Page 41 of A Bride for the Scottish Duke (The Gentleman’s Vow #5)

8 years later

The summer sun was high over Hayward, and even though it shone brightly, it wasn’t oppressively warm. Indeed, Charity was most comfortable in her place by the lake, looking up into the sun with her eyes closed as it warmed her face.

All around her, sounds of the ongoing birthday celebration sounded. People chattered, children laughed and somewhere, someone popped open a bottle of wine.

“Mama!” came the cry, high and bright. She opened her eyes in time to see her daughter, Ethel, running her way.

Charity turned just in time to catch her daughter as she came bounding into her arms. Ethel threw her arms around her mother’s neck and beamed up at her.

“There’s swans!” she declared breathlessly.

“I know, they were here last summer also but you were too young to take notice,” Charity replied, brushing a strand of hair from her daughter’s damp forehead. At 4 years old, Ethal was growing far too fast for Charity’s liking. “Do you know what they’re called?”

“Yes,” Ethel said seriously, then, with a conspiratorial whisper, “They are called Eammon and Charity. Like you and Papa.”

Charity laughed and leaned down to kiss her daughter on the cheek. “That’s right.”

“Isabel! The swans are called like my parents. I told you,” she turned and informed her cousin, Millie and Thomas’ daughter who was older by 6 months.

“Very well,” she complained. “But I have a bunny that is named after me, Belly. That is better than swans.”

“No it’s not,” Ethel replied but before Charity could interject, the two girls rushed away together, their quarrel forgotten.

“Aunty!” Her younger niece, Elizabeth, called and patted her on the hand. “Cake!”

“You already have a piece, dear,” Charity told her niece who was seated between her and her mother, Millie.

Three-year-old Elizabeth Hayward, in a pinafore already dusted with crumbs, had little interest in bunnies or names. Her attention was singularly fixed on the slice of cake on Charity’s plate. She poked at it with a finger, then pulled it closer.

“I do wish she had a keener interest in the world,” Millie remarked as she intercepted her daughter’s second attempt at a mouthful of icing. “That’s enough. You can have more after you finish something proper.”

“Cake,” Elizabeth protested, her bottom lip pushing forward in betrayal.

Thomas stepped in, lifting the child easily. “Oh dear. You really have a sweet tooth. You will end up with a mouth of those Waterloo teeth people wore long ago,” he said with a laugh.

“She will,” Millie said and shook her head. “We remember what happened the last time she got into the sweetmeats. She was sick for the entire night. And you were the one who let her eat them.”

Thomas laughed. “She gets that sweet tooth from her father,” he said, winking at Charity. “Guilty as charge. I will say, I do want it noted that I kept watch over her the night of the sweet meats and Millie rested.”

“And what a glorious night’s rest it was,” Millie smiled now.

“She gets that sweet tooth from our entire side of the family,” Emma added, reaching for another slice herself. “I’m grateful I’m no longer obliged to watch my figure. At my age, why resist?”

“You’re all a dreadful influence,” Charity said with a laugh. She turned to her mother. “Mother, say something!”

Lady Pembroke dabbed delicately at the corners of her lips with a lace handkerchief. “I shall not. I’m in full agreement with Emma. At our age, we indulge—we certainly do not need to watch our waists for the gentlemen’s sake.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “Why couldn’t you be like this when we were younger?”

“Because when I was younger, so were you,” Lady Pembroke replied primly. “And I was responsible for ensuring that you all found suitable husbands. That duty is complete. You are married, you are mothers, and I shall now eat cake in peace.”

Evan wandered over, having caught the tail end of the conversation. “Are we squabbling over cake? There’s more in the kitchen. I think there is a pie also.”

“I knew it,” Millie said with a groan. “Is it too much to ask for an apple? Or a pear?”

“There are pears, apples, and carrots in the stables,” Evan replied. “Ambrose and Hector were eating them earlier. Perhaps they left some. Besides, I know what you did last night.”

Millie flushed immediately. “I did nothing!”

“Oh no? Did you not sneak into the drawing room for biscuits at two in the morning? I know I saw you for I was on my way there as well,” Evan laughed.

“I wondered where you had gone,” Thomas laughed. “I thought you’d gone to the privy but no! And here you are, shaming me for enjoying my sweetmeats.”

“Millie speaks as though she abhors sugar,” Charity said, laughing, “but the truth is she loves it more than all of us.”

“You give away my secrets,” Millie huffed, wrapping an arm around Charity’s waist. “I do enjoy a sweet now and then but I generally prefer salty.”

“The last time you had such a sweet tooth,” Lady Pembroke began with suspicion, “you were—”

“I am not pregnant,” Millie said sharply. “James is only six months old!”

“Well,” Charity said lightly, “it’s not impossible. Brandon and Jonathan are only eleven months apart.” She glanced over to where her sons were walking near the water, their heads bent together in some quiet discussion. They were seven and nearly eight now and highly protective of their little sister, Ethel.

A smile tugged at her lips. Three children, and not yet thirty. And another on the way. She and Eammon certainly were growing their family rapidly.

Eammon appeared beside her then, as if summoned by thought alone. He squatted beside her and placed a kiss against her temple before folded his arm around her shoulders. Charity leaned into him.

Laughter echoed across the field.

In the distance, Marjory and Hazel were playing shuttlecock, the feathered ball soared between them in large arcs while their husbands sat nearby, cheering and offering commentary.

Further back, arm-in-arm, strolled Arabella, and Hannah. Arabella had come to live with Hannah and Edwin after losing her husband, Harry, the previous spring, and to everyone’s surprise—even her own—Eammon’s mother had joined them as well. The four now made an unconventional household, but a happy one.

Louisa and Cecil, the Countess and Earl of Ashburn had retired to Scotland, where their son had settled after finishing university. They wrote often, and when they did visit, it was with arms full of gifts and stories of the Highlands.

It was peculiar. The year was 1848, and Charity could scarcely believe almost nine years had passed since her father’s death. Not a day went by without the ache of missing him, but in that ache there was a thread of joy too. His loss had set into motion the path that had led her here—to her family, to her love, to this life.

Laying back, she looked up at the bright blue sky, dotted with fluffy clouds. Down by the water, Cressida and Lydia lay on their backs, pointing at the clouds, probably trying to make shapes, just as she and her siblings had often done.

“Do you feel like going for a walk?” Eammon asked, drawing her from her thoughts.

“Yes, I would like that,” she replied, standing as he helped her rise. Four months into her latest pregnancy, she could already sense that this baby would be large—or twins which wouldn’t be unheard of in her family. As they walked past Cressida and Lydia, who waved at them like schoolchildren, Charity smiled at the sight of her family gathered.

“What a wonderful day,” she remarked. “Do you think Hazel and Marjorie were happy with their birthday surprises?”

“I think so. But now it's time for a special gift for you.”

“For me? But it’s not my birthday!”

“Does it have to be your birthday? Can a husband not give his wife a gift simply to show her his love?”

“Of course,” she replied, surprised. “But why are we walking into the meadow?”

“Well, I needed enough space for your gift. You’ll see why in a moment,” he said, beaming at her.

Soon they came to a stop in the meadow, and she gasped when she saw the meadow for in addition to Hector, Ambrose, and the other horses that belonged to the estate, there were two new additions – a black and white Shetland pony, as well as a chestnut colored one.

“Shetland ponies? You got more Shetland ponies?”

“Of course! You said yourself how much you miss having a young horse. And while I selected one, I saw the other and could not choose, so I bought both.”

She rushed to the fence as Ambrose, having spotted her, trotted over. He was an older horse now, but Shetland ponies had long lives, and she hoped he would be with her for a few more years. She visited him daily, feeding him carrots and apples, brushing him, and walking him out to the meadow though he had slowed, pausing more often as they went. Though she dreaded the day she might have to say goodbye to Ambrose, she pushed the thought away for now.

“I thought Ambrose and Hector could use some fresh blood to keep them energized,” Eammon said as two young Shetland ponies trotted over to join the older horses.

As they stood together, watching the ponies, a burst of laughter from the gathering floated toward them. Charity turned to Eammon, her heart swelling with affection.

“Thank you for this beautiful gift. It’s perfect—I feel so lucky to have you and I cannot wait for the children to see the new horses.”

“The boys saw them when they arrived. In fact, Jonathan helped me pick them,” he said and wrapped an arm around her.

“I wondered,” she asked. “For my actual birthday, do you think we might travel up to Ireland? I have not been back to your father’s estate for so long.”

It was true, they had not been back to Ireland, where Alexander Hayward had bought an estate almost 4 decades ago now, in several years. They had taken the boys there once, but then Ethel had been on the way and they hadn’t managed to go again.

Eammon grimaced. “I suppose, although I do not like that we still must lie to the boys about their background.”

Charity nodded. “They will know when they must,” she said. “For now, they are too young.”

They had decided to tell their sons the truth about their grandparents and how their father became duke once they were old enough to know. It would effect their lives as well, since at least one of them was bound to become duke. They would leave it up to them then, to decide if they wanted to tell the truth and give up their rights to the dukedom, or not. Both sons had shown a great interest in the estate and she believed they would both wish to keep the secret – but the secret would be theirs to know and tell.

In the last 8 years, the matter of the Book of Condidences had all but disappeared from the forefront of people’s minds. She had not heard talk about it in many years now and it seemed society had moved on to other matters.

As for Markham, who had caused them so much heartache – he had not been heard of since his departure for Australia. His holdings had been returned to the crown and the Markham title was held by the Crown to be distributed to someone in the future, someone who would hopefully do it prouder than the previous Lord Markham had done.

It all seemed like a nightmare from long ago. Her life had changed so much and yet so much was the same. Her mother, though more amiable than before, still played a large part in her life. Her sister, married with a family of her own, lived nearby as did Millie and Thomas, who’d been married for only a year less than Charity and Eammon.

Eammon’s family, though smaller now with the loss of Alexander and Harry, remained tight knit and new members kept joining it at a regular pace in the form of children and new husbands and wives. Christmas was now an affair that had to be held in the ballrooms of some of their homes, It was always merry, and especially when Lydia’s side of the family joined in.

The Hayward family and their associates continued to be well respected, benevolent, and admired in the real – though of course, envy and jealousy were never far away. Still, to say Charity was happy was an understatement.

All she could hope for now was a long life with those she loved most.

“You are deep in thought, my love,” he said, drawing her from her reveries.

“I just found myself dreaming a little and reminiscing a little of the life we’ve lived thus far,” she said. “I can scarcely believe how happy I am. I never thought it possible after my father passed and I was looking at a future at Markham’s side.”

Eammon’s gaze softened as he took her hand, pulling her closer. “You deserve every moment of joy, my love. Every day with you makes me grateful for the life we’ve built together.”

With that, he leaned down and kissed her softly, a tender promise exchanged between them that resonated in the stillness of the meadow.

As they walked back to their family, hand in hand, they reveled in the good fortune that was their life now. Each moment felt precious, a reminder that their love continued to grow, blooming among their ever expanding family and the joyful chaos that was their lives. The world felt right, and all was well as they returned together to the gathering, hearts intertwined.