News
Storytelling

“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 3

Theme:
Font Size:
24px
He knew the rattle—not because it had belonged to him, but because he had bought it in a village outside Calais from a peddler who sold silver trinkets, onions, and questionable tobacco from the same cart. It had been a charm then, a tiny rattle no larger than a walnut, meant for a cradle. He had given it to Evelyn as a joke after she told him he ordered wounded men about like infants. She had tied it to her apron. Then later, on a night of thunder, he had held her hand and said if the world survived, they would fill a nursery with noise.He had been twenty-six. He had meant every foolish word. Now, half the silver rattle lay in his son's suitcase.Rowan stepped closer. "May I see that?"Kit looked at Evelyn. Evelyn nodded once. Kit handed Rowan the broken rattle. Rowan turned it over. On the underside were three scratched letters: R & E. He had carved them with a penknife while Evelyn scolded him for ruining silver.His hand shook.Pippa noticed. "Are you ill?""No.""Your hand is lying."Lady Clarabel made another covered sound. Evelyn looked at Rowan's hand, too. Something moved across her face: pain, regret, perhaps memory.Rowan closed his fingers around the rattle. "Everyone to the house."Pippa narrowed her eyes. "Are we prisoners?""No.""Are we guests?"Rowan looked at Evelyn. She did not help him. Good; he deserved the hard answer."You are under my protection until your mother says otherwise."Pippa considered. "Protection comes with breakfast?"Lady Clarabel said, "In civilized houses, yes."Kit looked relieved. "Good, because I ate one emergency biscuit in the carriage."Milo stared at him. "You said the biscuit broke!""It broke in my mouth."Pippa sighed. "We cannot trust him with supplies."Rowan turned away before grief and laughter made a fool of him in equal parts.Ashcombe Hall had never held a wedding breakfast like the one that followed. It had held political breakfasts, harvest breakfasts, the breakfast after Rowan's father died when everyone ate cold ham and pretended inheritance was not chewing at the table. It had never held a breakfast where the bride sat in white satin beside three wet children who had prevented her marriage.Lady Clarabel changed nothing but her shoes. This was a statement. She entered the breakfast room with a damp hem, dry slippers, and the expression of a general choosing tea before battle. Evelyn came in wearing a borrowed shawl from the housekeeper. The triplets came behind her in a line: Pippa carried the suitcase now because Kit had lost supply privileges; Milo wore two proper gloves after a maid intervened; Kit had somehow acquired a currant bun before sitting down. Rowan suspected theft; he was too newly a father to investigate bun law.Aunt Lavinia sat at the far end, vibrating with questions. Lord Bramwell, Lady Clarabel's father, had not left. He stood near the window with a face like bad weather over a courthouse."Your Grace," he said, "this is intolerable."Pippa looked at him. "It is mostly breakfast."Lord Bramwell stared. Clarabel touched her napkin. "Father, sit down.""Clarabel, your wedding has been invaded!""Yes, by children observant enough to notice.""—who claim your betrothed as their father!"Kit lifted one hand. "We do not claim. We are."Milo nodded. "Mama does not let us lie unless medicine tastes very bad."Evelyn said, "Milo, that was one time."Rowan sat slowly. "Lord Bramwell, no decisions will be made while children are hungry."
PREV NEXT

News in the same category

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

30 Part