Andrew Lord of Despair(100)
Andrew caught it and tossed it up into the air.
“These things you tell me…” he said, heading for the door. “I feel disoriented, as if I’ve taken a bad fall from a fast moving horse.”
“Give it time,” Gareth said as Andrew tossed him the ball one more time. “Where are you off to?”
“Going to ride my horse,” Andrew said, because a man needed to plan his strategy if he were to reclaim his wife’s affections—and her trust.
“There’s nigh two goddamned feet of snow on the ground, or hadn’t you noticed?”
“You know how some horses are mudders? Most horses don’t like sloppy footing, they hate the mud hitting their bellies, and they don’t have the knack of keeping their feet under them in bad going.”
Gareth shoved up from the small bed. “And others bestir themselves to a decent effort only if they’re on a muddy track,” he finished the thought.
“Well, Magic is a snow horse. He marched right over here through more dirty footing than I’ve ever asked a horse to negotiate. Five miles of it was nothing to him, thank God.”
Gareth considered the little rubber ball in his hand. “I haven’t thanked you yet for making that journey, Andrew. It was inexcusably risky of you, but I appreciate it all the same.”
A little scold made the thanks go down more easily. “I needed to be here.”
“Yes, you did, but I’ve been meaning to ask you: What exactly did you and Astrid do while I was taking my nap in the freezing hallway?”
“Astrid didn’t explain it to you?” Andrew said, his hand on the door latch.
“She evaded the question, which I will not tolerate from you, so talk.”
“Why not browbeat her?”
“Because I can beat the stuffing out of you,” Gareth replied in the same pleasant tone Andrew had used.
“If you must know, all we did was turn one of the babies in the womb,” he said. “I’ll just be off now…”
But before he could get the door open, a rubber ball hit his backside with stinging force, and his brother’s “You did what?” roared through the nursery. By the time Andrew turned, Gareth had launched himself across the room and effected a neat tackle, bringing himself, Andrew, and a shelf full of toy soldiers crashing to the floor.
Nineteen
Felicity kissed the smooth brow of the tiny infant in her arms. “What is that sound?”
Astrid glanced upward, only to hear another loud crash, followed by a series of bumps and thumps. “Our husbands went up to visit James in the playroom.”
Though Andrew did not keep her informed of his comings and goings, and Astrid lived in fear of a note telling her he’d decamped for Town—or Sweden or the Antipodes.
“If these babies had been sleeping…” Felicity muttered darkly. One child was at her breast; Astrid was returning the other—already enjoying a postprandial nap—to the bassinet.
“But we’re all awake,” Astrid pointed out, smiling, “so let the boys play. It’s hard on Andrew being cooped up in the house and being away from his horses. I can’t imagine Gareth is used to this much inactivity either.”
Another sharp thump had both ladies peering at the ceiling.
“Gareth needs to quit fretting,” Felicity said. “I am stronger by the day, and there have been no fevers. Here.” She held Pen out to Astrid, wiped off a damp nipple, and fastened the bodice of her nightgown. “Pen was slurping and dreaming and slurping some more. My arms are too tired for that.”
Astrid cuddled the Mad Slurper to her shoulder. “Maybe when you are not too tired to hold a baby for more than a feeding, your husband will be less inclined to fret.”
Felicity flopped back against her pillows. “You know, Astrid, when people say they are tired in their bones?”
“Yes.” Astrid’s burden emitted a tiny burp, sending his aunt into a round of appreciative cooing.
“Now I know what that means. I am so utterly fatigued, even breathing is an effort. If I stand to use the chamber pot, I get light-headed. At least I’m getting out of this bed, though.”
“It will take time,” Astrid chided gently. She tucked Pen in beside his sister in the bassinet and sat on Felicity’s bed. “You lost a lot of blood, and you are still bleeding.”
“I bleed, and I use the chamber pot, and I leak milk… I feel like a human drain, Astrid. And my poor stomach will horrify Gareth out of any amorous thoughts he’s ever had about me. I look like the world’s largest prune.”
Astrid was saved from casting about for a diplomatic rejoinder by a knock on the door. She hopped off the bed, then grabbed the bedpost to steady herself.