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“It comes and goes,” she said.

He wriggled down into the bed and got comfortable; he was exhausted. But happy. Happier than he had any right to be. He squeezed his wife with his good arm and kissed her hair.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispered.

Chapter 35

Harvest Moon

Cecey stood within the circle of Rick’s arms watching Helen and Jones, the tapster, dance a jig with the other tenants by the light of the bonfire and a hundred lamps hung from the trees. The moon shone down on the festivities. It had been a wonderful day. Exhausting, but so satisfying. They’d got the last of the harvest in a week ago. Most the repairs to the tenants’ houses had been completed and the substantial renovations to the manor begun.

The Hendrixes had fled before charges could be brought against them, and before Rick could move against the Baines men, the whole family disappeared. Rick set the Runners after them, but it seemed they, like the Hendrixes, had got clean away.

Then the Bow Street Runner on the case brought him word that a family answering their description but calling themselves Nettlestock had boarded a ship for Philadelphia with three servants by the name of Dartmouth—a middle-aged man, his wife, and son.

Rick wrote a long letter to the Governor of Pennsylvania and hoped that somehow, across the ocean, justice would be done.

The Marquess of Malmsbury sustained a visit from Rick, Hereward, and Robert and learned the truth of his son’s demise. A story of death by misadventure was concocted for London society. Rumors circulated of course, but the story was soon forgotten.

All’s well that ends well, thought Cecey, glancing up at her husband. It was then she felt it. The flutter low in her belly. She gasped and Rick looked down at her in alarm.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I just felt the baby move,” she said, grabbing his hand and resting it on her belly that was developing a little baby bump.

The joy in Rick’s wide smile made her eyes prick with tears. He kissed her and murmured, “I love you, Lady Kenrick Layne!”

“I love you, too,” she said softly, returning his kiss.

Epilogue

“She’s beautiful!” whispered Rick, staring in wonder at the small, red-faced, squalling scrap being held out to him by the midwife.

Cecey lay limp against the pillows, her hair clinging damply to her forehead, her smile slightly out of focus.

“Go on, hold her,” she said, her voice hoarse from screaming.

He held out his arms and took the little bundle and watched the tiny pink mouth open and close. And the squalling stopped. It was in that moment that he felt his heart leave his chest.

“Oh, my precious, darling girl, Papa is here and will never leave you unprotected, sweetheart.” He pressed a very soft kiss to the fuzz on the top of her little head and blinked back tears. He walked slowly to the bed and sat carefully on the edge.

Cradling his daughter in one arm, he took Cecey’s hand and squeezed it. “Well done, my brave girl.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead and then her lips. “I can never repay you for such a gift as this,” he murmured.

She smiled mistily up at him and sighed.

“Miranda Eloise Layne,” he said, pronouncing each name that they had chosen together with reverence.

Cecey nodded and stroked the baby’s cheek with one finger.

The midwife bustled forward and said, “Her Ladyship should rest now, my lord. I’ll take the babe.”

Rick rose and shook his head. “In a moment. I want to introduce her to her grandmother and uncles and aunts. They are all waiting out there to meet her.” He glanced back at Cecey for permission and then went to the door to let his mother and siblings in.

Mama was first in and came immediately to his side.

“Oh Kenrick, she is lovely,” she murmured, wiping her cheeks.

And Rick beamed with pride.