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The fireplace, crafted from veined gray marble with a carved floral motif along the mantel, stood cold and empty, its grate swept clean and polished. The scent of lemon oil lingered from the freshly polished wood, mingling with the earthy fragrance drifting in from the garden.

Beyond the windows, manicured lawns rolled toward the edge of the estate, where wildflowers swayed in the soft wind. The shimmering surface of the pond glinted under the bright afternoon sun while ancient oaks stood sentinel along its edges, their leaves whispering secrets to the breeze.

Shelby stood at the open window, breathing in the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming wildflowers.

Dash lay stretched out on the patterned Aubusson carpet, ears perked and ever watchful as little Andrew stacked his carved wooden blocks into precarious towers.

Andrew sat cross-legged on the floral-patterned Aubusson carpet, his chubby legs tucked beneath him as he concentrated on balancing one block atop another. He wore a striped skeleton suit of soft blue and white, the short jacket fastening neatly over his ruffled white shirt. The high, rounded collar framed his cherubic face, and the fitted trousers stopped just above his ankles, revealing sturdy little boots that had already seen a fair share of scuffs from his many adventures.

At two years old, Andrew already possessed a determined streak that rivaled his father’s. He had inherited Roxina’s thick, dark hair, a soft wave curling over his forehead, and Shelby’s gray eyes—bright and full of curiosity. His tongue peeking out in concentration as he worked, he carefully balanced one block atop another.

Now and then, he glanced up at Shelby, as if seeking approval, and Shelby never failed to offer a wink, nod, or encouraging word.

A touch of gray marked Dash’s muzzle, though his alert eyes and wagging tail revealed his enduring spirit and loyalty. The faithful dog positioned himself protectively between Andrew and the entrance, as if guarding his young master from any potential threat. It was a habit Dash had picked up since Andrew’s birth, and it never failed to bring a fond smile to Shelby’s face.

Andrew gave a triumphant squeal as one of his wobbly towers righted itself before clattering to the floor.

Dash raised his head, gave an approving look, and then settled back down, satisfied that no danger lurked in the wooden architecture’s collapse.

Shelby chuckled.

“A promising engineer, that one,” he said aloud, mostly to himself. “If we’re not careful, he’ll have the entire house redesigned before his third birthday.”

Roxina’s laughter floated in from the hallway, and a moment later, she stepped into the room, her cheeks flushed from visiting the kitchen—and probably enjoying a warm biscuit or roll fresh from the oven.

Resting her hand on her growing belly, Roxina paused inside the doorway. The sun caught the sheen of her hair, turning it to rich, glossy mahogany, twisted into a chignon at her nape, with a few soft tendrils escaping to frame her face. A delicate gold chain nestled against her collarbones, bearing a small oval pendant of polished rose quartz, its pale pink hue glinting in the light.

She wore a day gown of soft ivory muslin, light and airy for the warm May afternoon, the fabric scattered with tiny sprigs of pink blossoms. The high waist gathered just beneath her bosom allowed room for her rounding stomach while the gently draped sleeves fluttered against her arms with each movement. A silk sash of muted rose wrapped around her waist, tied in a neat bow at her back.

Small pearl drop earrings peeked out from beneath her dark hair, their understated elegance complementing her gown without overwhelming her natural beauty. As she took in the sight of their son determinedly stacking his blocks, her eyes softened, and a contented smile curved her lips.

How could she possibly grow more lovely every day?

She smiled when she saw Andrew stacking his blocks again.

“Did he manage to build anything higher than his head this time?” Roxina wandered farther into the drawing room.

“No, but it was close. Dash gave him his most disapproving look.”

“Of course he did. I vow that dog thinks Andrew is his child.” Laughing, she crossed to Shelby and leaned against him.

He slid an arm around her waist, relishing the simple pleasure of holding her. They stood there a moment, content to watch their son and faithful dog.

“It has been four years already,” she murmured, resting her head on Shelby’s shoulder as he encircled her waist, resting his palms on her stomach. “Do you remember our wedding day?”

“How could I forget? You in that blue gown, looking as if you might float away from sheer joy.”

“More likely from sheer nerves,” she teased, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. “At least we married for love. On occasion, I think of Mr. Atherstone and if he is content in his arranged marriage.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Shelby cocked an eyebrow. “I ran into Atherstone in London a few months ago. Lady Prudence jilted him at the altar—eloped with the gardener. Naturally, her family disowned her. Atherstone married a lovely young American heiress a year later. He is as pleased as a parson at a free luncheon.”

Shelby pressed a kiss to her temple. “These have been the four best years of my life.”

“Mine too, my darling. And to think, I once believed I would be content with weekly Ladies of Opportunity meetings. I was such a fool back then.” A soft smile lit Roxina’s face as she traced a finger over his knuckles. “The ladies still meet as often as we can. Who would have thought that daring little venture would lead to so many friendships—and marriages?”

Nodding, Shelby chuckled. “Georgine and Robyn Fitzlloyd seem quite content. And Claire and Quentin Honeybrook as well. Your friends have done well for themselves, marrying clever men who know how to handle spirited wives.”

“Spirited?” Roxina raised an eyebrow, giving him an arch look. “Husband dearest, I suspect you mean stubborn.”