"And she is feeding now?" The midwife cooed at the tiny life in her arms, little Ainsley squirmed in the other woman's arms in protest, crying out for her mother who was currently busy feeding her twin. Seraphina had still not been able to wrap her head around the upper class idea of having someone else nurse ones child. Why would she do that when her body was more than capable of nourishing her two newborns? Luckily her husband was a loving, indulgent man and rarely protested against anything she wished to do.

"Oh yes, your advice about soaking a rag with milk was most helpful, now she eats as much as her brother does," Sera replied.

"I can see that, they've both gained a good amount of weight over the last week, and they are healthy. No signs of jaundice either. The little ones are doing perfectly. Isn't that right, little one? You're going to grow to be a big strong girl, aren't you? You'll need all that sustenance to wrangle her naught brothers."

And yes, it had been twins. Curses had been cursed, husbands had been threatened, promises to God that she would never allow her husband liberties were made; all in the nearly day-long process of bringing her offspring into this earth.

Her poor saintly husband had borne with a lot that day, she was almost certain that he had worn down the rug in the study. He'd already not been happy with Seraphina's insistence on returning to her village for her confinement and the arrival of their newborns, but Sera had not been able to explain what it was about her physician in London that had severely put her off. He'd been even less pleased when they had found out that the lauded midwife who had brought both Sera and her brother into this was no longer practicing. In her stead was her daughter, to whom her husband had not quite politely snapped:

"Midwife? You look like you were in the womb yourself two days ago!"

Mrs. Avery had not been impressed and had primly informed him that she had been practicing alongside her mother for well over a decade and had been operating by herself for years now.

It may have helped her case that Mrs. Avery's hulking brute of a husband had looked like he would put his fist through her husband's face. And for all that Sera was confident in her ability to defend herself, she doubted that she would be able to do much in the face of the man with the physique of a bear while she was six months pregnant.

Quite frankly, what kind of humble farmer looked like that?

And how did a man of foreign descent end up in her sleepy little village?

Something about the man made the warning bells in Sera's head ring, in the same way she felt around Lord Carlisle. As if the man was a far more dangerous creature than he let on. Along with his impressive physique, the man had a permanent scowl etched on his face, the scars on his face pulled tight. It made for a rather terrifying picture. He moved so soundlessly that it made Seraphina uncomfortable. And he usually held himself so still that he may as well be mistaken for some sort of statue. People made noise, lots of it usually. It was unnatural for a man of that size to move with the sort of stealth that he did. And his eyes, they watched with an uncanny attention that made one feel as if they were on the dissection table.

Mrs. Avery, on the other hand, looked like someone's fairy godmother, with her plump figure, her rounded cheeks that dimpled when she smiled- which was nearly always- and her entirely sweet demeanor. They were an entirely unlikely pair.

And he always hovered over his wife whenever they were in the vicinity of each other, and he always seemed to be in a hurry to take her away back home.

The signs spelled trouble to Sera.

"How long have you been married, Mrs. Avery?" Sera asked casually.

"Oh, it hasn't yet been six months, My Lady," she replied as she set Ainsley down into her crib.

"And how long did you know Mr. Avery before you wed?"

"Oh," she laughed a little self-consciously, "well I daresay it was hardly a few weeks before we were at the altar. Sometimes you just know."

Oh dear, this story was becoming even more concerning.

"Indeed," she cleared her throat. "And he treats you well?"

"Oh, yes, My Lady, he is quite the best of husbands," she replied with a dreamy smile. "The day he showed up, it was as if all my problems disappeared."

"I am glad for that," Sera nodded cautiously. "The two of you seem very different, so I was curious."

"Oh, no, Lady Graham, at heart, I think we are quite similar, it is only he is a bit rough around the edges."

What Mrs. Avery did not add was that she quite preferred him that way.

They lapsed into a companionable silence while Mrs. Avery checked over the other babe, and once she was satisfied she interviewed Sera to make sure she was not having any trouble signs postpartum.

Once she was done she was about to take her leave but Sera enticed her with a hot cup of tea and some biscuits. They weren't even halfway through their fare when a pale-faced servant arrived, informing them that Mr. Avery had come to pick his wife up. Clearly the man's very presence had unsettled her staff.

"Oh, that worrying fool," Mrs. Avery chuckled. "I am merely an hour later than I said I would be and he's come to check on me."

Ah, so he was controlling too, it seemed.

"Do you know the organization that my husband's family owns?" She said impulsively, unable to keep silent. "We help women who......well women who may find that their marriages are not as loving as they thought."

Mrs. Avery stiffened in outrage, her nostrils flaring.

"Your concern is appreciated, but unneeded," she replied in a clipped manner. "My husband quite dotes on me."

"A doting husband does not get upset if his wife is held up at her work. Nor does he show up and interrupt her."

"My lady, you are being far too presumptuous. My husband worries about me, yes, and that has to do with his experiences in life. They make him overly cautious in some ways but I don't think there is a single man who saw the war that came back without their own jagged ends and eccentricities. I was feeling ill yesterday, and my own morning sickness prevents me from being able to eat properly most mornings. I nearly fainted yesterday and have spent a lot of today on my feet, he worries that I will make myself sick."

"I see," Sera replied cautiously. "I mean no offense, was only concerned because he strikes me as a very intense sort of man. They aren't easy to deal with."

"It is true, my husband does not smile often, he is silent and abrasive, but his heart is good. He has seen and done things that have marked him forever and in spite of that, he has managed to find whatever goodness was left in him for my sake. I find it difficult not to be offended when people judge him by the color of his skin and the scars on his face. He served this country loyally for years, he sacrificed years that young men use to find themselves and their paths. At that age, he was taking bullets for our freedom. His injuries are his badges of valor. And you, My Lady, of all people ought to know that a man's soul has nothing to do with the scars on his face."

And with that, the midwife dropped a quick curtsy and walked out of the room.

Well, Sera thought in chastened mortification, she'd been rather put in her place just now, hadn't she? 

"You did what?" Sebastian snorted in amused shock as he plated their dinner, an Indian dish of fried, spiced potatoes that he liked to eat with a paratha- fried flat bread that was crispy on the outside and flaky on the inside, also the only thing Sophie was able to keep down these days.

"Well, you know I happen to get a little overprotective where you are concerned," she sniffed with dignity as he sat down across from her, broke off a piece of paratha in his hands, closed the flatbread around the potatoes, and raised the niwala to her lips. She accepted the bite happily, the flavors exploding on her tongue, always feeling unbearably spoiled when her husband cooked for her and fed her. And he always enjoyed her appetite, too.

"Was your brute of a husband worth pissing off a marchioness? I hardly need you to defend me, but you do need their goodwill," he poured her a glass of cool water and held it out to her before making another niwala and eating it himself. It was a shock to Sophie at first, his habit of eating off the same plate, but she had come to see it as a cultural way of him expressing his affection.

"No one insults my dearest husband, even if the Prince Regent were to insult you I would tell him where he could stick his opinions!" She replied zealously. His eyes flared, warming considerably. "You are worth more to me than all of them!"

"You are too good for me," he said hoarsely before clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the food. She took his free hand in hers and raised it to her mouth for a soft kiss.

"I am just as good as you deserve," she replied sternly, "and I shall not let anyone imply otherwise, even if it is you."

He stared at her unblinkingly before he swallowed thickly, nodding.

"You should say it," she wriggled her eyebrows at him. "I know you are thinking it."

"You already know it," he grumbled defensively, "why do I have to say it?"

She raised an expectant eyebrow, holding eye contact and he groaned in defeat.

"Fine! I. Love. You." He grated out. "Happy?"

"Very much so," she grinned in delight, knowing full well the man was wrapped around her pinky finger. "But you know what would make me happier?"

"What?"

"I managed to convince the cook at Lord Graham's to give away her sweet bun recipe, and I would so dearly love it if someone made them for me."

He scowled at her but held his hand out for the recipe which she happily extracted from her reticule.

"Knead the dough for twenty minutes?!" He demanded in outrage. "Stir the glaze counterclockwise every two minutes?!"

"You ought to put those magnificent forearms to use," she said encouragingly.

"The glaze itself takes an hour to make," he deadpanned. And because she very much wanted to eat those buns, she patted her stomach lovingly and looked at him dead in the eyes.

He'd never stood a chance. She had the most powerful weapon in her arsenal.

"It's the baby, you know. They want the buns so badly. I am only asking for the baby. Your baby."

And as her husband got up with a curse to go check if they had enough flour, Sophie knew that there couldn't possibly be a luckier woman on this earth.