Page 40 of The Subtle Craft of Courting Kate

“Elliot,” Richard grumbled, scrubbing at his eyes in exasperation. “I beg you, do not juggle my child. She’ll be awake another hour at this rate because you’ve riled her up so.”

“No, she won’t,” Elliot said mildly, shifting the girl to rest upon his hip. “We are going to play such soothing music that she’ll go to sleep straight off. Won’t you, Ava?”

“No!” the girl said as she scraped her hair out of her eyes. “Not until Mama tells me a story.”

“Of course I will tell you a story,” Rebecca soothed, and she half-rose to plant a kiss upon the girl’s chubby cheek as Elliot leaned the child down to her. “And Papa will rub your back for you.” Rebecca settled once more into her seat and inquired of Elliot, “And Stephen?”

“Nanny is bringing him down shortly,” he said as he righted himself once again. “You’ll forgive me, but Ava is quite enough to manage on her own.” Another bounce, which set Ava to laughing again, tossing back that unruly mop of curls, her cherubic cheeks wreathed in a smile.

As she fisted one hand in Elliot’s coat, at last the little girl made note of Kate. She shoved the thumb of her free hand into her mouth and canted her head to one side inquisitively. “Who’s that?”

“Ah,” Elliot said. “That is Kate; my dearest friend in all the world. Would you like to say hello?”

“No.” Ava ducked her head against Elliot’s shoulder, hiding her face.

Elliot’s cheeks puffed up with a great gust of laughter, which he dutifully swallowed down, though the smile lingered still. “She’s just a bit shy from time to time,” he said to Kate as he smoothed Ava’s tangled curls. “But she’s a sweet girl. Are you ready to play, Ava?”

“Yes!” Ava thrust her fists in the air in a celebratory gesture, wiggling to be let down. “Can I pick?”

“Darling,” Elliot laughed as he set her feet on the floor and smoothed out the rumpled folds of her nightgown. “You can’t read yet. How are you going to know which to pick?”

“I just know.” Ava scampered toward the pianoforte in the corner, struggling with the hem of her nightgown as she scrabbled onto the bench and reached for the sheets of music set atop the stand. In profile, Kate could see the furrow of her brow in concentration as she considered each piece carefully, and at last selected one, which she set before the rest of them. “This one,” she said.

“All right, then,” Elliot said, as he lifted the little girl from the bench long enough to sit upon it and resettle her in his lap. He placed his hands upon the keys, allowing Ava a moment to reach forward and slap the palms of her hands atop his, and for just a moment, Kate’s breath snarled in her throat.

Ava wasn’t his daughter, of course. But he had every bit as much affection for her as if she was. This was how he would be with his own children—playful, caring. Whimsical and a bit silly and so, so loving. How lucky little Ava was to have him for an uncle. How lucky his own children would be to have him for a father.

How lucky his wife would be to have such a husband.

Elliot’s fingers found their places upon the keys, and a little smile notched itself into the corner of his mouth as he examined the music sheet Ava had selected. “What do you know,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder to Kate. “It’s a waltz.”

Chapter Fifteen

Despite Ava’s insistence otherwise, she had begun to nod off in the middle of the third song, though her drift toward slumber had no doubt been inspired by the nocturne she’d last selected. Her head had lolled against Elliot’s shoulder as her tiny hands slid off of his and into her lap, lashes drifting drowsily down over her eyes.

Richard cleared his throat; a subtle sound, meant to catch Elliot’s attention but not to disturb Ava. “You do know you have to give her back?”

“Unfair,” Elliot replied, though his hands still moved fluidly over the keys. “You’ve got two, after all. Haven’t you ever learned to share?”

From her position upon the couch, as she resettled her son in her arms after Kate had had her chance to hold him, Rebecca gave a muffled little laugh. “Get your own,” she advised. “I worked very hard on these two, and I would like to keep them.”

“But you can make more,” Elliot said even as he gently tipped Ava into Richard’s waiting arms. “I’ve got to go to the trouble of convincing a woman to marry me, first. It’s really just more efficient if—”

“Enough,” Richard said, laying one hand over Ava’s head to shield her ear as he wheezed with laughter. “If she wakes, it’ll be impossible to get her down again.”

“Convincing a woman to marry you,” Kate repeated, with an exasperated shake of her head as she gazed down at baby Stephen cradled in Rebecca’s arms. Far too young to be shy of strangers, he’d wrapped one tiny fist around her finger and blinked his enormous blue eyes up at her in open curiosity. “I have got a notebook full of names, any one of which would leap at the opportunity.”

Yes. But not the only one he wanted. Not yet, at least. “Perhaps I’m finding myself to be somewhat more selective than I had anticipated. After all, we are speaking of the woman who will be the mother of my children. I should like them to be as precious as Ava and Stephen.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think one can order up a child like you might a new coat,” Kate said lightly…but by the twitch of her lips and the marvel in her eyes as she looked down at the baby, he thought she must not disagree.

He knew it wasn’t the first time she’d seen a baby, or even held one. Every one of those village children who had been their companions in childhood had grown up, married, and produced children. She’d celebrated births, attended christenings, watched those very children grow. And yet, with that soft, dreamy look in her eyes—he thought this might well be the first moment she had truly considered what it might be like to have one of her own.

Baby Stephen held her finger in the clasp of his, and she gazed down at him as if he’d captured her heart as well. If only it were so easy a thing for Elliot to do.

“Kate,” he said softly.

“Hm?” she said, in the faraway, daydreamy cadence of someone who wasn’t truly listening.