“Of course I should. We are always late, and you are always patient.”
He was an immensely talented artist. It had taken her the entire first year of her marriage to find him after Robert had let it be known they were searching for someone of his abilities.
Pierre Tiveau had been only a year older than Marcus when he had arrived at Fosterly. Beth had almost decided on a much older man to serve her purposes when she gave young Tiveau some parchment and told him to spend the day sketching the people of Fosterly. The results had been so detailed, so like a photograph, capturing every thought and emotion reflected in his subjects’ faces, that she had hired him on the spot.
He had lived at Fosterly ever since, an artist in residence, and had been given his own chamber here in the castle. Most days he sketched the family going about their various pursuits. Robert training his men. Beth sparring with Robert or Marcus or even Dillon when he visited. Beth dancing with Robert or her sons. Robert, Marcus, or Michael roughhousing with the boys. Beth snuggling with Robert in his great chair before the hearth.
Tiveau captured it all in beautiful detail, amassing piles and piles of sketches. Every year he painted a formal family portrait as well. And every year or two, Seth dropped by for a visit and Beth coaxed him into working his magic on the artwork and the letters she wrote to her brother, doing whatever he could do to preserve it all for Josh to uncover in the twenty-first century down in the hidden oubliette, which was now free of spikes and skeletons.
How Josh would know it was there and where to look for it she hadn’t quite worked out yet. But she would. And through this, Josh would know she had lived a very happy life.
Beth turned her attention to the two boys seated near the buttery. “Michael, Alex, give those to Maude and come over here. You can have them back as soon as Monsieur Tiveau is finished with us.”
Both children stilled, glanced over at her, then obediently handed Maude their practice swords.
Beth smiled with pride and a great deal of love as she watched her youngest sons approach. They looked so like their father, with jet-black hair and bright blue eyes. They even possessed his forbearance, standing still and offering no complaint while Beth brushed off their tunics and smoothed their hair.
“Maude, will you please have Alice bring Vanessa down?”
“No need,” a deep voice rumbled softly.
Beth turned and watched Marcus approach, her sleeping infant daughter cradled gently in his arms. Her smile widened. “Must you charm all of the females of Fosterly?”
“All but one,” he teased, his dark eyes sparkling.
Beth laughed. “Don’t kid yourself. You charm me all the time.”
Maturity had molded Marcus’s boyish good looks into the strong, handsome countenance of her beloved friend Marc. She was so glad he had stayed on at Fosterly after attaining knighthood. It was like having a little piece of home with her. And he provided yet another excellent role model for her children, all of whom he cherished.
Especially Vanessa.
The Fosterly men adored Vanessa, her father most of all.
Her older brothers and Marcus, Michael, Stephen, and Adam fawned over Vanessa and thought her the most clever little girl in the world. And while most infants were left in the care of wet-nurses and maids, Vanessa was forever being stolen away by her brothers, paraded about by her proud papa, or tucked into the crook of a warrior’s arm and told tales of battle and warfare a little girl just shouldn’t hear.
As Marcus deposited her daughter in her arms, Beth heard a commotion erupt in the stairwell that led to the solar and chambers above.
Rolling her eyes, she called out, “Don’t muss your hair!”
Vanessa jerked awake with a grunt of surprise.
Robert and Josh stepped into view. Josh’s head was wedged under his father’s arm, his laughter filling the hall as he struggled to escape. Robert met Beth’s gaze, smiled sheepishly and released him, then helped his son right his hair and tunic.
Meanwhile, Vanessa’s little face puckered up as she prepared to have a good long cry over her sleep being so rudely interrupted. Contrite, Beth rocked her and tried to soothe her as the first wails erupted. Marcus lent his aid as well, cooing and making funny faces that made Beth laugh but had no effect on her daughter.
Robert joined them and gave Beth a light kiss. “Did I not tell you? She bears your temperament as well as your beauty, sweetling.”
Marcus laughed.
“Oh, ha-ha,” she responded, not at all upset. The fuzzy hair atop Vanessa’s head was the same brown as Bethany’s, her eyes an expressive hazel. Robert had made no secret of his delight in having a daughter who resembled her mother so closely, confessing only last night that he had been hoping for such ever since Beth had agreed to marry him.