"You..." Katherine fumed, her voice sharp enough to cut through the quiet nursery. "Do you even know who I am?"
Isobel slowly lifted her gaze from the infant nestled in her arms. Confusion flickered across her delicate features. Until that moment, the room had been peaceful—the soft creak of the rocking chair, the faint scent of milk and powder, the warm afternoon sunlight spilling through the curtains.
She did not understand why Katherine was looking at her with such undisguised hostility, as though Isobel had committed some unforgivable offense simply by existing in the nursery.
Still, Isobel answered without hesitation.
"You are the twins’ aunt," she said softly. "Madam Kristine’s twin sister."
The moment those words left her lips, Katherine’s expression darkened further.
Instead of being pleased that Isobel recognized her, fury blazed hotter inside her chest.
Twin sister.
Everyone always said that with reverence, with expectation—as though sharing Kristine’s face meant Katherine should naturally inherit her place.
But standing there now, watching another woman soothe Kristine’s children so effortlessly, Katherine felt mocked by the title instead.
Because despite being their blood relative, she was the stranger in the nursery.
Her gray eyes churned like a violent sea before a storm. The moment she stepped into the nursery and saw Isobel sitting there so naturally—so comfortably—with a baby in her arm, hatred had rooted itself inside her chest.
She hated her instantly.
Not because Isobel had done anything wrong. But because she looked like she belonged there. Because the babies quieted in her arms.
Because the servants moved around her with familiarity.
Because Katherine had imagined herself in that place.
After her sister’s coma, Katherine had clung desperately to one thought: the twins would need her. She would be the closest woman in their lives. She would protect them, guide them, become indispensable to them. In her mind, no outsider had the right to step into that role.
Yet there sat Isobel, cradling one of the twins with the ease of a real mother.
And Katherine hated it.
Before she could speak again, the baby in Isobel’s arms stirred at the raised voice. The tiny infant whimpered softly, her little face scrunching in distress.
Isobel immediately looked down, all her attention shifting to the child.
"Shh... it’s alright," she whispered gently. Then she glanced back at Katherine with surprising calmness. "Please keep your voice down. You’re scaring Kat Kat."
Her voice carried the tenderness only someone deeply attached to the baby could possess.
She began humming a soft lullaby while gently rocking the chair.
The sight only made Katherine’s resentment deepen.
That should have been me. The thought came bitterly.
She should have been the one comforting the babies, learning their cries, being the person they reached for instinctively. Instead, the twins already seemed attached to this woman whose existence Katherine had barely acknowledged before today.
Her fingers curled tightly at her sides.
She wanted to lash out—to rip Isobel away from the nursery entirely—but before she could, Anne hurried forward.
"Miss Katherine," the nanny said politely, sensing the dangerous tension in the room, "if you’d like, you can hold Baby Kit first."
The servants in the mansion had all been thoroughly briefed. They knew exactly who was permitted near the twins and how important these visitors were to the Foster family. Katherine, as the babies’ aunt, naturally held authority.
At Anne’s offer, some of the frost in Katherine’s expression melted.
"You’re a sensible one," she said coolly.
Finally. Someone understood her rightful place here.
She stepped forward and reached for the infant in Anne’s arms.
But the moment Baby Kit sensed unfamiliar hands and caught an unfamiliar scent, his tiny face twisted. A loud cry burst from his lips.
Katherine stiffened. She had never held a newborn before.
The baby felt frighteningly fragile in her arms, and her awkward grip only made him fuss harder.
Anne’s face immediately paled. For one horrifying second, she thought the infant might slip.
Then Kat, awakened by her brother’s cries, began wailing as well.
The peaceful nursery descended into chaos.
Isobel rose immediately. Without panic. Without hesitation.
"Ella," she said calmly as she carefully transferred Kat into the maid’s arms, "take her to the far end of the nursery so she won’t be disturbed."
Ella nodded and hurried away with the crying baby.
Meanwhile, Katherine stood frozen with Kit squirming helplessly against her chest. Every cry felt like an accusation. Sweat prickled at her palms.
Why won’t he stop crying?
She bounced him awkwardly, but it only worsened his distress.
Then Isobel approached her again, gentle and composed despite the chaos.
"Miss Katherine," she said respectfully, "I think Kit is hungry. Please give him to me so I can nurse him."
The words struck Katherine like humiliation.
Of course. The babies needed Isobel. Not her.
Katherine wanted to refuse. Pride screamed at her not to surrender the child. But Kit’s cries only grew louder, his tiny body writhing in discomfort.
Fear finally outweighed pride.
Reluctantly, she handed him over.
The moment Isobel took the baby, everything seemed to settle.
With practiced ease, she sat back down on the rocking chair and adjusted him naturally in her arms. She guided him gently toward her breast before he could even begin searching for it himself.
The instant Baby Kit recognized the familiar scent of milk, he latched hungrily.
His crying stopped almost immediately.
And as though connected by an invisible thread, Kat—still across the room with Ella—quieted as well.
Peace returned to the nursery.
Katherine’s jaw tightened painfully. From where she stood, Isobel and the baby looked heartbreakingly complete.
Like mother and son.
A dangerous ache twisted in her chest.
No.
She could not allow this. No other woman could replace her sister in the twins’ lives. And certainly not as mistress of the Foster household.
The very thought made jealousy burn hot beneath her skin.
Straightening her posture, Katherine forced her expression into something composed.
"I brought gifts for the babies."
Then she turned sharply toward the door and raised her voice.
"Bring them in."
Two servants entered carrying large packages wrapped elegantly in ribbons and silk.
Katherine ignored them for the moment and looked toward Ella instead.
"Come here," she said, softer this time. "Let me hold my niece."
Ella complied immediately.
After all, Katherine was not just an aunt. She was their mother’s identical twin.
She could be considered as the twins’ second mother.