Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Master Oliver, would ye like to meet me boy, Matthew?” Her grace, Elspeth, Duchess of Arrowfell, asked, taking pity on the restless young lad. She rose to her feet and motioned to a waiting footman. “He is in the nursery just upstairs; Mister Gordon here will take ye.”
“It would be an honor, your grace. Shall we, Master Oliver?” the footman asked, a furry white eyebrow raised as he bowed to the young boy with a playful smile.
After arriving at Arrowfell for the afternoon’s gathering, Oliver’s attention was drawn to the occasional squeaks from the upstairs room.
Benedict knew that parliamentary politics, social calendars, and changes in weather were not particularly interesting for a child’s curious mind.
Yet, he was proud that his son did not say otherwise and had minded his manners.
The boy’s eyes lit up in an instant as he leapt to his feet awkwardly from the settee. “Oh, yes. Please, Mister Gordon! I would love to have someone to play with, Your Grace! I cannot remember the last time I played with another boy!”
“Then a playdate ye shall have,” Elspeth said as she nodded at Benedict thoughtfully. “He will be lucky to share in yer company, and we are grateful yer faither brought ye today.”
“We will join you in a few moments,” Isla said with a smile. “After we chat a bit more and finish these delightful macarons.”
“Oh, thank you!” He said as he followed the footman out of the room.
The Arrowfells were nestled in the West End near St. James’s, and their London home was a joyous study in domestic bliss.
Every inch of the townhouse was already decorated for the Christmas Holiday.
Its halls were warm, strewn with crisp pine garlands and festive ornaments that twinkled in the sunlight.
The comforting scent of spiced bread baking came up from the kitchens below, tickling their noses pleasantly.
The drawing room embraced them in soft, buttery yellow light, warmed by a roaring fire.
Benedict looked at Isla as he finished his Earl Grey, sitting comfortably next to Hugo.
She was standing by the fireplace, polishing off another macaron and ravishing in a deep sapphire velvet gown.
She was admiring a portrait above the mantle.
Her dark blonde locks were swept up in a chignon, highlighting her high cheekbones and the scars that were so uniquely her.
“What do ye miss most about the Highlands?” Isla asked Elspeth.
“I am quite spoiled, Yer Grace,” she said as she grabbed another macaron from the tray. “We maintain Inverhall estate and often go there for holidays. In fact, we are scheduled to leave just after Christmas. We will be stayin’ for several weeks through the new year.”
“A brave journey in December, Your Grace,” Benedict said as he raised an eyebrow to Hugo. “Such a ways to travel with two young children, and with the weather turning on us.”
“Don’t I know it,” Hugo said with a sharp laugh.
“You must be most smitten with Her Grace to go to such lengths.”
“I rule my duchy with an iron fist, but I am utterly powerless against my wife’s will.”
Benedict did not joke further, for he could not. He knew all too well how a powerful man could be brought to his knees by a beautiful woman. He looked from Hugo to Isla, then, a faint smile touching the corners of his mouth.
“Well, I am hopin’ we miss the worst of the winter storms. I am confident we will make quick work on our journey,” Elspeth said.
“It is a lovely Christmas present from me husband,” she said as she sauntered playfully over to him, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek.
“Aye, we will have to have you both at Inverhall soon! Perhaps even this summer!”
“Aye, that would be grand! I am from a small village outside of Edinburgh, nae too far from Inverhall.”
“Imagine that,” Elspeth said with a smile. “I am so glad ye came here today. I ken we will be friends.”
“Aye, me too,” Isla said warmly.
“Tell me, have you ever read a book called The Highland Respite?”
“I havenae, Yer Grace,” Isla said. “I loved The Highland Holiday so much, is it the same author?”
“It is!”
“Aye, well. Perhaps ye can lend it to me if ye can part with it. It would be nice to have a good novel to read on our trip back to Ealdwick Manor in the next few days.”
“Only if ye call me Elspeth.”
“Aye, Elspeth. And please, call me Isla.”
“I think you and I will be spending a lot of time together,” Hugo said to Benedict as he wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
“Agreed, I do not think we have any choice in the matter,” Benedict said with a wry grin. “Tell me, how is your fencing these days? As good as when you were at Eton?”
“Better,” Hugo taunted as he shifted his body to face him. “There is no way you could beat me, Your Grace. Unless you do not play fair.”
“Is that a challenge? Surely, I always play fair-”
“Oh, you two! Well, shall we go check on the lads?” Elspeth said as she set down her teacup with a clink. “And Fiona as well, of course.”
“What a marvelous idea,” Isla said as she rose to her feet. “I would love to see the nursery!”
The group made their way out of the drawing room and up the grand staircase, laughing and joking along the way.
The ensuing scene in the nursery was everything Benedict was not accustomed to.
Most of Oliver’s younger days were a blur, tucked into the recesses of his mind.
His care was left to nurses, nannies, and governesses as Benedict tried to wrap his mind around caring for a child as a single father.
In the bright, toy-strewn nursery, Oliver was playing happily with Matthew.
He was a dark-haired boy, only a few years older than Oliver, with light freckles along his cheeks and a wide smile.
They tumbled over floor cushions and built tall, wobbly towers of wooden blocks.
Their laughter rang out, a cheerful echo through the halls.
It is a nice sound, Benedict thought as he considered how he might be able to coordinate more playdates for his young son. It might be good for him to spend time with boys his own age.
Isla stood, leaning against the wall, chatting easily with Elspeth about the Christmas presents they had bought for loved ones.
“I found the loveliest ribbon for my dear friend, Marion,” Elspeth said. “It is light lavender with delicate beading! Perfect for her complexion. I cannae wait for ye to meet her one day.”
“How grand,” Isla said as she dropped her voice to an almost whisper. “When we have a private moment, I cannae wait to tell ye what I got for my husband!”
Isla’s effortless conversation with Elspeth made the formal visit feel like a fireside chat among the oldest of friends, bringing a reluctant smile to Benedict’s face once more. The camaraderie was infectious, and he was powerless against it.
A maid brought in a large cradle then, carefully placing it near the fire. Inside, nestled in thick lace, was Fiona, the Arrowfells’ newest addition.
Oliver and Matthew paused their game, drawn by the quiet movements of the small girl who cooed like a dove.
Oliver approached the cradle cautiously, his face scrubbed of all mischief, replaced by wonder.
He peered down at the sleeping baby, who was swaddled tightly, her tiny hands peeking out from the top of the fabric.
“She’s awfully tiny,” Oliver whispered, looking up at Isla, his wide blue eyes shining. “Are all babies this small?”
“Aye, they are,” Isla nodded, smiling. “She is a lovely little thing, is she nae?”
Oliver looked at the baby, then at Isla and Benedict, then back at the baby.
“Oh Isla! Oh Papa!” Oliver exclaimed, forgetting the hushed tone of the nursery. He skipped to his father, tugging on Benedict’s perfectly tailored coat. “She is so good! Matthew was telling me that she’ll be ready to play with him in a year! Just a year. Can you believe it?”
“That is remarkable,” Benedict said with a tight smile, unsure where the conversation would lead.
“Can we have a baby like her? Or a boy? When am I going to have a wee brother or sister, Papa? Oh! It would be the best Christmas present in the world. I would finally have someone to play with. I would not be so alone!”
Alone.
Benedict’s composure shattered, his jaw locking so tight the muscle twitched at him in protest. He felt the blood drain from his face, replaced by a sudden, icy shock. The request was so innocent, yet it sliced through every carefully constructed boundary he had placed and the man he refused to be.
The man I cannot be.
Benedict was a machine built for contracts and commitments, not cradles and care.
He was made to provide a sound future for his son, not a nurturing environment bustling with children.
He was foolish to think he could walk this thin line with Isla; to think it would not snowball into something he could not see through to the end.
He cursed himself for being so willing to come back to London, for being in such a vulnerable position in the first place.
I must pull myself together…
Yet, he was so caught off guard that he could not summon a playful retort or even a simple deflection. All he could do was stare blankly into the distance.
“Oliver, mo chridhe,” Isla said, her voice warm as she wrapped an arm around him. “Look! Matthew has a wooden soldier, does he nae? Go ask him if ye can see its sword. Quickly now, make a game of it!”
Oliver, distracted by the mention of a sword, scampered back to his friend. Isla turned to Benedict, her expression unreadable. Yet, she offered him a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of the head before she smiled brilliantly, turning her attention back to the maid caring for Baby Fiona.
“What a lovely basket. Tell me, is that Irish lace?” Isla asked.
As the women spoke, Benedict could only stand there, mute and still as a statue. He dared not look at the Duke and Duchess, afraid of what their eyes would say, how they would judge him. He was acutely aware that his wife had just saved him from exposing a weakness he had not known she could see.
“Your Grace,” Isla said, bringing his attention back to the present moment. “Would it not be a grand time to have their graces and their lovely children over for breakfast before we return to the Manor?”
“Oh, what a splendid idea,” Elspeth said with a smile to them both, saving Benedict from whatever haphazard response would come out of his mouth.
“It is settled then,” Isla said. “I will send an invitation over with the details when we return to the townhouse.”
“Can I play with Matthew?!” Oliver said as he hopped over to Benedict, looking up at him with bright blue eyes.