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“Juxtaposed,” Dev mused. “Very ducal word. So you fell on your arse.”
“I did, and my sword. Shall we have another drink?”
“One more”—Dev waggled a finger—“and that’s it.” He did the honors, even remembering to sugar the lemonade heavily first. “This is a delightful summer concoction, though it needs mint or something.”
“It needs a taller glass.”
“So you are done proposing?” Dev sipped his drink.
“I am. I forgot to propose for the one reason that might have won the prize.”
“That being?”
“She loves me.” Westhaven smiled wistfully. “She ca
“That reason.” Dev nodded sagely. “I will remember that one, as it would not have occurred to me either. Do you think it will occur to A
“I hope to God it does.” The earl took a long pull of his drink. “I ca
“Why not? Why not just ride out there, special license in hand, and lay down the law? You haven’t tried that approach. You can name it after me, the Devlin St. Just Proposal of Marriage Option Number Seven.”
“Dev, I fear you are getting a bit foxed.”
“A bit, and I am not even the one trying to drown my sorrows. Am I not the best of brothers?”
“The very best,” the earl agreed, his smile carrying a wealth of affection. “But I ca
“He’s dead,” Dev observed. “Not much appeal to that approach. So what now?”
“Wait. Sooner or later, A
Dev lifted his glass. “Another good reason for having a candle lit when you’re swiving one you want to keep. I think our little brother would benefit from such profound wisdom. Where has he got off to?”
As if summoned by magic, Val strode through the door, his expression bleak, his gaze riveted on the decanter.
“There’s good news and bad news,” Dev said as he slid his drink into Val’s hand. “The good news is we are going to be uncles again, God willing. The bad news is that so far, Westhaven’s firstborn will be taking after me rather than the legitimate side of the family.”
“And this is bad news, how?” Val asked.
Dev gri
“The very best,” the earl agreed, pouring them all another round.
Fortunately for Westhaven, A
Westhaven,
I am bound by my word to seek your assistance should I find myself in difficulties. The matter is not urgent, but I will attend you at Willow Bend at your convenience. My regards to your family, and to St. Just and Lord Valentine most especially.
A
PS You will soon be ru
Being a disciplined man, the earl bellowed for Pericles to be saddled, barked an order to Cook to see about the marzipan, snatched up the package he’d been saving for A
A
Only as he approached the turn to the lane did he realize he was being needlessly anxious. A
“Westhaven?” A
“You certainly got here quickly.” A
He handed off his horse to a groom and cautiously returned the smile. She looked thi
“It is a pleasant day for a ride to the country,” Westhaven responded, “and though the matter you cited isn’t urgent, delay seldom reduces the size of a difficulty.”
“I appreciate your coming here. Can I offer you a drink? Lemonade? Cider?”
“Lemonade,” the earl said, glancing around. “You have wasted no time making the place a home.”
“I am fortunate,” A
They would, the scoundrels.
“I’ve brought along a few, as well,” the earl said. “They’re probably in the stables as we speak.”
“You brought me plants?” A
“I had your grandmother send for them from Rosecroft. Just the things that would travel well—some Holland bulbs, irises, that sort of thing.”
“You brought me my grandfather’s flowers?” A
“I thought you’d feel more at home here with some of his flowers,” was all that came to mind.
“Oh, you.” A
“So what is this difficulty, A
“We will get to that, but first let us address your thirst, and tell me how your family goes on.”
He paused as they reached the front door then realized her grandmother and sister would likely join them inside the house. “Come with me.” He took her by the hand and tugged her along until they were beside the stream, the place where they’d first become intimate. She’d had a bench placed in the shade of the willows, so he drew her there and pulled her down beside him.
“I told myself I’d graciously listen to whatever you felt merited my attention,” he began, “but, A
A brief paused ensued, both of them studying their joined hands.
“I am expecting,” she said quietly. “Your child, that is. I am… I am going to have a baby.” She peeked over at him again, but he kept his eyes front, trying to absorb the reality behind her words.
He was to be a father, a papa, and she was to be the mother of his child.
His children, God willing.
“I realize this creates awkwardness,” she was prosing on, “but I couldn’t not tell you, and I felt I owed it to you to leave the decision regarding the child’s legitimacy in your hands.”
“I see.”
“I don’t gather you do,” A