“Are you talking to me or to the baby?”

“Both.”

Ian kissed Laura’s cheeks and earlobes softly.

“Both are my precious darlings.”

“The baby might grumble in my belly, hearing Papa treat Mama like a child.”

“You’ll have to get used to it. To Papa, Mama will always be a lovely girl.”

Ian showered Laura’s face with more kisses before pulling her tightly into his arms.

“I’m glad you don’t get morning sickness when you’re with me. If my scent made you nauseous, I wouldn’t even be able to come near you.”

Laura rested her head on her husband’s shoulder.

“There’d be no one to take care of me. I’d have become a plant, sadly wilting, abandoned by its master.”

Her arms tightly embraced her husband’s broad back.

“You have no idea how reassuring it is to have you by my side, Ian.”

Ian chuckled softly. The acknowledgment from his wife brought an unending thrill.

He stroked Laura’s hair, his fingers gliding through smooth strands like fragments of a sunset. Ian kissed her hair. The sound of her gentle breathing was close, tangible. His wife, alive and breathing in his arms.

How much this fact made Ian happy.

“Laura.”

Leaning against her husband’s chest, Laura responded in a dreamy voice.

“Yes, darling?”

“Shall we go to the cabin, just the two of us?”

She tilted her head slightly to look up at Ian.

“The cabin where we spent our anniversary?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

As if to prove it was a well-considered decision, he calmly listed his reasons.

“First, in a mansion full of servants, your freedom of movement is restricted, and you’re confined. Second, I keep lingering in the kitchen, getting in the way of the kitchen staff. Third, thanks to our wonderful friends Remzwick and Noel, we have the freedom to leave the mansion whenever we want, yet we’ve been too dutiful as masters and haven’t taken advantage of that.”

But as he reached the fourth reason, his true intentions surfaced with a smile.

“Fourth, because now is the perfect opportunity to fulfill my dream of following you around all day, tending to your every need.”

Laura, who had been listening intently, blinked.

“The fourth one sounds like the main point, doesn’t it?”

“As a Christian who holds honesty as a golden rule, I’ll admit, yes.”

Laura burst into laughter. Ian gently caressed her cheeks, flushed with life from her laughter, as if pinching them softly.

“What do you think, Laura? Just the two of us in a love nest.”

Laura gazed at Ian quietly.

She had long since stopped managing household duties, so her presence at the mansion was hardly necessary. And Ian, with his diligent nature, wasn’t the type to completely abandon work even if they left the house. These thoughts flickered through her mind, but they weren’t particularly important.

If Ian said to go, they would go.

“Have you forgotten I’m your geranium?”

Laura looked up at her husband with clear, childlike eyes.

“No master asks a plant’s opinion before moving its pot.”

Ian’s eyes curved prettily.

“I forgot. That Ian Dalton is the man married to the most beautiful geranium in the world.”

Two days later, their luggage was loaded onto a carriage. Not the gilded four-wheeler typically used by the master and mistress, but a simple two-seater pulled by a single horse.

Ian took the reins, and Laura, bundled up in a winter coat, sat beside her husband. With the servants’ farewells—mixed with relief, envy, and warmth—the Dalton couple headed toward the cabin.

The carriage passed through the charming late-autumn birch forest, crossed a hill with two springs, and traversed a shadowy chestnut grove. Soon, the cabin came into view.

Holding Ian’s hand, Laura stepped carefully onto the footboard he provided and descended slowly from the carriage. They walked past a clean porch with two rocking chairs, opened the front door, and entered.

The cabin was just as they remembered. Forget-me-not patterned wallpaper, a sofa piled with plush cushions, dried wildflowers hung upside down on the walls, rustic furniture, a roaring fireplace, and a thick carpet.

The servants had been sent ahead to tidy up, so it felt as if someone had been living there, spotlessly clean.

“No bad smells?”

Ian asked as soon as they entered. Laura shook her head. The scent of wood, dried wildflowers, and the fresh forest air coming through the hallway—all were crisp and pleasant.

“None.”

Ian seated Laura on the sofa by the fire and began carrying their luggage in himself.

Laura sat quietly, looking around. For someone like Laura, who had managed a grand hall for over a year, the charmingly decorated little cabin evoked a novel sensation.

During her childhood in the Pendleton family, to avoid her uncle’s anger, Laura would hide in a small attic. There, she read books, ate cookies saved from snack time, and lost herself in daydreams.

It was like hiding in a shelter from a bombardment, but in that attic, Laura had been quite happy. It was her only joyful memory from her Pendleton days.

For the first time in nearly twenty years, Laura felt the comfort of a small space again.

Ian returned to the living room. He had shed his usual three-piece suit for a shirt and comfortable serge trousers.

Carrying a tray with a porcelain teapot and cups, he poured Laura a warm cup of peppermint tea.

“Not cold?”

“It’s warm. I might fall asleep like this.”

“Sleep a bit. Want to sleep in bed?”

“I want to stay here.”

Ian tucked a cushion behind Laura’s back and left. Soon, the smell of chopping and cooking wafted from the kitchen.

Laura leaned into the cushion, glancing at the clock on the wall. Five o’clock. The time when Whitefield would be bustling with dinner preparations. The cabin seemed to follow Whitefield’s schedule.

Normally, she’d be flipping through menus and heading to the dressing room to change into attire suitable for dinner. But now, she was sipping herbal tea on the sofa, leaving the meal to her husband.

The schedule might mimic Whitefield Hall, but formality had no place in this cabin.

An informal life was unfamiliar to her. She had spent her life surrounded by scrutinizing onlookers and servants, always maintaining decorum under the gaze of others. That was her existence.

It felt awkward, but the comfort outweighed the awkwardness. Soon, she began to doze off.

Some time later, someone gently shook Laura awake.

“Sleepy Mrs. Dalton, let’s eat and then you can sleep more.”

Laura rubbed her eyes. The smell of freshly baked bread and roasted meat filled her nose.

“What time is it?”

“Six.”

Ian carefully unbuttoned the coat still wrapped around his wife. After helping her out of it, he led her to the dining table. Seafood salad, steaming potato stew, and neatly prepared roasted partridge.

Laura tasted each dish, exclaiming with delight every time.

“How do you keep improving? I’d believe Philip made this.”

Ian’s lips curled into a smile.

“Cooking is an art. Vegetables and meat are the paints, the knife and fire are the brush and palette. It’s as fascinating as painting.”

After the meal, Ian brought out a custard pudding, claiming it was the best dessert he’d ever made.

Laura took a spoonful. It was sweet and creamy, melting in her mouth.

“Delicious.”

Laura closed her eyes, savoring the blissful sensation.

“That’s an expression I usually see in bed.”

Opening her eyes, she saw Ian, chin resting on his hand, observing her across the table. Realizing her dreamy expression, Laura quickly composed herself.

“No matter how good my cooking is, don’t make that face. We’re abstaining until Dalton Jr. is born.”

Laura nodded obediently.

After dinner, Ian cleared the table. Laura tried to help, but Ian, as if it were out of the question, sat her back on the sofa and propped a cushion behind her.

“Keep yourself warm, Mrs. Dalton.”

Ian disappeared into the kitchen with the dishes.

Laura idled by the fire again. On one side of the sofa, a pile of stuffed toys was stacked. She examined them.

A rabbit, a horse, a dog, an elephant. Among the animals was a doll of a child, about the size of a newborn, dressed in a floral dress.

Laura gazed at the doll and then held it in her arms.

“How do you hold a baby?”

Recalling mothers from her memory, Laura supported the doll’s head and bottom, rocking it as if soothing a crying infant.

A smile played on Laura’s lips.

Ian, returning from carrying bathwater upstairs, burst into laughter at the sight of Laura playing with the doll.

“Like that doll?”

Laura nodded.

“It’s perfect for practicing being a mom.”

“Preparing for motherhood?”

“Yes.”

“Always so diligent.”

As Ian carried Laura upstairs, the baby doll was nestled in her arms.

While climbing the stairs, Ian cautioned her.

“Don’t come near the stairs without me.”

“Are you going to carry me up and down like this forever?”

“Of course.”

“You’re really not going to let me lift a finger, are you?”

“That’s why I kidnapped you to the cabin.”

Laura laughed softly, wrapping one arm around Ian’s neck.

“Is there another kidnapper as romantic as this?”

He bathed her with the warm water he had prepared. As he toweled her swollen chest and belly, Ian’s gaze was warmer than ever.

After drying her, he dressed her in clean flannel pajamas and began drying her hair.

While Ian dried her hair, Laura held the girl doll, practicing different ways of holding it, even patting its bottom. It was adorable motherly practice.

Laura’s actions carried a sense of responsibility to be a good mother and an eager anticipation to meet her child. Ian’s gaze softened as he watched her.

“What should we name the baby?”

Ian asked, squeezing her hair dry with a towel. Laura, practicing nursing with the doll, smiled brightly.

“Have you thought of any names?”

“I have one in mind if it’s a boy.”

“What is it?”

“Lewis.”

“…”

“Lewis Dalton.”