Still pleasantly sore from their vigorous lovemaking, Bell washed and strolled downstairs. In the breakfast room, she discovered the entire household waiting for her— including the nursery set, the tutor, and Aunt Griselda, who never rose before noon. “Roof’s leaking. We couldn’t leave anyone upstairs,” Tess said in explanation. “No, naturally not,” Bell said faintly, attempting to adjust to this new routine. Even growing up, she’d grabbed food from the kitchen and ran. Dining en famille had never been part of her daily life. She could be a mother. Could she put herself through that torment of hope again? Kit was making sailboats of his toast in his hot chocolate. Beebee had been seated on a short foot stool on top of a broad chair and tied with a towel to the chair back to keep her from toppling. Spoons were beyond the infant’s capability, apparently. She tossed bits of toast and eggs on the table, the floor, her lap . . . Bell breathed deeply, and her frozen insides melted into warm and happy.
