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“She will simply have to content herself with second-hand accounts,” Anna asserted, lifting Lucy into her arms and pressing a kiss to her indignant little face. “Some things are not meant for infant ears regardless.”

They spent a calm hour in the nursery, trading the twins back and forth, and Anna found herself struck repeatedly by how easily the domestic rhythm of the morning had shifted – no longer the careful negotiation of two people determined to share duty without sharing intimacy, but something far more natural, two parents simply enjoying their children together because they wished to, rather than because circumstance demanded it.

“Do you suppose they will remember any of this?” Anna asked, watching Hudson attempt, with limited success, to coax a smile out of Lucy by pulling increasingly ridiculous faces. “The uncertain beginning of things, I mean. Whatever difficulties passed between their parents before they were old enough to notice.”

“I should hope not,” Hudson expressed, abandoning his efforts at Lucy’s continued unimpressed silence in favor of turning his attention to Anna instead. “Though I suppose, if they do come to hear of it eventually – from an overly talkative relative, or the inevitable gossip of the ton – I would rather they know the whole of it. Not merely that their father began badly, but that he corrected his course, and that their mother was gracious enough to allow him the chance to do so.”

“I was not always gracious,” Anna reminded him. “I believe I bit your finger upon our very first proper acquaintance.”

“And I bit your lip in return, if I recall correctly, and then compounded the offense by kissing you entirely without permission.” Hudson’s mouth curved. “I do not think either of us has much claim to graciousness in the earliest chapters of our story. Only, perhaps, in how we have chosen to continue it.”

Anna considered that, watching Timothy nibble contentedly at his own fist in her arms, entirely unbothered by the philosophical weight of his parents’ conversation occurring above his head.

“I think that is rather the truest measure of a person, in any case,” she said resolutely. “Not how they begin, but how they choose to go on.”

She did not see him again until mid-afternoon, having retired to the drawing room with a book she found herself unable to properly focus on, her mind still pleasantly occupied with the events of the previous night and morning. She was midway through rereading the same paragraph for a fourth time when Hudson appeared in the doorway, looking rather pleased with himself in a manner Anna had learned, over the past weeks, to regard with some suspicion.

“Come with me,” he requested, without preamble.

“Where?”

“It is a surprise.” His eyes glinted with something mischievous. “You need only trust me.”

“That is a rather significant request, given our history with surprises,” Anna said, arching a brow. “The last one involved a blindfold and considerable terror.”

“This one involves considerably less terror, I promise you. And no blindfold, unless you find yourself particularly enthusiastic about the notion.”

“I think it is my best interest to refuse. But, thank you.”

“A pity. I had rather hoped to surprise you properly.”

Anna set her book aside, curiosity overriding whatever residual wariness she might once have harbored toward surprises.

“All right,” she conceded eventually. “I suppose I could give you some of my time.”

“Lovely,” he grinned, helping her up and guiding her hand to wrap around his arm. “I am certain you will find that it worth your while.”

Anna laughed and allowed him to lead her out through the front of the house, where his horse stood saddled and waiting, held by a young stable hand who looked faintly amused by whatever instructions he had already received.

“You wish for me to ride?” Anna asked, eyeing the horse with sudden concern. “Hudson, I have never once sat a horse in my life.”

“Then it is well past time you learned,” Hudson said. “And I promise you, you need not do anything beyond hold onto me. I will manage the horse entirely. You have only to enjoy the ride.”

Anna hesitated a moment longer, but the warm certainty in his expression, the easy confidence with which he held out his hand to her, proved more persuasive than her nerves, and she allowed him to help her up before he swung himself into the saddle behind her, one arm secure around her waist as he took up the reins.

“Ready?” he asked against her ear.

“As I shall ever be,” Anna said, and felt his low chuckle rumble through his chest at her back as they set off.

They rode for perhaps twenty minutes, skirting the edge of the estate’s grounds before venturing into the woods that bordered the property. Anna’s initial nerves gave way, gradually, to something closer to delight – the rhythmic sway of the horse beneath her, the warm solidity of Hudson’s chest at her back, the dappled sunlight flickering through the canopy overhead as they wound their way deeper into the trees.

“You are not so terrified now, I notice,” Hudson observed, amusement threading through his voice.

“I have simply decided that if I am to perish, I would rather perish enjoying the scenery than white-knuckled with fright the entire journey,” Anna replied, though she could not entirely keep the smile from her own voice.

“A remarkably practical philosophy.”

“I have found practicality serves me rather better than panic, in most circumstances. Though I confess panic very nearly won out, the moment you suggested I sit atop a creature four times my own size with no more instruction than ‘hold on and trust me.’”