She nodded as if that made complete sense, which, perversely, left him feeling insulted. Who was to say he couldn’t find himself a younger wife if he wished?
Though a more mature woman was less likely to have romantic notions.
“The main thing is,” he said, putting an abrupt end to a conversation that had already become too personal, “the children should have someone to take the maternal role in their lives.”
“You mean, to love them.” Why did she have to twist everything, yet at the same time make it sound so uncomplicated?
“You really are very young, Serena.” Blast, he’d used her Christian name again.
“I suspect you mean I’m naive,” she said. “If believing in the power of love to transform lives is naive, then, yes, I am.”
“No doubt you’re right.” But Dominic would settle for a successful come-out for his daughters, and for a more comfortable existence for his sister.
Serena’s tsk suggested she knew he was fobbing her off. But she didn’t argue. “I think Louisa will sleep through now,” she said.
“Excellent.” He looked down at his sleeping daughter. Louisa had always been a small child, but huddled as she was, she seemed tiny. He had the urge to caress her in some way...but he didn’t know how. Awkward, he rubbed the bump in the blanket made by her foot. “I will do my best for my children in this matter of my remarriage, Miss Somerton, you may rely on that. I am more than conscious that they depend on me. Indeed, I would give my life for any of them.”
What on earth had possessed him to say something so dramatic? Blame it on the midnight madness.
Serena made a smothered sound. Dominic raised his eyebrows at her, daring her to comment.
She shook her head. “It’s time I returned to my chamber.” She bent over and kissed Louisa’s forehead. That was what he should have done, he realized, castigating himself. It seemed obvious now. The way Serena smoothed a lock of his daughter’s hair reminded him of Emily. For one moment, he found himself wanting that touch on his own hair, that tenderness directed at him. No.
Yet instinctively, he drew closer, and as Serena straightened, she bumped into him. Dominic grasped her arms to steady her. Immediately, he released her.
They stood staring at each other.
“Good night,” she blurted. And almost ran from the room.
Chapter Four
The next morning, Marianne’s complexion was redder than usual—one of those inexplicable days when her face started off the color of the crimson walls in the breakfast room and stayed that way. Small wonder that, having swallowed the last of her baked egg, she took to her room to lie down with damp cloths on her cheeks, with a plan to play some solitary chess later. A devotee of the game, she had a board set up in her private sitting room.
Outside, a spring storm had blown up, lashing the windows and bending trees at dangerous angles.
Serena visited the nursery and found the children fidgety, snapping at each other. Louisa was feeling much better, but her mood was subdued.
“What we need is a nice game,” Serena announced.
“Can we slide down the banister again?” William begged.
“No, dearest.” Even though it was exactly that kind of day, and Serena felt so peculiarly unsettled that she’d have relished the chance to climb onto the banister herself. Not that she ever would, of course. “We’ll play dominoes.”
The children pounced on the suggestion, and the twins soon had the game set up. Luckily, it didn’t require much concentration, because Serena’s mind was busy elsewhere. Wondering at Dominic’s unguarded, late-night declaration of love for his children.
Not that he’d said anything as simple as “I love them.” Instead, he’d said, “I would give my life for any of them.”
She doubted he’d been thinking of the verse from John’s gospel: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” But she had thought of it, and had recognized a declaration of ardent love.
He would probably be horrified by her interpretation. What a pity that he should feel so much for his children, yet not show it in his words or deeds! During her eight months at Woodbridge Hall Serena had observed him as a cool, distant father. A provider and protector, but not a loving papa. When he embraced his children, she saw only duty on both sides.
Until last night, she’d assumed his behavior was a reflection of his thoughts.
She’d been wrong.
Yet she doubted even Dominic knew how much he loved his children. Given his attitude to love in a new marriage, he might not even want to know.
For his own sake, and that of his children, he needed to admit to his deeper feelings. And if this was another example of Serena deciding what was best for others...she didn’t care.
The game of dominoes came to an end, with William the winner.
“What shall we play now?” Charlotte asked, as the older children packed away the dominoes.
“Time for spillikins, I think,” Serena said. “Louisa, perhaps you could ask your father to join us?”
Louisa was hard to resist on any day. Today, when she was still pale from her sleepless night, even the hardest-hearted brute would succumb. Dominic was certainly not that.
“Ask Papa to play a game?” Thomas said, astounded. “In the middle of the day?” It wasn’t clear which idea he found more outrageous: that Dominic might play or that they might see their father outside the prescribed times.
“Why not?” Serena said. “He’s probably as bored as we are.”
Thomas’s expression said she had lost her mind, but of course, he didn’t contradict her. The Granville children were all, with the occasional exception of Charlotte, well-behaved, as they should be.
Serena escorted Louisa downstairs to the library, where Dominic usually spent the morning on his correspondence and accounts. She knocked on the paneled oak door.
“Come in,” said a mildly irritated voice.
He’d been deprived of sleep, Serena reminded herself. She opened the door and gave Louisa a little push.
“Hello there.” Dominic’s voice softened immediately. Serena could hear him smiling. “How are your ears this morning?”
Still holding the door handle, Serena pressed her own ear to the opening in an attempt to hear the conversation—only to stumble a moment later when the door was wrenched open.
She gave a little squawk of dismay, and straightened up.
“Eavesdropping, Miss Somerton?” Dominic asked.
So, in the cold light of day they were back to “Miss Somerton.” If
