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64 pages, Kindle Edition
First published November 1, 1992
“Your eyes are two colors,” [Delia] told him. “There is green and little gold speckles. Did fairies do that?”
“They might have done.”
“It is very pretty. I wish I had fairy gold in my eyes.”
He stood up and pulled on his gloves. “You have fairy silver,” he said. “Like a blue sky with silver dust. It is much, much prettier.”
“A blue sky with silver dust.” She considered. “And Livy, too, then. And Mama.”
“Yes.”
“Yes,” she repeated with a satisfied nod. She took his hand, and looked up at him, and smiled.
He’d discovered that looking after little girls was nothing like minding rough-and-tumble little boys. Christina had called her daughters hoydens, but they seemed to Marcus the most fragile of china dolls. Out of doors, he found himself worrying that they weren’t dressed warmly enough, then that they were over warm, and would take a chill in consequence. Every game seemed too rough; all the places he’d taken for granted as perfectly safe for children abruptly became fraught with perils.
“But you are quite right regarding my height,” she said. “I did grow another half-inch. How keenly observant you are.”
Twin sparks lit his eyes. “I did not mean a mere half-inch. I must have confused you with some other girl. There were a great many of them, as I recall.”
“Ah, well, you mustn’t mind the error,” Christina answered in tones laden with compassion. “Failure of memory is common with advancing age—it cannot be helped.”
He’d been too busy to be lonely. And there had been other women. He had fallen in and out of love half a dozen times at least.