But she didn’t reply. She didn’t move.
But she breathed. At least, thank God, she breathed.
“Father?”
Gregory started at the voice of his eldest child, and he quickly turned away, desperate for a moment to compose himself.
“I went to see the babies,” Katharine said as she entered the room. “Aunt Hyacinth said I could.”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“They’re very sweet,” Katharine said. “The babies, I mean. Not Aunt Hyacinth.”
To his utter shock, Gregory felt himself smile. “No,” he said, “no one would call Aunt Hyacinth sweet.”
“But I do love her,” Katharine said quickly.
“I know,” he replied, finally turning to look at her. Ever loyal, his Katharine was. “I do, too.”
Katharine took a few steps forward, pausing near the foot of the bed. “Why is Mama still sleeping?”
He swallowed. “Well, she’s very tired, pet. It takes a great deal of energy to have a baby. Double for two.”
Katharine nodded solemnly, but he wasn’t sure if she believed him. She was looking at her mother with a furrowed brow—not quite concerned, but very, very curious. “She’s pale,” she finally said.
“Do you think so?” Gregory responded.
“She’s white as a sheet.”
His opinion precisely, but he was trying not to sound worried, so he merely said, “Perhaps a little more pale than usual.”
Katharine regarded him for a moment, then took a seat in the chair next to him. She sat straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap, and Gregory could not help marveling at the miracle of her. Almost twelve years ago Katharine Hazel Bridgerton had entered this world, and he had become a father. It was, he had realized the instant she had been put into his arms, his one true vocation. He was a younger son; he was not going to hold a title, and he was not suited for the military or the clergy. His place in life was to be a gentleman farmer.
And a father.
When he’d looked down at baby Katharine, her eyes still that dark baby gray that all of his children had had when they were tiny, he knew. Why he was here, what he was meant for . . . that was when he knew. He existed to shepherd this miraculous little creature to adulthood, to protect her and keep her well.
He adored all of his children, but he would always have a special bond with Katharine, because she was the one who had taught him who he was meant to be.
“The others want to see her,” she said. She was looking down, watching her right foot as she kicked it back and forth.
“She still needs her rest, pet.”
“I know.”
Gregory waited for more. She wasn’t saying what she was really thinking. He had a feeling that it was Katharine who wanted to see her mother. She wanted to sit on the side of the bed and laugh and giggle and then explain every last nuance of the nature walk she’d undertaken with her governess.
The others—the littler ones—were probably oblivious.
But Katharine had always been incredibly close to Lucy. They were like two peas in a pod. They looked nothing alike; Katharine was remarkably like her namesake, Gregory’s sister-in-law, the current Viscountess Bridgerton. It made absolutely no sense, as theirs was not a blood connection, but both Katharines had the same dark hair and oval face. The eyes were not the same color, but the shape was identical.
On the inside, however, Katharine—his Katharine—was just like Lucy. She craved order. She needed to see the pattern in things. If she were able to tell her mother about yesterday’s nature walk, she would have started with which flowers they’d seen. She would not have remembered all of them, but she would definitely have known how many there had been of each color. And Gregory would not be surprised if the governess came to him later and said that Katharine had insisted they go for an extra mile so that the “pinks” caught up with the “yellows.”
Fairness in all things, that was his Katharine.
“Mimsy says the babies are to be named after Aunt Eloise and Aunt Francesca,” Katharine said, after kicking her foot back and forth thirty-two times.
(He’d counted. Gregory could not believe he’d counted. He was growing more like Lucy every day.)