EPILOGUE
Two years later
Lucas rode home from the day’s labor, the horse below him in an easy trot, the sky above beginning its transformation from blue to slate purple.
Shearing sheep was hard work, and not for the faint of heart. No glamor to it, but deeply satisfying. And tomorrow he would rise before dawn to do it all again.
The Farmer Duke, indeed.
Ahead, just beyond the dual colonnades of oaks lining the long front drive, a small figure in white appeared, hand held to her forehead, watching him ride in.
Nell.
She’d known he would be returning this way, and she wanted to greet him.
Lucas’s heart lifted as it always did when she sought him out after a day’s work. Even after a couple of years, their rightness together struck him anew with each passing day. He could see her unreserved smile from here as she waved, their one-year-old baby boy, Charlie, waving from his perch on her hip.
When Lucas had ridden close enough that they could speak without shouting, Nell asked, “How was your day, husband?”
Hair loose about her shoulders in long waves, and dressed in white muslin adorned with only white embroidery, she was dressed simply for a duchess, but perfectly for Nell, such artlessness only enhancing her understated beauty. She’d rather impressed him over the months as she carved a space that respectfully let everyone—his mother, in particular—know she would be her own sort of duchess.
“A long day,” he replied. “There will be bruises.”
“Come and sit with us.”
It was then he noticed the blanket spread out behind her with a basket to the side. “You didn’t cart all this out here yourself?”
She shook her head. “Dockery drove us.”
Good.The woman had a lifelong habit of doing everything for herself and had to be taught how to let others help her. It was an ongoing lesson. “So, a sunset picnic?”
“Whyever not?”
“Spoken like a true duchess.”
She laughed. “I think your mother despairs of me sometimes.”
“She adores you completely.” All the family adored Nell, in fact.
She settled Charlie onto his bottom on the blanket and began to unpack all manner of food from the basket—bread, cheese, meats, pies—while he tended Lady Mischief. Though they hadn’t told anyone yet, he detected the tell-tale, subtle rounding of her belly in profile. They wouldn’t be able to keep their coming addition a secret for much longer.
Charlie, who wasn’t yet walking, greeted his papa with a pudgy, slobbery smile before tipping onto hands and knees and crawling across the blanket. “Dadadada,” he jabbered all the way, until Lucas swept him up and tossed him into the air, eliciting a round of contagious baby giggles. Impossible not to laugh along with him.
Nell leaned back onto her elbows and watched them, her face lit by a smile. “I’d be careful if I were you. He’s already had a pastie.”
Lucas made his next toss the last. He wasn’t keen to repeat last week’s mistake of tossing a baby with a full belly over his head again. He set Charlie down. As the baby crawled away, Lucas leaned over to greet his wife properly with a kiss. Her kiss never failed to light a flame inside him. But now wasn’t the time to allow it to become a full conflagration.
He settled back in what could only be characterized as domestic bliss, while Nell poured them each a cup of tea. The sun slipped below a thin ribbon of cloud on its inevitable journey toward the horizon, then suddenly, the slate sky turned dazzling pink. Side by side, silent, they took in the view.
“I received a letter from Tilly today,” she said.
“How is her writing coming along?”
“Just legible.”
“I’m glad for her.” And he meant it. It took some tenacity to learn to read and write as an adult. “What did she have to say?”
“She’s in Paris with Lord and Lady Percival.”
