Two months later, the manor filled with noise.
Not the usual noise, Sebastian's declarations of war from the upstairs landing, Windstone's restrained sighs, or the occasional crash of something that definitely wasn't fragile but still shouldn't have been on a bookshelf… but familial noise.
Which, in Lucas's opinion, was worse.
Because familial noise came with comments. Judgment. And the unholy chaos of noble families.
Trevor had warned him. Had looked him dead in the eye that morning and said, with absolutely no sense of urgency, "Remember, we can still fake a power outage."
Lucas hadn't dignified that with a reply.
Now, standing in the main sitting room, Dean sleeping soundly in the sling across his chest, Lucas sincerely regretted that decision.
There was a knock at the door, brief and unnecessarily polite, so definitely not Windstone.
Lucas didn't look up. "If that's Alistair, tell him now is a terrible time for a dramatic entrance."
