Lily offered her sister an apologetic smile. “I think that might have been my daughter, not one of yours. She is rather impressively vocal.”
Rosalind laughed at the description. “My condolences. Perhaps my little namesake will be the singer in your family.”
They looked into the room beyond, where a girl with dark, bouncing curls dashed about the room, giggling wildly despite the adults within. She had been named in tribute to her aunt, it was true, but with a distinctly Cornish influence to honor the place of her birth.
“It would not surprise me if Rosenwyn became a pirate,” Lily said with some resignation. “I’d happily accept any accomplishment at all.”
“And baby Tristan?” Rosalind pressed, grinning fondly. “How is the little cherub?”
Lily could not help but sigh at the mention of her youngest and presently her favorite for the moments of serenity he permitted her.
“He is eager to join the others in running rampant. No one makes him smile like Ross and Rosie, and when he can laugh, I daresay they will excel in drawing that out as well.”
“I insist on trying my hand at his entertainment.” Rosalind rose and shushed Josephine as she whimpered at the change in position. “Shall we?”
“Thomas has him,” Lily told her with a laugh. “He’ll not give him up easily.”
Rosalind scoffed and nudged her head toward the room where the others were. “Nonsense. I’ll suggest we put the babies in the nursery and enjoy some luncheon, as one should do after a proper christening.”
“Tristan adores his father,” Lily warned as they walked together. “He’ll not seem so angelic when he shrieks in protest.”
“I am his aunt,” Rosalind reminded her as though that made all the difference. “And I shall be his favorite. He’ll love it.”
Lily gave a pointed look to the sleeping baby in her sister’s arms. “And Josephine?”
Rosalind gave her a look, then moved over to her husband, kissing his cheek before handing the baby over without a word. Will cradled his youngest daughter in one arm, and continued conversation with his brother, Lord Sheffield, almost without breaking for the interruption.
The smug expression on her sister’s face made Lily laugh. “How did you do that?”
“Will is used to my whims,” Rosalind quipped with a wave of her hand. “Now, take me to my newest nephew.”
Shrugging, Lily gestured for them to head in that direction, finding Thomas bouncing Tristan on his knee while Ross, their oldest, did his utmost to make his younger brother smile.
He was succeeding adorably.
Thomas chuckled at the sound of the almost laugh from the baby, looking up at the approaching sisters. “So close. He’ll have a proper guffaw one of these days.”
“Challenge accepted,” Rosalind said firmly, holding out her arms.
“You believe so?” Thomas made a face of consideration as he rose, turning his son to face him a moment. “Don’t give your aunt the satisfaction, son. It is my right as your father to have the first laugh.”
Rosalind sputtered noisily and crooked her fingers. “Nonsense. Aunt Rosalind is the reigning victor in such things, and none shall defeat her.” She took the baby, and settled him comfortably in her arm, stroking his plump cheek fondly before looking down at the boy next to her. “What do you say, Ross? Me or your father?”
The boy squinted up at her, then at his father. “Aunt Rosalind is funnier, Papa.”
Thomas coughed in distress as Rosalind and Lily snickered. “My own son? Oh, it is too much.”
“I do adore my nephews,” Rosalind said with a sigh. “Come on, boys. Let’s work on this laughing business.”
Ross took her hand immediately, and they set off across the room, Rosalind looking over her shoulder to make a mocking face at them both.
Thomas heaved a dramatic exhale, slipping an arm around Lily’s waist. “She’s going to do it. No one makes our children laugh like her, not even me.”
“They do adore her.” Lily leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder, unable to keep from smiling at everything about her. “But no one makes me laugh like you, my love.”
She felt his lips press against her hair, his arm tightening further around her waist. “Thank you, sweetheart. Even if it is a statement of pure sympathy.”
Giggling, Lily propped her chin on his arm and glanced up at him. “You don’t believe me?”
He gave her a look, raising a brow. “I’ve heard you laugh, Lily. The children do a better job of it than I do, and Rosalind is still the victor.”
She shook her head against him, raising a hand to brush through his hair, which she would never have dared to do had they not been in her sister’s home. “You are always the victor with me, darling. In anything and everything. It’s always you for me.”
A faint growl rumbled in his chest, followed by his lips descending on hers in a sweet, thorough kiss that had her arching up and curling her toes in her slippers. She hummed in delight against his mouth, the familiar warm ripple racing up and down her back in the way she loved best.
“I love the way you kiss me,” she whispered when their lips parted, gripping the fabric of his coat in one hand.
“If you keep saying things like that,” he murmured, nuzzling against her temple, “everyone in this room will have a very clear idea of the way I kiss you.”
Her cheeks flamed, and she buried her face into his chest. After all these years, she could still not bear having him say things like that without flaming where she stood for all to see.
Thomas laughed quietly, a finger brushing along her heated cheek. “Sweet love, you blush so beautifully to this day. I’ll never find it anything less than extraordinary.”
“Stop.” She peered up at him in warning. “You’re tormenting me.”
He pulled her close, both arms wrapping around her as he touched his brow to hers. “I’m complimenting you, Lily. There is a very great difference. I adore you. I worship you. I love you. And if I want to praise you as a demonstration of those things, I’ll continue to do so. Someday, probably in the distant future, you’ll finally be accustomed to this, and you will no longer blush. I’ll miss that, but at least you will finally know that my praises were not in vain for me no matter how they might seem so for you.”
Lily cradled the back of her husband’s head, momentarily beyond words. “I love you,” she whispered. “So very much.”
“I know you do,” he replied, his voice dipping low, “and it means everything to me.”
Raising up on her toes, Lily kissed him again, heart soaring just as much as it had the first time she kissed him. As it always did when she kissed him. As she hoped it always would.
She’d never dreamed she could be this happy, this content, this lost in the delight that was her life. In the love in her life and this man, the love of her life.
So perfectly, impossibly, brilliantly content.
Just then, across the room, over the giggles and shrieks of little girls, somehow, a certain baby boy laughed his very first laugh.
About the Author
Rebecca Connolly has been creating stories since she was young, and there are home videos to prove it. She started writing them down in elementary school and has never looked back. She lives in Ohio, spends every spare moment away from her day job absorbed in her writing, and is a hot cocoa junkie.
COMING SOON
Cornwall Brides
Book Two
“For richer, for poorer...”
by
REBECCA CONNOLLY
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