“I love you, Rhododendron.” She loved that he called her that. It felt symbolic somehow. As though he loved all of her. Even her ridiculous name.
“I love you, Justin.”
“My Rhododendron.” His lips found hers. “Finally, mine.”
Wednesday Afternoon at the Park
The ducks would never forgive them.
Conventional wisdom would dictate one leave very youthful offspring and pets at home, but the four women, dubbed long ago by their husbands to be devilish debutantes, preferred to bring those they loved out into the world. Along with their nurses, of course.
The small dogs were managed by the older children—older meaning nearing the age of five.
Ah, because, yes, Peaches had procreated as well, having given birth to a litter of four miniature versions of herself, ranging from a solid red to the blackest of them all, who sported only a few red spots and who was also the runt.
The Countesses of Blakely, Carlisle, and Kensington had each taken one into their home, leaving the fourth one to go to the Duchess of Prescott. And of course, the Duchess allowed Peaches to visit with her other offspring as often as possible.
As the rather ungainly party descended on the calming shores of the Serpentine, they drew more than their fair share of attention.
Of course, none dared censure them for their behavior. That sort of business was reserved for the nobodies and the upstarts. This collection of titled ladies and gentlemen held some of the highest titles in London. They were not only tolerated but fawned over—children and dogs included.
In fact, a few daring members of thetoneven deigned to bring their own children along.
The park’s custodians no doubt didn’t appreciate the additional traffic on Wednesdays, but upon receiving a rather large anonymous donation, no one could complain.
The tallest of the fashionably dressed ladies opened a bag of bread, luring the more alert ducks to waddle out of the water in their direction. A few of the web-footed creatures eyed the dogs warily. Other, more experienced birds had realized their quacks could be as fierce as the short four-legged creatures’ barks.
And their bills, even more so.
“I absolutely love this design, Cecily.” Rhoda ignored the ducks to more closely examine the embroidery on the avocado green muslin gown that contrasted so vividly with her friend’s hair. Although a countess, Cecily hadn’t given up designing her own gowns. And Madam Chantal had become even more popular by implementing many of the young Countess’s ideas.
“It’s one of Stephen’s favorites.” And then she blushed. How was it possible her friend might blush when referring to her husband of five years? And then Rhoda knew.
“You are increasing again?” After giving birth to their son Finn, Cecily and the earl had failed to produce any more little Nottinghams. Although more than content with her family, her home, and life in general, Cecily had been unable to hide the growing disappointment it had caused from her friends.
A joyful light glowed behind her gaze as she placed one hand over her abdomen.
“How did we miss it?” Emily lowered her spectacles and examined Cecily’s midsection. “Good heavens! How have you hidden it from us?”
Cecily laughed. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was very certain.”
Sophia covered her mouth with her hand, as though keeping a secret at bay.
“Not you, too?” Rhoda felt like giggling.
Sophia nodded. “Dev says he truly doesn’t mind having only daughters, but I’d be so happy to have a son. A little boy just like him.”
“He’d be spoiled to high heavens by Harriette and Little Lorrie.” Although the girls were only two and four, Rhoda had no doubt as to the accuracy of this prediction.
“I’ll bring Alistair and Creighton over if you’d like. They could show him how to be a man.” Emily’s voice carried no small amount of exasperation.
Emily’s twins were three, and already as incorrigible as their parents.
Rhoda turned her head toward the grass, where all of the children played together, and smiled. Three children stood out to her more than the others, with their golden-blond hair and exceptional good looks. They all resembled their father, of course. And thank goodness they’d inherited his kindly disposition. Eleanor, nearly four, proudly held tight to Bruno’s leading string; Sebastian, two and a half, was studying something in the grass; and the baby, Daniel, waddled unsteadily beside one of the nursemaids who’d come along on this outing.
She never could have hoped to experience such joy.
And then, quite out of nowhere, her Sebastian lifted what appeared to be a long ground worm into the air and held it obnoxiously close to Eleanor’s face.
