The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(90)

An awkward silence ensued. Everyone knew how private Harry was and not to push him. But Emma, being Emma, was about to pursue the subject further, despite everyone’s warning looks.

Luckily, Andrew cut in. “Where do you box, Harry?” he said easily. “I’ve never seen a jab-hook combination like yours.”

After a moment, the lines around Harry’s mouth eased. “I trained myself. It’s physics, really.”

This launched an in-depth discussion of boxing principles, one that drew in all the men and cleared away the remaining tension. At the meal’s conclusion, the ladies exited to the drawing room, leaving the males to their cigars and brandy. Rosie sat next to Mama, who held a grumpy Sophie. The babe was going through a colicky patch, and Mama had taken her from Libby, the nursemaid, to see if she could calm her.

Sophie’s red face scrunched up, and she wailed, her little fists waving.

“I was up with her half the night. Nothing seems to calm her.” Rarely did Mama appear flustered, but lines of worry fanned from her eyes.

“Perhaps she is teething?” Emma said. “Livy was a terror during those months. I gave her a sachet of herbs to chew on, and that seemed to help.”

“We used cloth dipped in brandy with our little ones,” Thea suggested.

“Libby tried both to no avail,” Mama said.

Violet trotted over to peer at the babe. “Whenever Jamie got fussy, I strapped him to me and took him for a ride. The bouncing quieted him.”

Everyone stared at her. Sophie let out another squeal of displeasure.

Mama sighed. “I’d best take her upstairs.”

“Let me take her for a bit,” Rosie offered.

“You wouldn’t mind?” Mama said.

Rosie scooped up her sister. While Sophie squawked in protest, Rosie walked around the room, rocking her gently and singing a lullaby. Sophie eventually quieted, her brown eyes wide, rosebud mouth puckering.

“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” Rosie said. “Maybe you just wanted some attention.”

The babe cooed in reply.

“Well, I understand. I’m a bit dramatic myself,” Rosie confided.

Sophie belched—and Rosie didn’t even flinch. Perhaps the Nursery House had cured her of her squeamishness.

“Was that what was bothering you?” She adjusted Sophie to an upright position, rubbing the babe’s back. “You let it all out. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

She strolled and hummed, feeling Sophie’s soft weight, smelling her sweet baby smell.

The door opened, and the men entered.

“Shh, I’ve just rung for the nursemaid,” Mama said in a hushed voice. “Rosie managed to get Sophie to fall asleep.”

“You’ve worked a miracle, poppet,” Papa said.

Rosie’s insides warmed at her father’s approval. Then the sight of Andrew made her breath catch. He was staring at her holding Sophie, the longing in his dark eyes raw and undisguised. At that moment, it was clear to her what he wanted… because, she realized in a flash, she wanted it too.

Love. Marriage. The family that she and Andrew could create together.

I love you, Primrose.

He’d given her his heart, and she knew it was the most precious thing anyone had given her. At the time, something had stopped her from saying the words back—fear, a mistrust that something this good would last. Did she have the courage to give him her love, to relinquish the safety she’d found? All day she’d mulled over it, and the insight hit her now: safety wasn’t about protecting her heart. It wasn’t about sealing it like a doll inside a locked cabinet.

Safety was about giving her heart to the right man, the one who would protect her and love her and accept her for who she was. Safety was passion and laughter. Safety was Andrew.

The man she loved.

The revelation washed through her, leaving nerves and giddiness in its wake.

Tonight, after the party, I’ll tell him how I feel.

Libby arrived, and Rosie gently transferred her sleepy sister to the nursemaid. She went over to Andrew, who was standing by the pianoforte. He smiled at her, his tawny hair gleaming, his eyes warm. He was so virile and handsome in his stark evening attire that her heart hiccupped. Later on tonight, after she told him she loved him, she looked forward to removing his garments, piece by well-tailored piece. Her nipples budded beneath her black velvet bodice, her pussy dampening.

Flustered, she hid her response behind a bright smile. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Evidently not as much as I’m going to later,” he murmured, “when I take you home.”

As usual, he saw straight through her.

Her cheeks warmed; the crinkles around his eyes deepened.

Before she could come up with some rejoinder, Edward and Frederick, the Tremonts’ eldest, ambled over. How quickly the two of them were growing out of their boyhood. Their lean, gangly frames were starting to fill out, and both adolescents bore the stamp of their handsome fathers. And, goodness, was that a shadow of a mustache on Freddy’s upper lip?

“I have a question for Corbett,” Edward said without preamble.

Oh, Lord. Precocious as a child, Edward had blossomed into a full-blown genius who could converse freely on any number of intellectual topics. Despite his undeniable intelligence, he could be oblivious to basic social niceties. To Rosie’s exasperation, he was often too direct and intellectual in polite company… and he could never manage to keep his cravat straight. She itched to straighten his crooked Four-in-Hand at the same time that she braced for his question, which could be about anything from the history of the cosmos to mathematical theorems to crop rotation.