“My apologies! I was detained by the most egregious fellow on the road, who insisted his cow had the right of way! A cow, Cassian! In late winter! A scandal, truly.”
The group couldn’t hold their laughter.
“Lady Kendrick, do assure them I am not typically so disheveled.”
Lady Kendrick shook her head, fixing him with a look that would have withered a lesser man.
“He exaggerates; I believe his tailor merely required an unconscionable amount of time to secure a missing button.”
“This is a matter of life and death, Lady Kendrick,” Tristan insisted, turning his attention immediately to the family again.
With the entire party assembled, the conversation flowed freely, ranging from the political news of the day, prompted by Isabella’s father, to the merits of various knitting patterns, which was a subject Christine and Beatrice took up with vigor.
Promptly at half-past seven, they adjourned to the dining-room. The table was dressed in silver and damask, glowing under the light of the chandelier. The meal was a rich turtle soup, followed by a saddle of mutton roasted to perfection and served with a delicate sauce of capers and wine, accompanied by side dishes of artichokes and buttered turnips.
Cassian sat at the head, ensuring every guest was attended to, demonstrating a smooth, natural courtesy that Isabella utterly loved.
Henry and Eleanor sat wide-eyed, absorbing the adult conversation but not saying a word.
Isabella felt a profound sense of contentment as she looked upon the gathering. Her father smiling, Christine radiant, her siblings happy and comfortable with Cassian, Beatrice fulfilled by her new work with the Club since she had officially become a Laurel, and the steadfast presence of Lady Kendrick.
This was a family forged not just by blood but by affection, resilience, and a shared history of remarkable events, and she could not be more content.
As the evening drew to a close, their guests’ carriages eventually departed, leaving the great house wrapped in silence, broken only by the crackle of the dying fire in the dining hall.
Isabella and Cassian walked up the grand staircase together, a shared satisfaction in their steps.
“A success, my love,” Cassian whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Your father complimented our estate no less than three times, and you managed the evening with grace.”
“It was effortless with such good company,” she replied, leaning her head against his arm. “Now, I believe a great deal of sleep is in order.”
They reached the landing, but instead of turning towards their shared suite, Cassian hesitated. He took her hand, his thumb tracing a slow circle on her wrist, his expression suddenly shifting from domestic ease to one of deep, concentrated tenderness.
“Not just yet,” he said softly. “There is something I must show you.”
He did not wait for her assent but led her down a side corridor, one that was usually silent and dimly lit, a place Isabella knew all too well.
Her husband led her to the door of his workshop, the very place where she had first encountered him on that fateful, shocking evening that had changed their lives forever.
Cassian opened the door and ushered her into the space. The room was dark, but a single lamp burned low on his workbench, casting a pool of warm, golden light upon a central object.
It was a cradle.
It was not a production of the finest mahogany nor carved with intricate patterns of expensive rococo design, but fashioned from a lighter, pale wood she recognized as the one she’d gifted him months ago. She’d thought he used it a while back, so her shock was apparent.
The rocking furniture was a marvel of intricate design, perfect in its simplicity.
Isabella stopped short, her breath leaving her in a small, sharp gasp. She walked slowly towards it, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch the smooth, oiled wood.
“Oh, Cassian,” she whispered, turning to face him, her eyes wide with surprise. “It is… exquisite. But how did you know?”
A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, one that was utterly tender and completely devoid of his usual masculine reserve.
“Know, my dear? You are perhaps the most tenacious, formidable woman I have ever encountered, yet for the past month, you have been falling asleep over every book you’ve read before the second paragraph. You have a distinct preference for pickled onions, which you have never exhibited before, and your favorite wine suddenly tastes of vinegar.”
He took a step closer, his eyes delving into hers. “And when the physician departed the day before last, he looked remarkably like a man who had just confirmed the most significant, life-altering event in a man’s existence. You may manage a household of guests and the finances of a grand club, Isabella, but you cannot hide such a miraculous truth from your husband.”
Isabella’s lower lip began to tremble, and she reached out to him. “Yes,” she confirmed, the word barely a breath. “Yes, my love. I am carrying our child. I’d wanted to wait until the dinner was over and done with to tell you.”
