“That’s ages,” Martha exclaims.
“It’s still only just daylight,” Bobby argues. “Sammie’s barely awake.”
“Sammie’s never awake before noon,” Martha says simply.
“But we love him anyway. Daddy’s sleepy sometimes too,” Bobby reminds her.
“Of course we still love him, how silly,” Martha says, reaching out to pat Sammie’s head, which smears jam into his hair.
Sammie doesn’t even blink, still making slow progress on his scone. Perhaps they’ll have to squeeze in a bath before everyone arrives, lest Dashiell and Cordelia think they let their children run around covered in jam.
“Oh, how delicious.”
“Mama!” Martha exclaims, bouncing in her seat.
Beth smiles as she comes in through the outer door to the kitchen, little Louie on her hip, still rubbing his eyes. She squeezes through, adjusting her large hoop and bumping the stack of empty crates by the door as she turns, not quite used to the new extended oval of her hoopskirt, highly in fashion and often cumbersome in small spaces. But her ensemble is casual, an afternoon robe over a simple green skirt and white shirtwaist, which makes him feel a smidge better about potentially greeting their guests in his pajamas.
“See you’ve gotten a late start too,” Beth says, smiling at him as she deposits Louie in his high chair. “Good morning, lovelies,” she adds, coming around the table to greet Martha and Sammie.
“Daddy says it’s less than an hour now,” Martha informs her.
“That’s right,” Beth says, rounding the table again to settle beside Louie and pass him a plain scone, which he clumsily begins to tear into pieces.
“Goodness, still in your pajamas, how untoward,” Gwen announces as she comes through the outer door. Her ensemble matches Beth’s, just in blue instead of green, and with a riot of blond curls she hasn’t bothered to tame.
“We’re not really standing on ceremony, are we?” Bobby asks as Gwen greets the children.
She ruffles his hair as she goes to claim her seat beside Beth. “Father absolutely won’t care. Meredith will tease you, though.”
“I can take it,” Bobby decides, sharing a smile with Martha. “Look, Martha, Mummy has your curls today.”
Martha beams over at Gwen, who blows her a kiss. “Why can’t Mama have our curls too?” she wonders, looking to Beth.
Beth laughs. “Some of us just weren’t blessed with your pretty hair.”
“Or the patience to let MissWilson try it with hot combs,” Gwen mutters.
Beth nudges her. “But I love your curls, darling,” Beth tells Martha. “And Mr.Sammie, how are you?”
Sammie looks up at Beth with a shy smile. “Good,” he whispers.
“Did you sleep well here with your fathers?” Gwen asks, winking at Bobby.
They usually swap the children every few nights, but Louie was feeling clingy last night, so Beth and Gwen kept him at Drightmore Cottage just down the front drive. Technically, it’s his and Beth’s house, while James and Gwen officially inhabit Demeroven Hall, but they quickly decided that Beth and Gwen were better suited to the cottage.
The children shift between both houses, so they all get a few evenings a week to themselves, but it hardly matters. They’re all Mum and Dad, and the children love having two grand houses in which to play the world’s most anxiety-inducing games of hide-and-seek. Martha holds the record at eight hours unfound. They nearly had a collective heart attack that day. And she was only four then.
“Does Papa really have to leave?” Martha asks quietly while Beth and Gwen pull more answers and smiles out of Sammie.
Bobby turns to find Martha looking up at him. Her little face can be so serious. “He does, but we’ll write him every week, and see him for the holidays,” Bobby says.
Martha’s face droops and she looks back at her breakfast, no longer bubbly. “Okay,” she whispers.
“But hey,” Bobby says, his heart breaking for his daughter, who is absolutely Papa’s little girl. “You, me, Sammie, and Louie are going to have a marvelous time here. We’ll make forts, and stay out in Mama’s tree house until our lips turn blue, and play all kinds of games. And your mothers will play with us. You’ll be having so much fun the months will fly by, and then we’ll all be in London with Papa.”
“And Johnnie and Frederic?” Martha asks, looking up at him with a little sniffle.
“And Johnnie and Frederic too,” Gwen says. Martha looksacross the table at Gwen. “And that means Auntie Meredith and Grandma Cordelia too.” Gwen winks at Bobby as Martha’s smile returns. “And, even better, you know who’s going to stay the whole two months?”
