Page 51 of Harpy of the Ton
With a clatter of footsteps, the children ran through the kitchen to the back, jostling against each other before slamming the door behind them. Excited voices and laughter faded into the distance.
Lawrence offered his arm and led Bella up the staircase, pausing at the turn of the stairs to show her his study—a tiny parlor into which he’d crammed a desk and chair—before they reached the landing at the top with two doors leading to the bedchambers.
He pushed open the first door. A table lay on the floor in pieces, together with strands of rope. William and Roberta had been playing at pirates since Christmas, when he’d fashioned them swords out of a spare piece of wood as gifts, with Roberta declaring herself as the captain. William staged the occasional rebellion, culminating in swordfights at which she usually beat him. But the two of them often took it upon themselves to declare Jonathan as a Spanish princess, take him captive, and tie him to a chair, and he’d broken free, smashing a table in the process.
Lawrence ought to admonish them, but he’d never had a brother or a sister—and he couldn’t begrudge them the simple pleasures of playing make-believe with a sibling.
The woman beside him let out a snort of disgust as she cast her gaze about, seeing not the fruits of imaginative play, but the evidence of socially unacceptable behavior.
“What a mess!” she cried. “Surely I’m not expected to sleep here.”
“No, it’s the children’s room,” he said. “There’s two beds, see? William and Jonathan share the larger bed by the window. Roberta’s is in the corner.”
Her pretty little nose wrinkled with disgust, and Lawrence tempered his indignation. What right had she to turn her nose up at him and his family?
Her eyes narrowed as she approached Roberta’s bed. “There’s something moving beneath the blanket.”
“Don’t touch it.”
Ignoring him, she reached for the blanket, pulled it back, then let out a scream.
“What devilry is this?” she cried.
A small frog hopped across the bed.
Lawrence let out a laugh and picked the creature up.
“How could you?” she cried. “What a disgusting thing to do.”
“What, take a defenseless creature to safety? He’s more afraid of you than you are of him—unless you’re a coward.”
“I’m no such thing!” she retorted. “Just get rid of it, will you?”
He pushed open the window and placed the creature on the sill. With a croak, it leaped from his hand and disappeared outside.
Lawrence fought back a ripple of guilt at the stricken expression in her eyes.
“Come on, love,” he said brightly. “There’s one room left—our bedchamber.”
She drew in a sharp breath, but complied as he steered her toward his chamber.
For a brief moment, he felt a sense of apprehension—as if he were a bird that had worked tirelessly for days fetching twigs and weaving them together to form a nest to present to his mate, and it now lay vulnerable, awaiting her approval.
He couldn’t afford to furnish it like a fancy gentleman, but the room was tidy, and the bedspread, though a little moth-eaten, gave a splash of color. He’d made an effort—which was more than most men did for their womenfolk.
What the fuck am I doing?
He shook his head, dispelling the notion that he cared one jot about her opinion. But he couldn’t stop the stab of hurt as her eyes widened, not with wonder, but with horror.
“Th-there’s no other room?” she asked. “A-and the—the…” She approached the bed, then stopped and turned to face him. “There’s only one bed in here.”
“We’ve no need for more,” he said, grinning. “We’ve achieved much in that bed.”
“Such as?”
Was she jesting? Surely she’d grasped his meaning. But the confusion in her eyes spoke of her innocence.
“The fruits of our labors are, at this moment, playing in the garden outside,” he said. “But you always said you wanted at least six children, so we can resume our efforts. The bed’s sturdy enough—which is just as well, given how much you like to—”
