After a moment, the lines around Harry’s mouth eased. “I trained myself. It’s physics, really.”
This launched an in-depth discussion of boxing principles, one that drew in all the men and cleared away the remaining tension. At the meal’s conclusion, the ladies exited to the drawing room, leaving the males to their cigars and brandy. Rosie sat next to Mama, who held a grumpy Sophie. The babe was going through a colicky patch, and Mama had taken her from Libby, the nursemaid, to see if she could calm her.
Sophie’s red face scrunched up, and she wailed, her little fists waving.
“I was up with her half the night. Nothing seems to calm her.” Rarely did Mama appear flustered, but lines of worry fanned from her eyes.
“Perhaps she is teething?” Emma said. “Livy was a terror during those months. I gave her a sachet of herbs to chew on, and that seemed to help.”
“We used cloth dipped in brandy with our little ones,” Thea suggested.
“Libby tried both to no avail,” Mama said.
Violet trotted over to peer at the babe. “Whenever Jamie got fussy, I strapped him to me and took him for a ride. The bouncing quieted him.”
Everyone stared at her. Sophie let out another squeal of displeasure.
Mama sighed. “I’d best take her upstairs.”
“Let me take her for a bit,” Rosie offered.
“You wouldn’t mind?” Mama said.
Rosie scooped up her sister. While Sophie squawked in protest, Rosie walked around the room, rocking her gently and singing a lullaby. Sophie eventually quieted, her brown eyes wide, rosebud mouth puckering.
“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” Rosie said. “Maybe you just wanted some attention.”
The babe cooed in reply.
“Well, I understand. I’m a bit dramatic myself,” Rosie confided.
Sophie belched—and Rosie didn’t even flinch. Perhaps the Nursery House had cured her of her squeamishness.
“Was that what was bothering you?” She adjusted Sophie to an upright position, rubbing the babe’s back. “You let it all out. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”
She strolled and hummed, feeling Sophie’s soft weight, smelling her sweet baby smell.
The door opened, and the men entered.
“Shh, I’ve just rung for the nursemaid,” Mama said in a hushed voice. “Rosie managed to get Sophie to fall asleep.”
“You’ve worked a miracle, poppet,” Papa said.
Rosie’s insides warmed at her father’s approval. Then the sight of Andrew made her breath catch. He was staring at her holding Sophie, the longing in his dark eyes raw and undisguised. At that moment, it was clear to her what he wanted… because, she realized in a flash, she wanted it too.
Love. Marriage. The family that she and Andrew could create together.
I love you, Primrose.
He’d given her his heart, and she knew it was the most precious thing anyone had given her. At the time, something had stopped her from saying the words back—fear, a mistrust that something this good would last. Did she have the courage to give him her love, to relinquish the safety she’d found? All day she’d mulled over it, and the insight hit her now: safety wasn’t about protecting her heart. It wasn’t about sealing it like a doll inside a locked cabinet.
Safety was about giving her heart to the right man, the one who would protect her and love her and accept her for who she was. Safety was passion and laughter. Safety was Andrew.
The man she loved.
The revelation washed through her, leaving nerves and giddiness in its wake.
Tonight, after the party, I’ll tell him how I feel.
