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As one hour slipped into the next, the shrill sounds of distress grew more frequent. Both Christopher and Hamish had long since grown frustrated with the distance from Violet and moved to situate themselves directly outside her rooms. Oliver was already there.

Downstairs, the door slammed hard and footsteps loud enough to vibrate the parquet floor charged up the stairs. Flushed from exertion and trembling with distress, Nora skidded to a halt, her eyes wide. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t anyone tell me? I wouldn’t have gone to the dowager’s. I wouldn't have⁠—”

Behind her, Zachariah placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, looking every bit as distressed that Nora was upset as Nora was distressed she’d been kept in the dark.

She shrugged his hand away. “You knew and didn’t tell me.”

Zach’s lips parted, starting and stopping several times before any distinguishable words broke through. “I thought it would be kinder if you didn’t know until after. I’m sorry, Nor. Don’t be angry. You know I can’t take it.”

Christopher opened his arms and Nora rushed into his embrace, then he lowered to the floor and tucked her in beside him. “Zachariah needn't take the blame. If you wish to be angry, be angry at me. I told him to keep quiet, sweetheart. But Sofia stepped out half an hour ago to tell us that Violet is perfectly well and everything is progressing as it should. Your papa and the doctor are taking brilliant care of her. Don’t cry, poppet.” Hushing her, he kissed the top of her head, as he had done countless times before.

Nora settled and sniffled, then looked up at Zachariah, whose face was in his hands. Hamish whispered quietly into Zach’s ear and he turned his face into the Scot’s bicep. Climbing from her place beside Christopher, Nora returned to Zachariah and wrapped both arms around his waist. His arms surrounded her immediately, and his cheek rested on the top of her head.

Another of Violet’s moans interrupted the siblings before the thin cry of an infant rent the air. The group stilled, an electrified tension buzzing between them as they waited for the doors to be thrown open and for someone to tell them that all was well. That mother and baby were healthy and the unbearable worry could finally be put to rest. Five minutes they waited. Then ten.

Deep, guttural sobs bled through the heavy oak door. Christopher had heard that exact sound enough times after Emma’s death that his eagerness was swiftly replaced by dread. Every hair on his body stood on end. Christopher reached for the handle just as a second cry joined the first, sturdier. And mad. As if he or she was annoyed with the world despite only being part of it for a few seconds. Finally, they heard Violet’s voice, exhausted but calm, speaking soothing words to a husband who had crumbled, unable to endure a moment more.

Hawthorne opened the door, a wry smile on his lips. He raised an arm—a pointless gesture considering all three men and both children were already barrelling into the room.

Gabriel didn’t even look up from where he half sprawled beside his wife. One hand wrapped around her arm as if to reassure himself she was well, his face blotchy and wet with tears. One messy bundle of baby lay in Violet’s arms, quiet now. And between its parents, a second baby, the dissatisfied squaller, squirmed.

“I’m well,” Violet said. “Two sons.” Her eyes caught and held on Nora, who was lingering at the door, and she held open her free arm. “Come here, darlings. Both of you.”

Zach held Nora’s hand as they approached. When they saw that Violet was truly okay, both children turned curious eyes on their siblings.

Christoper’s gaze shifted to his wife where she was working busily beside the doctor to tidy. She paused a moment to smile first at Christopher and then at the new parents. “You did wonderfully,” she assured Violet. “You both did.”

Gabriel’s lips quirked in a rueful smile, but his gaze never left his wife.

Sofia poured a glass of water, offering it to Violet. “Oliver. Take your brother downstairs for a drink and some food. Take Hamish and the children as well. We still have to finish up here.”

Christopher had no idea what “finish up here” implied, but it sounded messy.

“Come, Gabriel,” Oliver spoke soothingly.

“There is absolutely no chance of me leaving my wife.” His voice thick and raspy, Gabriel sounded as if he had been taken apart and reassembled with half his crucial parts missing.

Oliver’s eyebrows rose. “All right then. We will leave you to your wife and newest family members and bring up food for you both in an hour.”

Christopher didn’t return home until he was certain everyone was well and he could be confident that Sofia would make her way home shortly. He heated water for a bath for his wife, spooned the stew he’d brought from the kitchens into a pair of bowls, and slid off his boots.

He heard the door open and close a moment later.

“Bath or sustenance first?” he inquired.

Sofia plodded in, rolling her shoulders and stretching her neck from one side to the other. “Both at the same time. You may feed me while I wash.” She wrapped her arms around Christopher from behind, giving him her weight. She let out a soft, contented sigh.

“Sofia, don’t fall asleep there,” he chuckled. “How did you leave mother and sons?”

Sofia turned so that Christopher could unfasten her buttons. “Benedict and Julian are both feeding well. Violet refused a wet-nurse despite having double the average number of hungry babies at her breast. She is exhausted, but very well.”

“Let me guess,” he said. “Goats can feed multiple kids?”

She laughed, nodding her response. The gown fell to the floor first, followed by her shift, and she stepped into the steaming water.

“And Gabriel? Will he recover?”

Sofia’s smile slipped into something more contemplative. “Of that, I am uncertain. He has not stepped away from his wife even for a moment.” She relaxed into the tub and sighed. “They are beautiful babies.”