Chapter 227: Chapter 227: The Most Thoughtful Mrs. Lancaster
Wren Sutton leaned against Adrian Lancaster’s chest, clearly hearing his steady heartbeat. Thump, thump. It carried a reassuring strength.
The driver, sensing the mood, tactfully raised the partition.
A moment of peace.
"It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it." Adrian Lancaster broke the silence. His deep voice, tinged with a smile but also earnest, sounded from above Wren’s head.
"I just didn’t expect you to notice."
Wren Sutton didn’t turn around. She kept her gaze fixed out the window, her voice muffled. "I’m not made of wood, you know."
Adrian Lancaster chuckled lowly, his chest vibrating faintly. He rested his chin gently on the crown of her head and nuzzled it.
"You’re right. Mrs. Lancaster is the most observant."
This doting affirmation made Wren’s cheeks grow warm.
She shifted, trying to pull away from his embrace, but he only held her tighter.
"Holding you like this... it’s the only way I can feel that you’re really by my side."
His words were soft, but they struck Wren’s heart with immense weight.
She suddenly understood. Adrian Lancaster’s fussing today, his stubborn insistence on doing everything himself—it wasn’t just anxiety over her injury. It stemmed from a much deeper-seated unease.
A bittersweet ache swelled in the softest part of her heart.
Adrian Lancaster felt her silent response and tightened his arms around her again.
...
Back at the villa, Adrian Lancaster got out of the car and carried Wren all the way to the bedroom. He gently set her down on the bed and propped her right ankle up with a soft pillow.
Just as he straightened up, a faint cry came from the nursery cot. As one baby cried, the other began to whimper, creating a sort of tender, two-part harmony.
Wren instinctively tried to get up. "The babies are crying. I’ll go see them."
"Don’t move." Adrian Lancaster gently pressed down on her shoulder, his voice firm. "You need to rest. Don’t do a thing. I’ll see to the children."
He turned and walked toward the nursery, his steps quick but unhurried.
Wren’s gaze followed his retreating figure, her heart a tangle of complex emotions.
Having received guidance from Wren and the maternity nurse before, Adrian expertly changed both babies’ diapers and mixed two bottles of formula all on his own.
The babies stopped crying and were now happily nursing their bottles.
"There, there, good babies. Let’s go see Mommy."
Adrian pushed the double stroller into the master bedroom, wheeling it right up to Wren.
Sipping their milk while gazing at their mother, the two little ones’ eyes curved into crescents, and adorable dimples appeared at the corners of their smiling mouths.
"You two little gluttons. So you woke up because you were hungry."
The words had barely left Wren’s lips when her own stomach let out a loud GROWL.
Adrian heard it and smiled fondly. "Looks like the little gluttons’ mommy is hungry, too."
"..." Wren looked down in embarrassment, the tips of her ears flushing red.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in."
A housekeeper walked into the master bedroom carrying a tray.
"Sir, Young Madam, lunch is ready."
"Put it on the table."
"Sir, Young Madam, please have your meal. I’ll look after the young master and young miss."
"That won’t be necessary." Adrian refused the housekeeper’s offer.
"Your duties are to prepare three meals a day and handle the cleaning. You don’t need to do anything else. Taking care of the Young Madam and the children is my job."
"Understood." The housekeeper obeyed and quietly exited the master bedroom.
The carefully prepared lunch was light yet nutritious, and it was all arranged on the nightstand.
Adrian picked up Wren’s bowl and chopsticks, selected a tender piece of steamed sea bass, meticulously deboned it, and held it to her lips.
"There are no bones. Go ahead."
Wren looked at the snow-white fish poised at her lips, then raised a hand to gently stop Adrian’s wrist.
"I can do it myself. It’s just my foot that’s hurt; my hands are fine. You’ve been busy all morning and must be hungry too. Please, eat."
Her eyes were clear and held a hint of stubbornness.
Adrian hesitated for a moment, but didn’t press the issue. He placed the piece of fish on the small plate in front of her, his voice still gentle.
"Alright. You can feed yourself. Eat slowly, there’s no rush."
Then, he ladled half a small bowl of rich, golden chicken soup for her.
"Drink some soup. It will warm you up."
While Wren served herself and ate, Adrian took on the role of her attendant—moving dishes closer, deboning fish, peeling shrimp, and handing her napkins...
His movements were fluid and silent. His gaze remained mostly on Wren, monitoring the pace at which she ate and anticipating her needs. He himself only took a few hasty bites every now and then.
"Adrian Lancaster, stop focusing only on me. Eat your food before it gets cold."
Adrian was more than happy to care for his wife, without a single word of complaint.
"Don’t worry, I am eating. You just aren’t watching."
Wren Sutton: "..."
After the meal, the housekeeper cleared the dishes.
The two babies, now full and energetic, were lying on a soft play mat. They waved their little hands and feet, their dark, grape-like eyes darting about curiously.
Adrian Lancaster walked straight over, his tall frame a stark contrast to the two tiny infants.
He leaned back against the sofa, gathering the two children into his arms, one on his left and one on his right. He mimicked their coos and babbles, amusing them.
A moment later, Adrian pulled out a soft cloth book and dangled it in front of the babies.
"Darlings, look here. A red strawberry, a yellow sunflower, green grass, the blue ocean..."
His voice wasn’t loud, but steady and gentle, laced with a faint, almost imperceptible hoarseness born of fatigue.
In the bedroom, the soft jingle of a rattle, the rustle of the cloth book, the innocent babbling of the babies, and Adrian’s low, patient responses all wove together into a tranquil yet bustling soundscape.
The sounds weren’t jarring. Instead, they created a strange, soothing rhythm that put the mind at ease.
Wren leaned back against the headboard, her injured foot elevated. Her gaze involuntarily followed Adrian and the two children.
Gradually, enveloped by these tiny, life-filled sounds, a wave of drowsiness washed over her like a gentle tide.
In her field of vision, the outline of Adrian’s profile and the babies’ waving hands began to blur, melting into a warm, hazy glow.
Wren didn’t fall into a deep sleep. In the hazy state between waking and sleeping, she could still vaguely sense the activity around her.
She was aware of feather-light footsteps, a blanket being carefully draped over her, and then Adrian’s voice, even lower and softer than before, as the babies’ breathing settled into a steady rhythm.
Time slipped by. About an hour passed.
Wren woke up. Her eyelashes fluttered as she slowly opened her eyes. The little sounds from before had vanished, replaced by a reassuring silence that hung in the air.
The light blanket covering her slipped from her shoulders as she moved, her gaze subconsciously turning towards the sofa.
The two little ones were tucked under a baby blanket, their tranquil, sleeping faces visible, their breathing even and deep.
Adrian Lancaster was still sitting there, but his body was no longer in the relaxed posture from before.
His back was slightly hunched, his elbows resting on his spread knees. His clasped hands were pressed to his forehead, knuckles white from the pressure.
He was motionless, as if he had fallen asleep.
Any lingering sleepiness Wren felt vanished in an instant.
She watched Adrian in silence.
The rigid line of his neck and shoulders, the way his head hung low—it was a silent picture of exhaustion, the kind that appears only when all defenses are down.
"Adrian Lancaster." Wren’s voice was exceptionally clear in the quiet afternoon.
