He heard the wail of a baby, sank once more to his chair, his head in his hands.
The snick of the door opening forced him to his feet. “Yes?”
The woman strode forward, a bundle in her arms, fussing at a high keen. “Your heir, milord.”
One glance at the child and Theo felt tears burn his eyes. “He’s well?”
“Aye, milord. His lungs tell us so.”
He rushed for the bedroom and his wife.
She lay peaceful, her head thrown back across the pillows, her glorious blonde-red hair framing her tired face.
He stroked her brow. “My love,” he whispered. “You were brave.”
Her eyes drifted open. “And so were you, my darling.”
“Never.”
She gave him a wan smile. “You trusted me to do this well. I’d say that’s very brave.”
“Nonetheless, we’re not doing this again.”
She pulled back, aghast. “Oh, you talk nonsense, my lord! If you think you can stay away from my bed now, you are a madman.”
He laughed through his tears.
She cupped his cheek and wiped them away. “Come lay down beside me, Theo. I need you here as I always will.”
Epilogue
December 25, 1817
Tain’s Gate
Yorkshire
Penn hurried from the boys’ nursery, hoping Violet and Suzanna had not yet awakened. This Christmas morning, she and Theo had two special gifts for their daughters and she was eager to join her husband to present them to the girls.
Penn had first looked in on her oldest son and had fed her second. She’d arisen early to nurse their second boy, born three months ago here in their home. Reginald joined his older brother Winston in the small cozy room just off the main bedchamber. Tended by two nursery maids, the boys were happy little fellows. Their pleasantness, their lack of fretting, and their willingness to sleep had been an added boon to their parents.
Penn entered the master sitting room and quietly closed the door. Theo had been up late after a visit with his tenants in the village. A fire had begun in one of the cottages day before yesterday and spread to two more. Destroying the first home and badly damaging the other two, the fire had crushed many Christmas spirits. Theo, seeing that, had brought the one homeless family here to live with the servants until all of them could build a new cottage.
She tiptoed into their bedroom headed for her boudoir when she spied her husband seated in a chair. And smiling.
“Good morning to you, Marchioness.” He wore the vermilion silk banyan he’s worn when first they’d loved at the Countess of Marsden’s house party two years ago. As then, he also wore a broad smile.
She curtsied. “My lord.”
He beckoned her with a cup of his fingers. Then patted his thighs.
She sat, sank her fingers into his thick blonde locks and kissed his lips with leisure.
“You taste like my best Christmas gift,” he told her with a wink.
“And you, sir, taste like tooth powder.”
“I’m considerate,” he proclaimed.
