June 1989 – 19 months old

"Good Lord, Laura," Remington panted, as he slid to a stop – thanks to socked feet on a marble floor - and swooped their active, and now laughing, toddler up into his arms, "Livvie may well kill, or at the very minimum maim, one of us before we depart." Laura pressed a hand over her mouth, suppressing her laughter, although her eyes still sparkled with mirth.

"Maybe castles and children don't mix," she suggested, valiantly managing to keep another round of laughter from bubbling past her lips.

"Down… down…" the baby demanded insistently, then let her body fall lax, nearly making her father tumble over under her sudden and unexpected dead weight in his arms. Sitting her on her feet, he pointed her in the direction of the master suite. They turned and followed behind Olivia as she disappeared into their room, her laughter echoing off ceilings and walls.

"You can't be serious," he protested. "Need I remind you this is one of the properties attached to my entitlement? It's our responsibility… No, our duty… as the Earl and Countess of Claridge to assess our holdings at least once annually to assure our assets are being maintained as they should be." She was rolling her eyes before he finished.

"I'm sure this… dedication… to overseeing our… holdings, has nothing, whatsoever to do with a certain phrase?" she asked, drily, as they entered their room and found Olivia standing on a chair, lunging backwards to lift the feet off the floor.

"Livvie!" He grabbed for the baby in the nick of time, the chair toppling over and banging against the floor. He stooped down so their eyes were on the same level. "No climbing on chairs, mo stór," he reminded, in a grave voice.

"No," she repeated back.

"That's correct. No climbing. Now, off with you, and play with your toys."

"Toes!" she repeated happily, if imperfectly, and ran across the bedroom towards her blocks and shape sorters.

"Don't be absurd, Laura. Ashford Castle generates a bit of income to add to our accounts and..."

"Your ego gets a healthy stroking," she cut in, then added with a snooty air, "My Lordship." A goofy half-grin spread across his face, and shoving his hands into his pockets, he shifted from foot-to-foot, earning him another eye roll, plus a dismissive wave of her hand. "Olivia Elena Steele!" she called out in her no nonsense Mommy voice. Olivia's blue eyes darted to her mother, then she backed away from the vanity bench she'd started to climb.

"Such music from your lips to my ears," he responded, as though they'd never stopped speaking. He stepped to her and fingered a lock of her hair, while gazing down at her with a hopeful look. "Do you think that tonight… we might… reprise a certain role?" he hummed.

"May—"

"Hold that thought!" he interrupted, bolting across the room to where Olivia was clinging to fistfuls of the duvet, as she tried to climb up onto their raised bed. Plucking her away from the bed, he sat her on the floor and pointed the objects in front of her. "Toys." With a grin, Olivia picked up a red square.

"Bock!" she declared, proudly.

"Block. Yes, it is," he agreed. Olivia grinned at him and picked up a yellow block, to bang the two together. He returned to Laura, recapturing that lock of her hair between his fingers. "You were saying."

"I was saying," she drew a splayed hand over his shoulder, then down his chest, before lifting a pair of sultry brown eyes to his, "I believe that could be arranged…" she drawled. Releasing her hair, he wrapped his arms around her.

"Ah, Laura, you fulfill my every fantasy," he murmured, before covering her lips with his. He tore his lips away when his eye caught a little black blur passing his line of vision. Shoving away from Laura, he spun towards the door.

"Livvie! Liv—" His words ended as a thud sounded in the hall. "Ahhhhh," he moaned. Laura stepped into the hall, just as he lifted his head up from off the floor where he'd landed when his stockinged feet had slipped out from under him. With another moan and a rub at his head for his traitorous wife, who stood peering down at him whilst laughing, he tried to garner a bit of sympathy. That ploy would prove to be costly.

"Da!" their little raven-haired girl cried out gleefully, running away from the staircase and to him, throwing herself at his stomach when she reached him.

"Oomph," he exhaled a harsh breath, as his hand grabbed for his daughter before she could repeat the action. "Ohhhhhhhh," he groaned. His head lolled to the side and he looked up at Laura. "Perhaps tomorrow night…."