Chapter Fourteen #3
“A rake,” Richard said again, with a small shake of his head, the remnants of a grin still clinging to his mouth. “Do you know, I can’t decide if he’d be more offended or amused.”
Amused, probably, Kate decided. Elliot dearly loved to laugh and rarely found himself in a situation at which he could not poke fun—even at himself. “For such a staunch defender of the institution of marriage,” she said, “is it not strange that he hasn’t found himself a wife before now?”
“Is it strange?” Richard asked, lifting his glass of port to his lips. “I’ve never thought it so. He could have married any time he pleased, if he had wished to do so.”
“But he didn’t,” Kate said. Her fingers tightened on the stem of her glass, her brows drawing. “Wish to marry, that is to say.”
“No,” Richard said. “I’ve never known him to show notable attention to any one woman in particular during the Season.” He issued a little huff of amusement over his glass. “Truly, I would have expected you to know as much already,” he added.
But she had never asked. And he had never offered.
And, really, it had seemed…safer, in some regard which she could not fully explain even to herself to let London be a far-off place made up of only the stories Elliot had cared to share with her.
If she never asked, then she had never had to contend with the answers she received.
If he never offered, then she could pretend that nothing would ever change.
Perhaps there had always been a part of her that had never asked because she had never wanted to know the answers, never wanted to acknowledge that change was an inevitable fact of life.
Only now, in London, was she forced to confront it at last. That change which she had stood solidly against was inescapable. Elliot had changed.
Had she?
From without the drawing room came the pound of feet upon the stairs, followed by a high-pitched, shrieking laugh. A few moments later amidst a flurry of giggles, Elliot bounded into the room, a bundle of white linen dangling from his shoulder.
No; not linen—a girl. A mop of dark brown curls emerged from beneath a fluff of flounces and tiny bare feet kicked in the air over his shoulder.
“You’ll never guess,” Elliot said as he stalked across the room with purposeful strides that jounced the child upon his shoulder, much to her apparent delight, “who I caught wandering the halls.”
“Uncle Elliot!” the girl screeched through her tangled curls. “I can’t see!”
“Oh, you can’t?” he asked, and she gave another ear-splitting shriek of glee as he hefted her easily into the air and caught her in his arms as she tumbled back down. “How’s that, then, poppet?”
“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.”