“Mama,” Alasdair heard Arabella say and then his wife had picked up her skirts and was also running down the road. The women fell into each other's arms and Alasdair wisely slowed his stroll even further so that he would not interrupt the reunion.
When he reached them after several minutes, the mother and daughter were no longer embracing but holding hands, both faces wet with tears and smiling.
“Yer Grace,” he said and bowed.
“Thank you, Dr. Andrews,” Catherine said. “I understand you brought Arabella home. You have rescued another of my daughters.”
“Nae, she has rescued me.”
Catherine looked at him and then looked at Arabella, and Alasdair realized that Catherine must not know they were married. Arabella had not told her yet, still fearful of her reaction.
He steeled himself for what might happen next. “Yer Grace—” he began.
Arabella interrupted him. “I am Mrs. Alasdair Andrews, Mama.” She let go of her mother’s hand and came to his side and put her arm around his waist and suddenly his own arm was also around her, with his palm on her shoulder blade, his fingers curling into that delicious piece of flesh between her arm and her ribs. The place that he considered the beginning of the breast. The place where she had warmed his hands in the lodge. The place where he put his hand when she would fall asleep on her stomach, as she had done last night in his bed.
No.Theirbed.
“We are married,” Alasdair said and Arabellacouriedinto his side, as much as one cancouriewhile standing.
Alasdair remembered that Catherine had been a professional actress, on the stage for many years. But he was still impressed that there was nary a beat between their shared announcement and Catherine’s smiling reply.
“I am very happy for you. Both.” And Catherine embraced Arabella and shook Alasdair’s hand and then went up on her tiptoes and pulled him down for a kiss on the cheek.
James, the Duke of Middlewich, carrying a tow-headed three-and-a-half-year-old boy on his shoulders, was coming up the road behind Catherine. He was grinning as he put his own hand on Catherine’s shoulder. “I’m not used to seeing my wife kiss a man that’s not me on a country road in the middle of the morning.”
Alasdair could feel himself start to blush. He was not used to a duke teasing him.
“Yer Grace.” He bowed.
“Jamie,” Catherine turned to him. “Arabella and Dr. Andrews are married.”
Her voice was calm and warm but Alasdair noted that the duke’s hand came off her shoulder and grabbed her hand and squeezed it quickly.
“Wonderful! Congratulations to all. Let me kiss you now, Arabella!” And James put his son Sebastian down so that he could lean over and kiss Arabella’s cheek.
“Thank you, Middlewich,” she threw her arms around his neck, “and thank you for taking care of Mama.” Now it was James’ turn to blush.
As Alasdair shook hands with James, Arabella bent at the waist to speak to her half brother. “Sebastian, I am your sister Arabella. Can I pick you up?” He nodded and held up his arms. She picked him up and put him on her hip and he touched one of her golden tendrils by her face.
“Oh.” Catherine exhaled. “He won’t let anyone pick him up but me and Jamie and Nurse Davis.”
Sebastian was looking at his mother now and then back at Arabella and then back again at his mother.
“He thinks I’m like you, Mama!” Arabella laughed.
“Yes,” Catherine said and smiled.
There was a quiet moment then and James broke it with the suggestion that they all walk back up the road to the carriage and ride to Sommerleigh together.
This they did and Sebastian sat comfortably on his sister Arabella’s lap all the way there.
The next day the Viscount and Viscountess Tregaron arrived, and Alasdair agreed with Arabella that it was very hard to imagine David Vaughan whimpering. He also expressed to Arabella privately that he, Alasdair, felt immense gratitude toward the viscount. After all, he was the reason Alasdair had expanded his horizons about what wives did and did not do. Arabella said this was rather unfair, and she or Mary really deserved the credit. After all, they did all the work.
The two-year-old identical twin boys Morgan and Owen and the six-month old baby girl Gwenllian came along with Mary and David.
“My lord, which of the boys is the heir?” Alasdair asked. “Which is the eldest?”
“In private, I hope you will call me Tregaron as Middlewich and Drake do. Or David as our wives do. I’ll tell you the truth, Andrews,” and the viscount leaned forward here, “I don’t know.”
