Page 44 of His Godsent Duchess
Christina's chest tightened with frustration. "Is that what you think I'll do? Parade them around like trophies? Victor, you're smothering them, and they're starting to wilt under it."
His eyes darkened, his stance rigid. "Enough. They are my children, and I will decide what's best for them. They're not going to the fair."
The words landed like strike, and by the way his eyes seemed to register her flinch, he knew it.
Christina opened her mouth to argue, but the cold finality in his tone stopped her. He was already turning and striding toward the door.
"Victor, please," she called after him, her voice touched with a plea she hadn't intended. "They need more than just discipline. They need?—"
He paused for only a heartbeat at the door, his hand resting on the knob. Without turning to face her, he said quietly, "This discussion is over."
And then he left.
Nineteen
"Amelia, do not finish the blueberry tarts!" Cassidy warned, and a slight smile touched Victor's features. The girls' giggles, as they darted around the gardens, had become a sound Victor had come to anticipate as he worked in his study. It was a pleasant distraction that he never allowed for himself before. His window was open, and every precious sound reached his ears.
Christina's voice followed, light yet commanding as she reassured the children, "I shall send for more tarts from the kitchens, no need to squabble."
Victor's smile faded. He had intentionally kept his distance from Christina these past two days since their disagreement in the library, seeing her only during dinner, where Ashing's presence mercifully filled the silence between them. It wasn't that he didn't want to see her—no, the opposite was true, and therein lay the problem. Victor needed to be harsh so she would keep away from him and not affect him.
Every time she spoke, every time she laughed with the children, he found himself irresistibly drawn to her. He could barely keep himself from rising from his chair now and watching her through the window.
A faint knock at the door pulled him from his reverie.
"Enter," he called. The door opened, and Agnes poked her head in, her hazel eyes bright and cheeks flushed from the outdoors. She grinned, and Victor's heart softened.
"May I come in, Father?" she asked sweetly, her voice carrying that shy lilt he had begun to associate with moments when the girls needed something special.
Victor nodded. "Of course, Agnes, come in."
She stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her. Standing before his desk, she glanced down at her shoes, her small fingers fiddling with the hem of her bright green frock. The sight made something warm stir within him—an emotion he rarely indulged. He offered her a smile, though more restrained than before.
"And what brings you here?" he asked, intrigued by her sudden bout of timidity. "You seem uncharacteristically shy."
Agnes shuffled her feet and then peeked up at him through long lashes. "I... I have a very important request," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "One that would mean a great deal to me, to Kitty, Cassidy, and Amelia." She paused, then added with a quick grin, "And even Annie."
Victor raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Rising from his chair, he circled the desk and crouched before her, taking both of her small hands in his. The act was spontaneous, as if he could offer her more comfort by simply being nearer to her.
"And what might that important request be?" he asked, his voice gentler now, his eyes searching hers.
Agnes hesitated, her lips pressing together before she gathered the courage to speak. "We... we were hoping you might come and play with us... in the gardens."
Victor blinked, taken aback by the simplicity and sincerity of the request. Play? When was the last time anyone had asked him such a thing? The question lingered in the air between them, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words.
Agnes tugged at his hands slightly, her wide eyes imploring him. "Please, Father. It would mean so much to us."
Victor's chest tightened. He had been so focused on order and duty, on maintaining control over his household and his emotions, that he hadn't allowed himself to be part of their world—Christina's world. The world that was filled with laughter, joy, and connection.
And yet, even as he stood there, he could feel the weight of his responsibilities tugging him back. There was always something pressing, always something more serious to attend to. But looking into Agnes' eyes, he wondered—was there anything more important than this?
He let out a soft breath, his resolve wavering. "You want me to play with you? In the gardens?"
Agnes nodded eagerly. "Yes, we're playing a game, and we need you to be a part of it. Please, Father."
Victor glanced toward the window, where the sun bathed the gardens in a soft, golden light. He could hear the distant echoes of laughter from the other girls. Then his gaze drifted back to Agnes, whose hopeful expression was impossible to resist.
"Very well," he finally conceded, his voice low. "I shall come and play, but only for a short while."
