“I think I liked you better when you did not talk so much,” Alaric grumbled good-naturedly. “You were not quite so good at distracting me when you could only use a slate.”
“He does not mean it, Oliver.” The smell of lavender told him it was Catherine before he even heard her voice. “Besides, it is good for him to lose once in a while. It will keep him from getting cocky.”
“Et tu, Brute?” Alaric clutched a hand to his chest in mock pain. “My wife and my brother conspiring against me. Is that any way to treat your legal guardian?”
“You are my brother first and guardian second,” Oliver chirped. “And you are dilly-dallying again.”
Alaric laughed and moved his rook, capturing Oliver’s queen. He was aware that this was exactly what the boy expected—that the move would end the game and secure his brother’s victory—but he kept a calm expression.
“Darn it,” he swore, trying to act as though he had only just realized his mistake.
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Catherine roll her eyes and then smile. Oliver appeared not to have noticed; he was far too pleased.
“I win!” He placed his final piece and jumped into the air, dancing around excitedly.
The sight of it made Alaric laugh so hard that he woke Daisy. She let out a disgruntled grumble, yawned, and then jumped into Oliver’s arms. They tumbled over together, and Alaric saw Catherine dart forward to save a vase that was unlucky enough to be in their way.
“Careful!” Catherine ruffled his hair affectionately, one hand lightly brushing against her stomach. “You know you are not supposed to play like that indoors.”
“But...” Oliver began, his eyes going to Alaric.
“I know your brother does it with you, too, that is not the point.” Alaric could tell that Catherine was trying to appear stern, but he could see the smile curling across her lips.
She is so beautiful.
“I have had to scold you both more times than I can count. And the last time you did this, you broke a really nice flower pot from my mother.”
Oliver’s cheeks reddened, and he shifted from foot to foot. “Sorry.”
“Thank you.” Catherine gestured to the beautiful sky outside. “Now, it is a beautiful day outside, and it seems a shame to spend it indoors.”
“We could go swimming!” Oliver looked expectantly at Alaric and Catherine.
“You two should go; the water is far too cold for my liking.” Catherine shuddered.
Alaric saw Oliver’s face fall and added, “Why not ask Cook to prepare us all a picnic? You and I can go for a swim, and Catherine can stay on the shore and read a book.”
Oliver nodded and skipped away, singing a silly song about swimming while Daisy barked beside him. Alaric watched his brother disappear before he turned to Catherine.
“I thought you hated that flower pot.” He arched an eyebrow at her and saw her cheeks redden.
“I did. But that is not the point.” Catherine moved closer to Alaric. “He is growing, and that means that roughhousing does far more damage than it used to. I have started having the tailor make his clothes three sizes too big for him, and still I can hardly keep pace.”
“Well, I am told that is the danger of children. They grow impossibly fast.” Alaric wrapped his arms around Catherine. “And he seems to take after me, so I expect this is only the start of things.”
Catherine laughed and leaned against him. “I am sure it is. To be honest, I frequently find myself wondering if he will be taller than you.”
“A worrying thought.” Alaric shuddered. “I am not used to looking up at anyone.”
“Then it is lucky that you will have some years to adjust to the concept. After all, he is only seven,” Catherine teased.
“He will be eight next week.” Alaric shifted so that he could look at her better. “I thought perhaps we should all go out for a ride, maybe a trip up n orth. He should see more of the estates. Especially Bellweather, I mean to leave that to him.”
“Is it not entailed?” She frowned.
“No. It was one I bought, mostly to spite my father. It is a nice place, it even has a cider press.” He shrugged. He could hear his father’s furious voice, telling him that the place was a terrible investment.
Catherine chewed her lip. “I think seven is a little young for cider.”
