Page 22 of Debtor’s Daughter (Wicked Sons #11)
At Lady Andover’s ball, it was once again noted that this season’s incomparable, the beautiful Miss Merrivale, was very much in demand.
Since the unveiling of her magnificent portrait by the acclaimed Mr Weston, there have been no end to the odes written in her honour, nor to the demands of every other debutante to have their likeness painted by the town’s fashionable new master artist.
―Excerpt from an article in The London Morning Star
Sixteen months later…
20 th April 1851, Easter at Merrivale’s Manor, Cawston, Norfolk.
“Come here, you little rogue,” Larkin exclaimed, but Gideon darted out of reach, a marchpane fruit clutched in each fist.
“Can’t catch me!” he shrieked, laughing maniacally as Larkin walked out of the kitchen after him.
“Oh, ho! That’s what you think,” Larkin said, grinning and letting the boy get a head start before giving chase.
“Don’t think I’m chasing you pair of lunatics!” he heard Maggie call after them, already breathless as she heaved her bulky form out of the chair at the kitchen table. At almost seven months pregnant, moving with any speed was quite beyond her.
Aunt Connie and Uncle Cecil had come to stay, bringing Caro too, all of whom looked the height of fashion and quite spectacularly glamorous. It was also their turn to host Larkin’s parents, as they had spent last Easter at the Priory. But, as much as she loved them all, Larkin knew Maggie was weary. As she’d refused to take a nap, he suggested a quiet moment in the kitchen leaving everyone else chattering noisily as they exchanged gossip.
They’d been having tea and a comfortable coze with their housekeeper and their cook, affectionately named by all, Moody and Goody, when the little thief had swooped in and filched the sweets.
Larkin ran after his adopted son, chasing him outside and into the orchard, which suited him fine, as they had a surprise for the lad.
The trees were full of blossom, drifting down like lazy snowflakes as Larkin ducked under branches and Gideon squealed with laughter.
“Come back, you two reprobates!” Maggie shouted after them, having made it as far as the gate.
As Gideon was red-faced and panting, Larkin decided he’d best catch him before he made himself sick, so he swooped the lad up and threw him over his shoulder.
“Got you,” he said smugly. “And if you get that sticky mess in my hair, I shall dunk you in the horse trough.”
Gideon snorted and Larkin heard smacking noises which told him the marchpane was being devoured in case his mother confiscated it. She’d already told him he’d had enough.
“I found this in the orchard,” he told Maggie as he strode back to her, turning Gideon over and holding him up by his ankles.
Gideon shrieked with delight, thinking this a great game, but Maggie exclaimed in horror.
“Oh, put him down. You’ll make him sick after all those sweets.”
Obligingly, Larkin deposited the lad on the grass at his mother’s feet.
“Pa caught me,” Gideon exclaimed, grinning up at them.
Both Maggie and Larkin sucked in a breath, for Gideon had never referred to him as anything other than Westie, and neither of them had thought to force him to do otherwise, feeling it was Gideon’s decision.
“So I see,” Maggie said, darting a glance at Larkin.
Larkin gazed back at her, a foolish smile curving his mouth. He couldn’t have said a word, for his throat seemed strangely tight, his chest full of emotion. Happiness lit him up on this perfect day, in this idyllic place. The manor was every bit as ancient and charming and beautiful as Maggie had told him. Rambling roses climbed everywhere and nowhere was there a straight line to be seen. Age had settled upon the old building, sinking the roofline here, making a wall lean preposterously there, until there was the perfect amount of imperfection, set among a garden that rioted out of control with flowers. It was their own little idyll, their escape from the hurly burly of town life, their home, and nothing could surpass it.
“I’ve asked Jeb to send everyone else around to the stables,” Maggie whispered in an undertone, and Larkin was glad she had flagged down the stable lad and organised everything as she always did, for suddenly he was all at sea. “But I don’t think we can show this little thief his surprise until he goes and washes his hands.”
“Surprise?” Gideon asked, immediately on alert and scrambling to his feet. “For me?”
“Well, I’m not sure you deserve it now, you naughty boy,” Maggie said, folding her arms and looking stern.
Gideon hung his head, kicking at a stone with the toe of his boot. “Sorry, Mama. Sorry, Pa. I like marchpane, but… sorry.”
Larkin thought he could probably forgive the boy anything if he called him Pa, for he said it so naturally, as if he didn’t need to think about it at all.
Maggie’s lips twitched. “Well, run inside and ask Moody to wash your hands and then we’ll see.”
Gideon, aware he’d been given a reprieve, ran off at once.
Maggie turned back to Larkin who let out an unsteady breath as she held her arms out to him. He pulled her close, smiling as her burgeoning stomach kept them a little apart.
“I told you he’d come to it in time,” she said softly.
Larkin nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You did. And, as ever, you were right. Do you think he will mind having a little brother or sister?”
“No. I think he is excited, and I think his father is clever enough to ensure he never feels left out.”
She reached up on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, just as Gideon burst out of the house with Mrs Moody not far behind.
“Ready!” he called, running to them. “Ready for my surprise.”
Laughing ruefully at the child’s terrible timing, he picked Gideon up. “Come along then, my fine fellow.”
He grinned at Moody, who was in on the surprise, as was everyone else in the household. If Gideon thought it strange that his Aunt Connie and Uncle Cecil, Caro, Grandpa and Grandma, and Wallace and Barnes and everyone else was gathered in the stable yard, he did not mention it, for he had seen his surprise, and nothing else mattered.
“Bertie!” he exclaimed, wriggling until Larkin put him down. He ran to the fence, where the pony stood chewing placidly next to his mother’s pretty mare, Starlight, and swishing its tail. “Pa, Pa! Is it Bertie?”
“It is,” Larkin said, crouching down beside Gideon. “He’s your pony, Gideon, and I shall teach you to ride him, just like my father taught me.”
Gideon stared at him, back at the pony, and then at Larkin again. He hurled himself at Larkin, throwing his arms around his neck and squeezing tightly.
“Thank you! Thank you, Papa. He’s wonderful!”
Larkin cleared his throat, afraid he might weep in front of everyone, for he was only holding onto his composure by a thread. “You’re wonderful too, Giddy, and I love you. Thank you for being my son.”
Giddy pushed away from Larkin, apparently less moved by the moment than Larkin for he began jumping up and down. “Ride him now, Pa? Please?”
“Certainly,” Larkin said, nodding. “If you go into the stables and find Jeb, he’ll show you Bertie’s saddle and bridle, and you may carry them out to me if you are careful.
Gideon gave an excited yip and ran off across the yard. Larkin turned to see his father smiling at him.
“Well done,” he said, and gave an approving nod.
Larkin smiled back but found this exceedingly high praise the last straw. Taking a moment for himself, he walked into the paddock, reaching into his pocket for the lump of sugar he’d stowed there earlier. Bertie snuffled at his palm with his velvety muzzle and crunched amiably. The gate creaked, and Larkin looked up to see Maggie had followed him.
“Don’t,” he said, holding up a hand and grinning ruefully. “If you say anything nice, I shall be quite undone.”
She smiled at him, warmth and love shining in her eyes. “Then I shan’t say a word,” she said, and put her arms around him, holding on tight and resting her head upon his chest.
As ever, she knew exactly what he needed, and Larkin sighed as the emotion settled, changing into something peaceful but unbreakable.
“Can you win at life, like you can at cards, do you think?” he asked, looking down at his wife.
“Of course, silly,” she said, gazing up at him with adoration, as if he truly was the hero he had always wanted to be, slaying the dragon and bringing her and Gideon and everyone she loved safely home. “We’ve been winning from the moment you tripped over that packing case and taught Gideon his first bad word.”
He laughed. Much to Maggie’s chagrin, he’d taught the lad a couple more in the interim, too.
“So we have,” Larkin said, and kissed her, uncaring of the family still gathered in the yard, or Bertie nudging at him, searching hopefully for more sugar.
Gideon would be back any moment and, if Larkin had learnt anything since becoming the boy’s pa, it was that such moments ought never to be missed.