As she did every day, she asked, ‘Would you like to feed him?’
He replied as he did every day. ‘No. I’m good, thanks. It looks tricky, and I don’t know how you manage to get more food into him than ends up elsewhere.’
True enough, meal times weren’t the tidiest of processes—and equally true she had worked out a dextrous method of spooning in maximum food—but still... She wasn’t sure that his reluctance stemmed from fastidiousness. As for worrying that Amil wouldn’t get enough to eat, that didn’t ring true either—as she had pointed out, he could always have a second helping.
Perhaps he didn’t like the idea of being watched and judged.
‘I can go into the lounge whilst you feed him, if you like?’
‘I’d prefer it if you fed him, if that’s OK?’
‘Of course.’
Only it wasn’t OK. Not really.
Just like it wasn’t really OK that Frederick didn’t engage in bathtime, didn’t take Amil onto his lap for his bedtime story. If it were any other man she would suspect that he didn’t care, that he was going through the motions. But that didn’t make sense. Frederick had fought tooth and nail to be a full-time father to Amil—risked his throne, defied all advice, was willing to take a less than ideal bride.
‘Say goodnight to Daddy.’
The little boy gurgled happily and she walked over so that Frederick could give him a kiss.
‘See you in a minute.’
Fifteen minutes later she tiptoed from Amil’s room and entered the lounge—then stopped on the threshold and cursed under her breath.
Damn. She’d left her sketchbook open on the table—worse, she’d left it open, so she could hardly blame Frederick for sitting there and studying the page.
‘Did you do this?’
‘Yes.’
There was little point in denial—it wasn’t as if he’d believe that Amil had drawn a ballroom dress or an off-the-shoulder top.
‘They’re good.’
‘Thank you—they’re just sketches...doodles, really. You know how much I love clothes.’
‘These look like more than doodles—you’ve written notes on fabric and cut. How many of these sketchbooks have you got?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ No way would she confess the number. ‘I’ve always enjoyed sketching and I’ve always loved fashion. Ever since my mum took me on a photo shoot with her—I loved the buzz, the vibrancy, but most of all I loved the clothes. The feel, the look, the way they could totally transform a person. Sounds mad, maybe, but I think clothes have power.’
His gaze returned to the sketchbook. ‘Have you ever thought about fashion design?’
‘No.’
That might be a little bit of a fib, but she didn’t really want to discuss it. Her sketches were private—she’d never shown them to anyone and she wasn’t about to start now.
‘It’s just a hobby. I think my forte is wearing clothes, not designing them.’
Moving forward, she removed the sketchpad and closed it with a finality she hoped he would apply to the whole topic.
‘Anyway I wanted to talk to you about my nanny idea.’
In truth, she wasn’t that keen on a nanny—but she could see that if she planned to model and fulfil her commitments as a Lycander consort then it would be necessary.
‘Go ahead.’
‘I want to give Gloria Russo the role.’