As Greg neared Bella’s studio, a soft sniffling caught his ears. What in the world? He increased his pace and there in the far corner, a little raven-haired girl had her head bent forward and her entire person shook as she sobbed.

“Francesca,” he said as he continued toward his daughter. “What is it, sweetheart?”

She lifted her head at the sound of his voice and the tearstains down her cheeks broke Greg’s heart. Her green eyes, so much like his, blinked back more tears. She was such a sensitive little creature.

“Frannie,” Greg sank down to his haunches to look at her directly as he lifted a handkerchief to her. “Tell Papa what’s wrong.”

Francesca sniffed as she dabbed at her eyes. “I-I can’t get the flowers to look right.” Her lip trembled with that admission.

There, just a few feet away, her canvas was propped up on a little easel with the Nottinghamshire countryside coming to life. Whatever was wrong with the little white flowers in the bottom corner, Greg had no idea whatsoever. “The flowers look quite pretty to me,” he said.

His daughter’s brow furrowed as though he was a simpleton, and as far as art went, he often was. He simply didn’t see the world through the same eyes as Bella or their daughter, but he adored them both with all of his heart.

“They don’t have the right shadows, Papa.”

Oh, the right shadows, of course. Greg nodded his head. “Sweetheart, why don’t you ask Mama to help you with the shadows?”

But his daughter’s expression turned to one of horror. “I can’t ask her to help me.”

“Of course you can,” he said, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “You know she would help you.”

Francesca agreed with a nod. “But my painting is for Mama. I can’t have her help me with a present for her.” And then her lip quivered again as though a fresh wave of tears were about to tumble down her cheeks.

Ah, now Greg understood. He pulled the little girl into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I have known Mama much longer than you, Frannie, and I can assure you that she would consider it quite the present to work with you on your painting even if it is for her.” There was, after all, nothing in the world Bella loved as much as spending time with their children. She was a most loving and attentive mother.

“It’s not the same thing, Papa,” she said against his cravat.

“No, no, I’m sure it’s not,” he agreed, though truly he had no idea. “But, sweetheart, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you abandon the studio for at least the rest of the day. Your brother and your cousins are all out on the lawn playing games.” Or at least they had been before Greg had abandoned them to his study a few hours ago to look over the contracts for a pair of new brigantines Simon thought they needed.

“But my painting…” She pulled away from him to look at him as though he was quite mad for even making such a suggestion.

“Will still be here once the hoards have all returned to their own homes.” He tweaked her nose. “But you are to help Mama with being the hostess of Rufford Hall in the meantime, and you cannot do that hidden away in the studio.”

“How much longer are they going to be here?”

Greg couldn’t help but laugh. Francesca was like Bella in so many ways, and once she was engrossed in one painting or another she could easily forget that there was an entire world out there still going on. “The next fortnight.”

Which seemed like a lifetime to her, he could tell by the expression on her face.

“Don’t you think Mama would rather be in here painting too?” Greg asked. “But we cannot abandon our guests, Frannie, even if they are family.”

She sighed as though her world was coming to an end, but she did eventually nod in agreement.

So Greg spun her around and untied the smock that was covering her dress. “There you are.” Then he kissed the side of her cheek, pushed back to his full height, and urged her toward the corridor. “And have a bit of fun too,” he called after her before glancing back at her painting. The flowers looked perfectly fine to him, and he had no idea what was wrong with the shadows or why such a thing would make his daughter dissolve into a puddle of tears.

He heaved a sigh, deciding he would never understand the inner workings of an artistic mind. Then he started for the corridor himself, but stopped in his tracks when Bella appeared in the doorway.

Even now, after all their years together, she still took his breath away, just like she had that first night at the Astwicks’ so very long ago. He shook his head at his wife and said, “I just ran Francesca out of here. Don’t tell me I have to run you off too.”

She blushed slightly at his accusation, and he thought he had the right of it. “There’s no one to entertain at the moment, Greg. And I just want to get a scene sketched out before I forget it.”

“There’s no one here to entertain? I’m sure my family won’t be insulted in the least,” he teased as he closed the distance between them. “Now, turn back around, Lady Avery…”

“They’ve all gone to Leverton Park to visit Major and Mrs. Moore.”

It had been some time since Russell and Tristan, who’d since mended their relationship, had seen their old friend. And the man’s wife was Clayworth’s cousin. Greg supposed it stood to reason that they’d spend a bit of time at the Park with the Moores. “They all left?”

Bella shrugged. “Well, they left their children behind, which your son is quite pleased about, by the way. He has the boys all re-enacting the Battle of Waterloo.”

Where Francesca was her mother’s daughter, Zachary was his father’s son. All blood and guts, all the time. No, he was very much an Avery man, or would be when he was older.

“The girls, of course, are put out with him,” Bella continued, “as the boys keep running through the lawn bowling in their attempt to bring down Napoleon once and for all.”

That did sound exactly like his son. And while the re-enactment of Waterloo did sound engaging, Greg suddenly had a better idea. “My dear, you are forgetting an Avery who still needs to be entertained,” he said with a tsk.

Bella simply blinked at him, and he could see her going down the list of his family in her mind, wondering whom she might possibly have forgotten.

“Lord Avery is in desperate need of a certain entertainment.”

“Is he, indeed?” The most beautiful smile spread across her face and her silvery eyes twinkled just so with realization of what he was about.

Greg agreed with a nod. “In fact, he’s quite looking forward to you entertaining him in his chambers.” He glanced down at his watch fob. “Well, right this moment, actually.”

Her blush grew deeper as she said, “Well, as Lord Avery is my favorite of all the Averys, I’d hate to keep him waiting.”

Greg slid his hands to her waist and drew her to him. “He is very glad to hear that, my love.” And then he dipped his head down and kissed her. How he loved this lady, his wonderful wife who made every single one of his days better than the last.