Carcel gently pulled back from his wife's embrace. He kept one hand resting warmly on her waist. He looked around the drawing room, his eyes searching.
"Where is my boy?" Carcel asked. His voice softened even more at the mention of his young son. "I have a wooden toy horse for him in my trunk."
Ines smiled, carefully closing the signed book and holding it to her chest.
"He's sleeping," Ines replied softly. "He had a very busy morning. He had a large breakfast, played with Edith in the garden for two hours, chased a butterfly, and then finally slept. He was exhausted."
Carcel nodded in approval. A proud, fatherly smile touched his lips.
"As he should," Carcel said. "A growing boy needs his rest after a hard day of play."
Just as the words left his mouth, the heavy doors of the drawing room opened wider.
Rowan stepped into the room.
