Page 31 of A Match Made On Duchess Square

Gwendolyn shot James a pleading glance not to berate his son.

He arched an eyebrow, for surely the boy deserved mild censure. Of course, it would only ever be a gentle reproof, because he could never bring himself to be too stern or harsh with either of his sons. In truth, he was a soft touch and they got away with more than they should because he could never raise a hand to them.

Gwendolyn was still looking at him in that gentle, pleading way, and he seemed helpless to resist. “We’ve had a long afternoon, Rob. Just try to be more careful next time.”

His son’s gaze was still cast down and his lips now trembled. “I will, Papa. I promise.”

“That tart looked quite delicious,” Gwendolyn remarked. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. But everyone knows those tarts can be tricky things.”

“I enjoyed mine, too,” Jordan chimed in, giving his brother a light nudge that had Robert almost slipping off his chair. “And I did not make a mess of it.”

“Mine was juicier,” Robert insisted, nudging him back. “It dribbled down my chin onto my shirt before I could stop it. Accidents happen, same way you fell out of a tree and sprained your wrist. These things just happen. Right, Lady Gwendolyn?”

“Yes, for certain. We can only try our best to prevent them.”

Robert nodded. “I did try very hard.”

“I know you did,” Gwendolyn assured him. “But I think these hours of shopping have pushed us all to our limits.” She turned to James. “Your home is along the way. Shall we drop the boys off and then you can escort me home?”

“Excellent idea.” He rose, and dragged Jordan up along with him as he was about to poke his brother again. This was what often happened when the two of them grew bored: They started to push and prod each other until one of them howled.

He took a moment to settle his account while Gwendolyn and his sons waited for him beside his carriage.

The boys clambered in as soon as James strode out, and then began to fight over who was to sit beside Gwendolyn. “I’m sitting beside her,” James intoned, because he hadn’t the patience to listen to them whining the entire ride home over who had been chosen. The simple solution was to choose neither son and sit beside her himself.

But this was not really wise, for her nearness and the accidental graze of his shoulder against her lithe body had his heart pounding. She had her head tipped toward him, so he caught the delightful scent of honeysuckle on the delicate curve of her neck.

She would be sweet as nectar to the taste. Having kissed her, he already knew her lips were that sweet, and her mouth was made for kissing.

The ride seemed interminable for many reasons, not the least of which were the grunts and whines from his boys as they began to quibble over who was taking up most of their seat bench, which would have been ample for both of them if they weren’t behaving like ill-tempered wolves.

Gad, no wonder so many parents preferred to have nothing to do with their offspring until they reached adulthood. His boys had obviously reached the limits of their good behavior, and James knew one of them was going to end up with a bruised jaw if they weren’t separated soon. They were only halfway home before he said in a tone of authority, “Jordan, switch places with me.”

Robert pouted, but a quelling, fatherly glance stopped his intended protest.

As tension built within the carriage, Gwendolyn suddenly had both of his boys laughing when she leaned forward and said, “Robert, you have something on your nose,” and gave his nose a little tweak.

It was a silly gesture, but his youngest son thought it hilarious and burst into giggles. Jordan then began laughing.

James rolled his eyes and grinned at Gwendolyn.

“How did you know this would work?” he asked once the boys had been delivered home and handed over to the care of Mrs. Partinger. They were back in his carriage that now rolled on to Duchess Square, just the two of them seated opposite each other.

“I never had brothers, but my father became guardian for my two cousins, Jared and Jeremy, when their parents died. I was merely eight years old when they came to live with us, and they happened to be ten and thirteen, just like your boys. I remembered how my father used to deal with them, always distracting them with humor whenever they began to poke and prod each other, which they did incessantly.”

“I hope they eventually grew out of it,” James said with a groan.

Her smile turned pained as she nodded. “They did, and grew up to be fine young men. But they were both lost in the war.”

“Oh, Gwen. I’m so sorry.”

“So am I,” she said with a nod. “They were like brothers to me, and I felt their loss acutely. I went with my father to identify their bodies, for I was afraid he would collapse upon seeing them in their coffins. It was terrible.”

He leaned forward and reached for her hand. “I can imagine.”

“I think this is why I have been so stubborn in believing Andrew survived the war. There hasn’t been any finality. How can I stop hoping when it is just as likely he will turn up at my door one day?”

James did not know how to respond to this.