“Oh?”
An idea struck Isabel. “Do you have any matters of pressing business to attend to?”
“Am I going to regret saying no?”
Isabel made up her mind that instant. “I think you’ll do.”
“I’ll do?” Percy asked, wary.
“Eva, Tilly, and Nell have gone to the village for a spot of shopping, and it’s down to me to look after Ariel during his nap. But as you can see, the little mite has no interest in napping.” Wide eyes stared over at Percy as if to illustrate his aunt’s point.
“I’m not sure what this has to do with me.” Percy looked poised to bolt.
“Well, you’ll hold him, of course. Unless you can sew?”
“Nothing beyond a rudimentary stitch here and there.”
“Then it’s settled.”
“Whatprecisely is settled?”
“You shall hold Ariel and walk him around to his heart’s content while I rework the bodice of a dress with new frilling.” As she closed the distance between them, a possibility occurred to her. “Have you never held a babe?”
Percy flinched, a subtle movement, but she caught it. “No.”
Unspoken was that he’d never held Lucy as a baby, his own flesh and blood, and it hurt him.
“Well,” Isabel began on a light note, “there is nothing to it. Simply hold your arms out and—” She began to transfer Ariel. The babe gave a warning squawk.
“This might not be a good idea.”
“Oh, pish. He will be quite contented once he discovers you have such a very nice chest to snuggle into.”
“Is that so?” There was no mistaking the humor in Percy’s voice, which had lowered by a suggestive octave.
It was only after he asked the question that Isabel heard her own words. A slow flush crept through her. As if he knew it, the side of his mouth tipped into a devilish smile.Dios mío.
“Now, let’s try again,” she instructed in a tone that she hoped was matter-of-fact. This time the transfer happened smoothly. “There you are. Only ensure his head is elevated properly.”
Percy scooched Ariel up a few inches. “Like so?”
Isabel nodded. Her insides went warm. It was the sight of Percy holding Ariel with such gentle care. For his part, Ariel seemed quite content to peer at the world from his newly elevated height.
“Follow me, good sirs.” Isabel pivoted on one heel. Behind her, Percy murmured to Ariel, “What say you, little man?”
Isabel’s heart performed one of those tidy flips that Percy tended to provoke as she found her favorite place on the sofa before the room’s great bow window and picked up her sewing. Tucked into a comfortable corner, from the periphery of her vision, she observed Percy perambulating the room with Ariel, pointing out this portrait of a long-deceased ancestor or that bronze statuette of a proud-chested stallion. The latter, Percy let Ariel grab.
“Careful,” Isabel advised, “he wants to snatch up everything and put it into his mouth.”
Percy lifted a playful eyebrow at the babe. “Is the world your apple tart?” He pulled away just before the babe swiped over a crystal vase of fresh-cut roses in full summer bloom. “All the flowers about the place, are they your handiwork?”
Isabel nodded. She’d taken to filling the vases in the cottage, small to large, with every variety of blossom she encountered on Gardencourt’s grounds.
“I thought so.”
She rather liked that he thought this about her. “Fresh flowers make a house a home.”
“Do you have a favorite flower?”
