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“Daddy, Don’t Marry Her!” — Three Triplets Crashed the Duke’s Wedding, and He Recognized Them

“Daddy, Don’t Marry Her!” — Three Triplets Crashed the Duke’s Wedding, and He Recognized Them

Chapter 13

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Kit nodded. "Good."Pippa looked at her paper. "Do you snore?"Rowan looked at Evelyn. She looked away too late. "Apparently," Rowan said, "that answer may require witnesses."Evelyn smiled despite herself.The next days settled into a rhythm no one trusted. The triplets learned the house; the house learned the triplets. Pippa learned which doors stuck. Milo learned that the portrait gallery echoed if one whispered rude words into a duke's ancestor. Kit learned that Cook could be charmed, but not conquered. Evelyn learned that Lady Clarabel could make a solicitor cry without raising her voice.Rowan learned that fatherhood was not a feeling: it was inventory, stockings, questions, nutmeg, door latches. Which child hated carrots? Which child loved horses, but feared mounting blocks? Which child went silent before tears?The thunder question answered itself.On the fourth night, a storm rolled over Ashcombe after midnight. Rowan woke in his own room to a crack of thunder. He was halfway to the door before he fully knew why. The nursery corridor glowed with one candle. Evelyn stood there in her dressing gown. Pippa stood beside her holding a blanket. Milo was not there; Kit was not there.From inside the nursery came a muffled voice: "I am not frightened."Milo. Rowan looked at Evelyn. She nodded: permission.He entered the nursery slowly. Milo sat under the bed; only his feet showed. Kit slept through everything with one arm around the wooden soldier. Pippa guarded the doorway like a small captain.Rowan crouched. "Milo?""I am inspecting dust.""At midnight, dust is secretive."Thunder cracked again. Milo's feet jerked. Rowan sat on the floor. His dressing gown was not designed for dignity on nursery carpets; that seemed deserved."In France," Rowan said, "I used to count between lightning and thunder." No answer. "If the count grew longer, the storm was moving away."Milo's voice came from under the bed: "Mama does that.""She is very sensible.""I know.""May I count with you?"A pause from below. "Yes."Lightning flashed. Rowan counted softly: "One, two, three, four..." Thunder answered.Milo whispered, "Four.""Yes."The next flash came. They counted to six, then eight, then eleven. At eleven, Milo crawled out, covered in dust and pride. Rowan did not reach for him; Milo leaned against Rowan's side anyway. The contact was small; it rewrote the room.Evelyn watched from the door. Pippa lowered the blanket. Rowan looked at Clarabel's challenge in memory: Which child fears thunder? Milo. And he did not like being touched until after eight. Rowan would remember.The scandal outside did not quiet; it changed shape. Some papers praised Rowan for delaying a wedding in the name of honor. Those papers annoyed Clarabel: "Honor arrived late and should not be applauded for finding the door."Some papers painted Evelyn as a schemer. Those papers made Rowan coldly efficient. He had a solicitor send warnings. Evelyn stopped him after the second."You cannot frighten every mouth in England.""I can try.""You cannot be father, duke, solicitor, thunder-counter, and newspaper-hammer all at once.""I dislike newspapers.""Everyone does when they are inside one.""They are lying about you.""Yes."
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“Daddy, Don’t Marry Her!” — Three Triplets Crashed the Duke’s Wedding, and He Recognized Them

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