A Mother For His Family

“My throat, Callum.” John’s request was gurgled. At once, the pressure moved from his neck to his shoulders. “Enough, monkeys. To bed with you.”

“Never,” Alex cried. “You can’t leave, Papa. No more London.”

“You must stay with us.” Callum squeezed.

“I’m here for a while yet.” But he couldn’t ignore the pinch to his conscience.

The boys slid to the ground, and he was left with naught but Louisa in his arms. He kissed her plump cheek, under the ruffle of her nightcap.

“Rest well.” Then he bent to Margaret for a kiss, then Alex.

Callum scowled. “No kisses for me.”

“Fine, then. Off you go to say your prayers.”

The children scattered to their separate rooms.

“Good night, then.” The small voice behind him drew his gaze.

Helena lingered inside the threshold, staring at him. He’d forgotten all about her. How thoughtless. Guilt pricked his abdomen and warmed his earlobes.

“Forgive me. Did you wish to kiss the children? I shall call them back.” His tone was apologetic, but even to his ears the offer sounded weak.

“No.” Her thumbs fidgeted at her waist and she stepped backward, as if in a terrible hurry to escape him.

Little wonder, the way he’d ignored her. “Helena—”

“Good night, my lord.”

“John,” he corrected her, but she had disappeared into the darkness of the hall.

One step forward, two steps back. Lord, help us find ease in this arrangement, before we both come to regret it.

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