Lucy felt her eyebrows climb toward her hairline—though, honestly, most adult men of Lucy’s acquaintance belonged in there, as well—but Bess remained unruffled.
“We shall love the new baby,” Bess said calmly, “even if the worst happens, and it is a boy.And we shall also love you, sweet Kittykins, as much as ever.”
Sweet Kittykins regarded her mother thoughtfully for a moment before turning to Lucy and saying, “The baby is very naughty.Sometimes it kicks Mama.”
Lucy shot Bess a helpless glance.“That does sound naughty!”
“Luckily,” Bess said with a grin, “in this family, we love naughty children the most!”Kitty lit up, throwing her arms around her mother, and Bess laughed.“Lucy, would you be a dear and fetch Nathaniel?He promised to take Kitty to the park this afternoon.I’m sure he’ll be checking on us soon enough, but you might let him know Kitty is up from her nap.”
“Yes, Papa will want to hear all about the dream cake I made,” Kitty agreed, snuggling into Bess’s side.
As Lucy picked up her book and made her way to the door, she glanced back to see Kitty put a tentative hand on the swell of Bess’s stomach, clearly wary of being kicked.
Laughing to herself, Lucy escaped into the hall.Children were odd, she thought.Odd and surprising and lovely.
Gemma had gone first, producing a tiny heir to the impoverished dukedom of Havilocke, and Lucy had done well enough with an infant.All they did was drool and burble and make funny faces, and when they began to smell unpleasant, one could hand them back to their parents and hastily flee the scene.
Toddlers appeared to be a whole other animal.
Of course, Lucy loved Kitty.She had since the moment she was born.But for quite a long time, Kitty had represented more of an abstract concept to Lucy than a real person.
Being here, being near Kitty and hearing the hilarious things she said in that sweet, piping voice, it was impossible not to recognize Kitty as very much her own person.
A small, adorable, imperious, somewhat violent person.
Thinking of the moment when Kitty had nonchalantly expressed her intention to bin any boy children who dared to appear, Lucy grinned.
Perhaps she ought to suggest a family outing, something that wouldn’t tire Bess out too much—a sedate picnic, perhaps.Yes, that was just the thing!
Passing the open door of her chamber as she strode down the hall to beard her brother in his den and demand that he tell his terrifying chef to make a hamper for them, Lucy determinedly averted her gaze.If she didn’t look into her room, she wouldn’t have to notice her traveling writing desk and the sheaf of empty, blank pages scattered across it.
She didn’t have an ending for her novel yet anyway.She might as well fritter away her time on a blanket in a meadow, trying to make a toddler giggle.
Maybe after tomorrow night’s promised excursion to Sharpe’s, the gaming hell Thornecliff had mentioned, Lucy would have spent enough time with the duke to make The Gentle Rogue happy.Maybe then she’d get to see him again.
Maybe he’d kiss her again.
Shivering with delightful anticipation, Lucy hugged her arms around herself and hurried downstairs to organize a picnic.
* * *
It was a surprisingly lovely, sunny spring afternoon and everyone who was anyone in London was strolling, riding, or being driven through Hyde Park.
Which was why Thorne was kneeing his second-favorite mount, a chestnut gelding named Samson, into a flying canter across Hampstead Heath.
Sometimes Thorne played the game according to the Ton’s rules, exhibiting himself alongside all the other wealthy, highborn lords and ladies and assorted well-heeled onlookers strutting like peacocks in their finery.
But on those rare occasions when he wearied of being observed, of being constantly scrutinized and emulated and lusted over—usually after a night when he’d failed to avoid the worst of his dreams—Thorne came to Hampstead Heath.
A large area of astonishing natural beauty a stone’s throw from London, the heath was constantly under threat of development by whatever peer currently had the rights to it.But thus far it had been saved from that indignity, largely through the efforts of a small handful of influential people—including the gentleman riding at Thorne’s side.
With his boyishly tousled hair and almost foolishly good-natured smile, Lord Fitzwilliam Drake—Fitz, to his friends—did not appear the sort of serious-minded young man who would bestir himself over the fate of a public recreation area.But he had argued tirelessly against the proposed housing development, shouting down men of twice his consequence in the House of Lords, and had ultimately won the day.
Thorne, who’d known Fitz since school and had never found him to be overly endowed with brains, had been confounded.
He’d always been aware that marriage changed a man, Thorne mused.But he’d never thought it would have the power to increase intelligence.
Not that Fitz was a dunce, exactly.He was handsome and charming, always game for a laugh, an excellent shot and even better horseman.But Thorne was well aware that Fitz had only gone along with half the schemes Thorne had dragged him into because he hadn’t fully understood what they were about.
