What an about-face Henry had made with his attitude toward the fairer sex since she first met him. Lucy couldn’t help but shake her head in amazement. “And what shall we call her, if he turns out to be a she?”
“Henrietta?” he said with a devilish grin.
“Surely you jest,” Lucy said with mock indignation. “How about Vivian?”
“Vivian? But that’s a boy’s name.” He shook his head.
“I know, but it’s always sounded so feminine to me, after all. A strong, smart girl could handle the name.”
“Georgiana?” he offered.
“No, too hard to spell,” she said. “Perhaps Isabel?”
“Too French. Sophia?”
“Too foreign. Well, let’s hope it’s a boy, then.” Lucy felt the baby shift. She reached for Henry’s hand and placed it atop her belly. He lightly stroked her stomach with his fingertips.
Lucy reached up to finger the necklace Henry had given her at Sarah’s birth. She’d worn it faithfully ever since. He’d had it designed in London, a single figure atop a winged horse, crafted from gold. Filigree curls tumbled about the rider’s head, and small emeralds marked the eyes. He’d told her it was gaudy, perhaps a bit tasteless, as he’d presented it to her, but her heart had swelled at the meaning behind the token. She felt the sting of tears prick her eyes at the memory.
He saw her touching the necklace. “Ah, the gift. It might be hard to top that one, but I’ve tried my best. You said the baby will be here any day— perhaps I should give you your gift now?”
“Now?”
“Follow me out to the stables.” He stood and offered his hand to assist her up.
“My gift is in the stables?”
“So to speak,” he said, enigmatically.
Lucy rose awkwardly and took his arm, waddling uncomfortably. She sighed in appreciation as they neared their destination. What lovely stables they had here at Covington Hall, following her renovations. MacLaren had balked at first but now conceded that the ventilation was a brilliant idea.
Princess hung her head out the window as she munched her straw, and the mare whinnied in greeting as her mistress passed by. “A good day to you, Princess,” Lucy called out with a smile. Princess reminded her of Ludlow House. She laughed, remembering her dear papa’s relief when she removed a goodly portion of her menagerie to Covington Hall.
“Wait here one moment.” Henry released her arm and dashed off, leaving her standing there in the lane as he disappeared from sight. Moments later, he reappeared, a self-satisfied smile on his face.
“Now, close your eyes.” He reached for her arm.
“Close my eyes? I’m awkward enough as it is, don’t you think?” She stumbled forward a few steps, then allowed him to steer her around the bend, to the front of the stables.
“You may open them now.”
She did as she was told, and blinked a few times. She shook her head. Nothing appeared different. He gestured upward, and she raised her gaze to the doorway above. A smile lit up her face as she saw it hanging there above the double doors.
Her shingle.
Lady Mandeville was carved into the wood, and below it in smaller letters, Practitioner, Veterinary Arts.
She clapped her hands together with delight. “Henry, it’s marvelous. I can’t believe you did this. What will everyone say?”
“I don’t give a damn what everyone says. I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished, Lucy, and I want the world to know it.”
She reached over her belly to hug him. “Thank you, Henry. I’ll never forget this.”
“You’ve given me so much, Lucy. There are neither trinkets nor tokens nor jewels enough in the world to show you how grateful I am you came into my life. How can I ever repay you?”
“Well, darling,” she said, wide-eyed. “For starters you could find Eleanor and help me to our bedchamber.”
“What?” he asked with surprise.
“My waters just broke.” They both looked down at the small puddle forming beneath her slippers.
Just eight hours later an exhausted Lucy lay on the bed, propped up with pillows and smiling contentedly at the wrinkled, squalling infant she held in her arms. Henry sat beside her, unable to take his eyes off the child.
“A son,” he said, peering between the infant’s legs for the fourth time in the past quarter hour. “I just can’t believe it.”
“I told you. Mother’s intuition.” She smiled a smug smile as she put the child to her breast. “About his name...”
“Yes, I wished to speak to you about that myself. I know we decided upon Oliver Branford—”
“Branford Oliver.”
“Yes, whichever. But you see, I’m afraid I made a promise years ago—”
“Yes, but I’ve already promised—”
“What?”
“Who?” Puzzled blue eyes met questioning green ones over the babe’s head.
“Colin,” they said in unison.
The baby made a soft mewling sound and waved tiny fists in the air, apparently pleased with the name. Henry leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of Lucy’s fragrant head, and then on his son’s damp one. “Mmmm,” he murmured, inhaling deeply. “Heaven.”
Lucy smiled as she looked from her husband to their son, Colin Branford Oliver Ashton, the would-be seventh Marquess of Mandeville. Just then the door creaked open and a squeal of delight heralded young Sarah’s gleeful flight to join her family upon the bed. As the girl clambered up into her father’s lap to have a look at her brother, Lucy closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Henry was right.
This was heaven.
Available now in Kindle format:
The next two books in the “Undone by Love” series
UNDRESSED (Colin Rosemoor’s story):
http://www.amazon.com/Undressed-Undone-Love-Book-2-ebook/dp/B00KWS1KYA
UNVEILED (Jane Rosemoor’s story):
http://www.amazon.com/Unveiled-Undone-Love-Book-3-ebook/dp/B00N6UOIPY
About the Author
Kristina Cook is the author of more than a dozen books for adults and teens, ranging from historical and NASCAR romance to paranormal and contemporary young adult fiction (also writing as Kristi Astor and Kristi Cook). When she’s not writing a book or reading a book, she’s probably online somewhere, talking about a book. Kristina lives in New York City with her husband and two daughters, but in the summer months escapes with them to sunny Miami, where she lounges on the beach and teaches creative writing classes at Miami-Dade College.
Copyright © 2004, 2014 Kristina Cook Hort
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