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It’s a wet spring in London, fog heavy on the eaves of the club. Sebastian sits in his office, listening to the quiet murmurs of the club in transition. He glances through the open door, smiling faintly as the maids pass by with their arms full of table linens. The fire crackles in the hearth, reminding him of Evie’s curls. Despite having seen her just two hours ago for breakfast, he misses her. Two years ago, it would have embarrassed him. Now, he cannot imagine his life any other way.
This morning, his wife is at the townhouse in Mayfair with Annabelle and Lillian, assessing what needs remodeling in anticipation of their child’s arrival. To Sebastian’s relief, Evie’s pregnancy had gone smoothly so far, with limited sickness and aches. Her friends, much as they shared the experiences of the marriage bed with her, also provide advice on pregnancy and childbirth to Evie, which she regales him with over dinner with a sly smile and teasing words.
“If the baby refuses to come, apparently you’re to walk me up and down the halls. Or, st-sti-stimulate me in other ways,” she had mentioned last evening, brushing her fingertips along the nape of his neck as he readied himself to circuit the club, brushing lint from his shoulders.
“Other ways?” he had asked, a hand at her thickening waist as he pulled her close.
She smiled, the freckles on her cheeks gleaming in the lamplight. “I’m sure your wayward past can inspire, should it come to that.”
He left her safely ensconced in their rooms on the third floor then, kissing her breathless. Before her pregnancy, she would often wait up for him as he circuited the club. However, now he often checked in on her and found her asleep in the chair near the hearth, a book in her lap. He then roused her, gently carried her to bed, left her to sleep while he wrapped up the business of the evening.
Sebastian thinks of her often when he’s on the floor, assessing the night’s goals, talking with Rohan, glad-handing the high rollers. It is a relief to walk up the stairs and know she is in their bed. That she will wake with him in the morning, smooth his hair from his brow. But he also knows that Jenner’s, even as remade and reformed as he and Evie and Rohan have made it, is not a home for a child. So, he tasked Evie with going to the Mayfair townhouse, which he hadn’t thought of as home for years now, to decide what work needed to happen for them to make it one – at least for now. He imagines they will eventually need something larger. And then, one day, when his father passes –
Well. Sebastian won’t think about the country home yet. His father may never die. The damned live longest.
He sighs and shifts in his chair, refocusing his gaze on the papers strewn about his desk. There are balances to assess and request, hiring to manage – he can’t spend all his time thinking about his wife and their burgeoning family.
Sebastian is deep in a set of balances in arrears, jotting out notes prior to the formal notification, when he hears a sob coming from down the hall. He stops his scrawl and lifts his head, squinting at his office’s open door. He hears another sob, and a hiccup, and that – that sound, he knows from his sickbed dreams, his fevered moments, from Ivo Jenner’s deathbed – that is his wife.
“Evie?” he calls out, setting his pen down.
Another hiccup. And then Evie inches into the doorway of his office, face red and blotchy. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, soft curls against deep blue velvet and a white lace collar. Her chest rises and falls with hiccupping sobs.
He’s up in a flash, terror a cold pit in his stomach. “Christ, what happened? Are you all right?” he blurts out, striding over to her. He takes her in his arms, and she tucks herself into his shoulder, her body trembling.
“I’m – I’m fi-fine,” she says, voice watery. “I just – I – I was in – “
Angling back, Sebastian touches her damp cheeks, his thumbs finding the spray of freckles across the high point of her cheekbones. Her blue eyes meet his, swimming with tears. “Sweetheart, what happened?”
“The – the house – we wal-walked in and I ju-just, I couldn’t think of anything but you alone and you with – wi-with other women – I couldn’t – “ she says miserably, hiccupping. Her hands clutch at his shirt, fingers crinkling the white starched fabric. “I don’t want to – to live th-there – it’s – “
Humming softly, he smooths his hands into her hair. “Love, it’s just a house.”
“But it’s not ours!” she bursts out. “The club – this is ours. This is our home. I want to raise our family in our home. And the townhouse – it’s – it’s – “
Sebastian quiets her with a soft kiss, tasting the salt on her lips. The terror inside him eases as he feels her whole and responsive in his arms, the press of her belly against his.
“I’m being silly,” she says, their lips still close enough to brush against each other’s as she speaks.
“Perhaps. But I don’t have a monopoly on ridiculous flights of fancy in this marriage. Remember when I tried to send you to my father?” he teases.
She wrinkles her nose, blinking away the wetness from her eyelashes. “Yes, that was quite foolish.”
“It all comes back around,” he says lightly, closing the door behind her and guiding her deeper into the office. “Sit with me, Evie.”
He collects her into his lap as he sits back down in his broad office chair, feeling the delicate bones of her shoulders, the smooth rise and fall of her breath as she settles against him.
“I think I am afraid that if we leave here, it will ruin everything,” she says after a quiet spell of sharing the same breaths, their rhythms falling into sync.
He smooths a hand over the faint rise of her belly, humming against her ear. “And?” he asks, kissing the hinge of her jaw.
Evie turns her head slightly, mouth twisted at the corner. “And – I love it here, with you. You will spend so much time here in any case. I want to support you. And I want the baby to actually see you,” she says.
His heart clenches. He thinks of her lonely childhood, of his loneliness at the passing of his sisters and mother. How they have found each other amid society’s dull and constrained boxes. Again, he vows, as he has to her many a time, that their children will know affection, care, and conscientiousness.
“They will,” he says quietly.
She hesitates, the thin skin at her throat pinkening. “And – “
He raises an eyebrow. “And?”
“And I hate your townhouse!” she blurts out. “It is small, and dark, and musty. And frankly, Sebastian, I feel the presence of each of your nameless conquests in every room.”
“To be fair, I did warn you about my cesspool past,” he says mildly, fighting off a smile.
She groans, blushing hotly. “Yes, but now it’s real. And it’s a place I’m expected to live, and I just – I don’t – “
He hushes her with another kiss, feeling her go lax in his arms. She loops an arm around his neck, threading her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck as she opens up to him. She is always so responsive, so welcoming to him. He wants to be as open with her.
He wants to give her everything.
“I will sell the house,” he says, as easy as anything, once the kiss softens and ends.
She gawks at him, eyes wide. “What?”
He shrugs, smoothing her hair back from her face, along the line of her neck and shoulders. The scent of rainwater and fog lingers, intermingling with the floral softness on her skin. “It’s just a house. You’re my home.”
Evie sniffles, shaking her head. “For someone who eschewed all attachment in your previous life, you’re truly making leaps and bounds now.”
“You did tell me I would get used to it,” he says with a smile.
She snorts, wiping her eyes. “I suppose I did.”
Kissing her temple, he rests his hand on her belly. “We will find a home that works for both of us.”
“All of us,” she corrects with a smile, resting her hand over his.
He kisses her in response, breathing her in.
Later, as he dresses for the club’s peak hours in the evening, Evie watches him from their bed, a cup of ginger tea steaming on her bedside table. He adjusts his waistcoat and ascot in the full-length mirror, eyeing her reflection. Her hair glimmers in the firelight, pulled into a loose braid that drapes over the front of her dressing gown.
“See something you like, pet?” he asks, meeting her gaze in the mirror.
She smiles softly. “Something I love.”
He turns away from the mirror and walks over to sit at her bedside. She reaches out and he takes her hand without any hesitation, twining their fingers together. “Flatterer.”
Evie laughs. “I’ve never flattered you, I’ll not start now.”
Sebastian huffs a laugh, lifting her hand to his mouth. She looks at him as he kisses her knuckles, her free hand resting on his thigh.
“Couldn’t we stay here?” she asks quietly. “We could renovate. Make it a home.”
He blinks, startled into silence.
“Obviously we will need a home in town eventually. Especially once we’re hosting larger g-gatherings,” she adds. “But it’s all still so new. And you will be here so much. And I just – I only want to be where you are.”
Chuckling softly, he leans over to kiss her soft mouth. “I want the same, love. Let’s see what we can do.”
She smiles, eyes sparkling. “I want our children to know how hard you work. I want them to see the club as something to be proud of, not to ignore. Because I am proud of you,” she says.
A lump forms in his throat and he looks away from her sincere gaze for a moment. His hand flexes in hers. Evie has said it before, but it hits him differently now. She speaks of their family, of how they will see him as good, as reliable, as present; everything he missed when his mother and sisters died. All he wants is to prove her right.
He looks at her, and finds her steady and focused, still smiling at him. “I love you,” he says, voice hoarse.
“I love you, too,” she says.
Later, when he’s on the main floor of the club with Rohan at his side, he thinks of his family, two floors above, and feels nothing but comfort and joy.
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