched his massive body down, down, down onto an impossibly tiny chair that looked one hasty movement away from collapsing altogether.
Though drinking the tea proved challenging for other reasons, Kieran supposed.
In addition to the teacup, Ewan balanced his twin toddler girls on each knee, while fending off his middle daughter, Lady Fleur, who was presently clinging to his back like a monkey.
Lily was overseeing the wee tea table which had actual china teacups, a teapot, and most importantly, plates with real biscuits upon them. Lady Gabriella, Alex’s oldest daughter, assisted, her blond curls gleaming in the sunlight.
Ewan’s twins kept reaching for the biscuits, forcing Ewan to grab for their hands. But as was the way with toddlers, the twins were tenacious, squirming and evading their papa’s efforts.
Lily’s scolding voice reached the men.
“No, Papa, the twins can’t have the shortbread. Cook promised them all to me and Gabby!”
Lady Dahlia sat across from her father, watching over the whole with a serious expression, the soft breeze tugging at her red hair.
“Mamma will make you share your biscuits, Lily,” she said. “Aren’t I right, Papa?”
Ewan didn’t answer. He merely scrambled to hold back the twins from toppling the table and then reached a hand out to stop Fleur from falling atop it.
In short, the tea party was a mass of six red heads and one blond one, all jostling for position.
Kieran gave it three minutes before someone devolved into tears.
“Wait until my three hellions realize there are biscuits to be had,” Rafe said, shaking his head.
The universe had balanced Ewan’s abundance of daughters by gracing Rafe with three sons.
“Wherearethe rest of them?” Alex asked.
A burst of clamor sounded from the sunny, south side of the house. The Brotherhood rotated their heads toward the noise with almost synchronized precision.
Seven little boys and one red-haired tomboy tore across the lawn, racing toward them.
James, Kieran’s son.
Andrew’s oldest daughter, Isolde, with her two younger brothers.
