And yes, I was as proud as a studly peacock that I’d knocked my wife beautifully up so close to middle-age. It turned out, the last pregnancy was the easiest of the bunch for Sarah—she had no morning sickness, more energy instead of less, insatiable sex-drive…I was bloody ecstatic about that part too.
I peak around the door just in time to see my son fling himself back onto the white carpet dramatically, arms splayed, his blond hair wavy and wild.
“Tomorrow will take so long! I can’t wait!”
That sounds familiar.
Gilbert takes more after me than any of the others—energetic, rambunctious—a handful. But he’s a joy. They all are.
When they’re not giving us migraines.
“Please, Mummy. One more chapter…pleeeeeeeeese.”
When Sarah sighs, I know she’s about to give in. And I’m not the only one who senses it.
“Prince Gilbert, don’t pester your poor mother. Or beg, or whine. It is beneath you.” Nanny Alice steps in from the adjoining room, her face stern and her brogue thick. “You have an early lesson in the morning.” She claps her hands together, quick and sharp. “Into bed, now.”
Gilbert’s whole face scrunches into a frown—and it’s really adorable.
“Nan-ny! She was going to say yes!” He waves his hand, his thumb and pointer finger pinched together. “She was this close and you ruined it.”
Nanny Alice’s lips pucker sourly. “Your Mummy has a soft spot for you—and that’s why they keep me around—because I don’t like you at’all.”
Gilbert giggles like it’s the silliest thing he’s ever heard. Nanny Alice adores him and he knows it, but thankfully for us, she doesn’t let the runt of the litter get away with anything.
As Gil climbs up onto his bed, I step into the room.
“Your Grace.” Nanny curtsies quickly.
I nod. “Thank you, Alice.”
She dims the lights before slipping outside the door while we say goodnight. I slide my hand along Sarah’s back and we step up beside the bed.
Blinking up at us, Gilbert yawns. “Can we plant a peach tree?”
I hear the smile in Sarah’s voice. “Yes, we can. I know just the spot.”
“Daddy, can we play rugby tomorrow? I’ve been practicing and I want to show you.”
I brush my fingers through his crazy hair. Our little heathen.
“I’ll have Nanny Alice bring you to my office after your morning lesson and we’ll go out to the courtyard to play for a bit then.”
He yawns again, longer this time.
“I really like the giant peach story. Do you think I could write a story like that?”
Sarah leans down over our boy, her voice hushed. “You can do anything you want, anything you dream, as long as you are good and honest and work hard at it.” She peppers his forehead and cheeks with kisses, brushing her nose against his. “Goodnight my little love.”
And then it’s my turn.
“Sleep well, sweet boy. We love you.”
He rolls away from us, onto his side, crushing his pillow into a heap beneath his head.
And with my arm around Sarah’s shoulders, I guide her out the door, down the long endless hallway to our rooms.
****
It’s a mild evening so we dine out on the balcony, beneath the black sky spotted with twinkling stars, at a table set with china for two. This time with Sarah alone—it’s the best part of my day, any day—full stop.
Candlelight dances across her face making pink and soft orange shadows, and I’m struck not just by how utterly beautiful she still is, but how unchanged—constant. How she’s been able to retain the same quiet strength and hopeful innocence she’s always had despite the backstabbing, unsavory political world she lives in.
After we eat, I fill her in on my conversation with Jane, rubbing my temples as I recount it.
“She talked circles around me, I swear. It’s almost emasculating.”
Sarah chuckles and gives me “the look”—the one I love. A small smile, a gentle shake of her head.
“She talks circles around you because you let her. Because deep down you’re delighted by how clever she is—how stubborn and strong and quick-witted she can be. Like your grandmother. You adore that about her.”
I snort at being called out. Then I stare at the rumpled napkin on the table.
“She’s spoiled, Sarah.” I confess in a whisper. “Not to the point of rotten, but…”
My wife nods and straightens her back.
“Jane was born blessed—beautiful, intelligent. She’s been raised in luxury and privilege by a family who loves her completely. She’s never known hardship or tragedy. She’s been treated with deference by everyone around her—and she has more power than any nineteen-year-old ever should. I’d be shocked if she wasn’t a bit spoiled.”