Page 42 of Duke of Bronze

Five years later

"Please, Father, may I fight with Uncle Stone as well?"

Colin barely stifled a sigh as he looked down at the eager, upturned face of his son—eyes alight with mischief and determination, curls tousled from racing about the lawns, cheeks flushed with the exertion of youth and sunshine. It was perhaps the sixth—or was it the tenth?—time that afternoon that four-year-old Michael had made the same impassioned plea.

"Not yet, my boy," Colin replied as he ruffled the boy's hair. "A few more years must pass before you set foot in the ring. Your arms must thicken, your stance must sharpen, and—above all—you must cease tumbling headlong into your nursemaid's skirts."

"But Nurse Molly says four is a very big number," Michael insisted, glancing toward Roderick for support. "Right, Uncle Stone?"

"Indeed it is," Roderick said with a chuckle, the low rumble of it setting off a ripple of laughter from the gentlemen gathered.

"And it is Uncle Roderick," Colin corrected with mock sternness. "He may have earned his moniker in the ring, but we must preserve some sense of decorum."

"Why, I am the Mighty Stone," Roderick declared with mock bravado, "as much as I am his favorite uncle."

The gathered party—Morgan, Alexander, and Sebastian included—laughed heartily at this. It was a fine afternoon in the country, the sun generous, the breeze gentle, and spirits high. They were convened upon the Millards' new property for the opening of Roderick's second gymnasium and academy. His first, located in Town, had grown into a roaring success, and this expansion into the countryside was a testament to that triumph.

Giltford, Sterlin, and Sebastian had all lent their sponsorship and presence to the ceremony, their families likewise in residence for the occasion. Their patronage had added weight to the academy's influence—and to Roderick's ever-growing repute.

Michael took Roderick's statement as a personal invitation and launched himself into his uncle's arms, shrieking with laughter as Roderick began to tickle him. The child's merriment rang out like a bell over the garden, and Colin's heart swelled at the sight.

"Do you know what I have noticed?" Giltford said suddenly, settling back in his chair with a pensive air.

Michael, hearing the shift in tone, quieted instantly and turned his gaze toward the speaker with an expression so solemn it drew further laughter.

"I believe the number of street children has diminished noticeably since the opening of your first academy in Town," Giltford continued, his voice touched with admiration. "You are doing good work, Millard."

Roderick gave a modest nod. "Those lads had no future to speak of—save for pick-pocketing or worse. If this academy can give them direction, structure, and dignity... then I shall count myself fortunate to be in the position to offer it."

Sterlin leaned forward with a grin. "And how, pray, do you propose to recoup your coin, if you insist upon turning your enterprise into a charitable institution?"

"With the many benefactors who now believe in our cause, I am pleased to say I do not lack for resources," Roderick answered. "In truth, there is surplus. More than sufficient for future expansions."

"Well said," Giltford applauded. "It is rare, indeed, to see a venture so bountiful in both profit and purpose."

"You two are forever leaping ahead of yourselves," Colin chuckled, taking a sip from his glass. "Let us complete the opening of this second site before we build ten more."

"But you must admit," Sebastian joined in, "there is merit in chasing the future, especially when it brings prosperity along with it."

"And good sport," Giltford added.

"It is most certain," Sterlin mused, "that the Duchess of Copperton will be pleased with the charitable success of the endeavor."

"Indeed," Colin murmured, making a mental note to share the sentiments with Anna later. She would be delighted.

"I say," Sterlin went on, setting down his empty glass, "when the Season recommences, let us present the idea to Lord Chamberlain. With enough support, we might scatter such academies across the country. The more children we can draw from the streets and into proper training, the better for all."

"And not solely pugilism," Colin said thoughtfully. "We might broaden the scope to other pursuits. Fencing, perhaps. Or riding. Who is to say what these children might achieve, given the opportunity?"

"A fencing and racing academy sounds most promising," Giltford mused, swirling the last of his port in his glass with a thoughtful air.

"And in time, perhaps even art schools for young ladies," Sebastian added, his voice alight with inspiration. "Mrs. Millard and young Miss Millard possess artistic inclinations most refined. I daresay they would prove excellent instructors should such schools come to pass."

A chorus of approval followed, and Roderick—usually a man of guarded expression—looked openly pleased.

"I am honored by your confidence, my lords," he said with a modest dip of the head, though the pride shining in his eyes betrayed how deeply the moment stirred him.

Before anyone could continue, a small voice chimed in with all the indignation of a wronged prince.

"If you're having more academies, may I fight too?" Michael asked with all the gravity his four years could muster, brows drawn together in an adorably serious frown.

"In a few more years, little lord," Sterlin laughed, exchanging a look with Colin, who merely shook his head and tried not to smile.

"But John and Abraham get to fight already! ‘Tis hardly fair," Michael grumbled, arms folded and lips jutting into a pout.

Laughter erupted around the gathering, warm and unrestrained.

"I daresay I have not exercised in an age," Sebastian said with mock solemnity, straightening his shoulders. "Perhaps you might teach me a bout or two in fencing, Master Michael?"

Michael's eyes lit up like a spark had caught. "With the new wooden swords you gifted me, grandpapa?"

"The very ones," Sebastian replied with a wink as the boy launched himself into his arms.

Colin watched them fondly, heart tugging at the sight of his son giggling as Sebastian smothered him with loud, exaggerated kisses. The boy's joy was a melody that lifted the air itself.

Just then, a voice rang out across the lawn.

"Lord Michael?"

Michael froze mid-giggle. His eyes widened, and he pressed a finger dramatically to his lips.

"Shhh... It's Nurse Molly," he whispered, glancing about like a fugitive.

A ripple of laughter passed through the group once more, Giltford and Sterlin nearly doubling over, while Colin pressed a knuckle to his mouth in an effort to smother his own mirth.

He looked around at the gathering, at his friends and family sprawled across the garden in the soft afternoon light, and felt a quiet contentment take root in his chest. Here, in this moment, all was right with the world.

***

Anna had just ascended the staircase from the kitchens when she nearly collided with a small, barreling figure.

"Michael," she breathed, catching him just in time, her hands gently fastening about his shoulders to steady him.

The four-year-old looked up at her with a wide, gleeful grin and burst into a fit of laughter, utterly delighted with himself.

Anna found her lips curving in return, her heart warming at the familiar sound. "You must take more care, darling. One would think you were galloping into battle."

"Shhh, Mama," Michael whispered then, pressing his tiny finger to his lips with a comically serious expression. "Nurse Molly is searching for me in the gardens. I am hiding," he added in hushed tones, as though he were sharing the most confidential of state secrets.

"Indeed?" Anna raised an amused brow, lowering her voice to match his. "And why, may I ask, are you in hiding?"

Michael sighed dramatically, his small shoulders drooping. "Father will likely tell her where I am. He does not want me fighting with Uncle Stone and John and Abraham," he explained, his disappointment so palpable it tugged at Anna's heart even as she fought another smile.

"I see. Well, I am sure he only means to keep you safe."

But her son's melancholy lasted no more than a heartbeat before his face lit up again. "I know!" he exclaimed. "Martha can teach me to carve castles from wood. Then I shall be king of them all."

Anna laughed softly. Ever since Colin's gift of the little wooden castle, Martha had taken to carving with remarkable flair. Under Jane's gentle guidance—Jane being quite the gifted hand herself—the girl had begun producing the most charming figures and miniature houses, and Colin had done nothing but indulge her every effort with pride.

Before Anna could remind Michael to walk, not run, he had already darted down the corridor in the direction of the front hall.

She followed, his joyful chatter leading her to the dining room, where the ladies had gathered for a meeting with Cook, presently engaged in discussing the menu for the upcoming ceremony marking the opening of Roderick's new academy.

Anna's heart swelled with pride as she entered the room, beholding the laughter and lightness that filled it. Her son's future seemed golden, surrounded by so many who loved him.

Michael came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the display of treats and sweets arranged upon the side table.

"Butter biscuits!" he squealed, his earlier plans for monarchy via woodwork quite forgotten as he launched himself toward the nearest tray.

Peggy reached a hand out in caution. "Careful, my dear, those are fresh from the oven and still rather hot, so—"

Too late. Michael had already popped a biscuit into his mouth.

"They're nosh hosh!" he protested through a floury mouthful.

Petunia, Lydia, and Lizzy erupted into laughter at the sight.

Anna turned toward Lydia, who was seated in the corner with a cup of tea, her cheeks glowing and her eyes bright. It was nothing short of a miracle, seeing her so restored, so wholly herself once again. Her recovery, steady and sure over the years, had been one of Anna's greatest joys.

"Let us hope the guests find them equally ‘nosh hosh,'" Lydia said with a wink, and the room filled once again with mirth.

Anna's gaze lingered on her son, crumbs clinging to his chin, and her heart brimmed with gratitude.

There was a veritable bounty of pastries laid out upon the long oak table, from currant scones and custard tarts to iced buns and delicate lemon biscuits. Anna's gaze swept over the arrangement, her brows lifting with mild astonishment.

"At this rate, we might do well to open a stall in the village," she remarked dryly, folding her arms as a smile tugged at her lips.

The ladies around her laughed, and Petunia gave a proud sniff as if the idea held real merit.

But a thought suddenly bloomed in Anna's mind, warming her chest.

"We shall have all of these baked fresh for the ceremony," she declared. "And we'll send generous parcels to the foundling homes and hospitals as well."

"Oh, that would be quite the kindness," Jane declared with evident delight as she reentered the room, bearing yet another tray of jam-filled biscuits, the scent of warm sugar and berries trailing behind her.

Michael's eyes widened as he made to seize one, but Anna deftly intercepted him, sliding the tray just out of his grasp.

"I daresay you've had quite enough for one day, young man," she said, arching a stern brow even as affection danced in her gaze.

"We have ourselves a most devoted taster," Jane said with a laugh, watching as Michael—still undeterred—clutched two smaller biscuits, one in each fist, and continued to chew industriously.

"Do you even recall how to chew properly?" Jane teased.

"I doubt if he remembers the word ‘chew' at all," Lizzy added, shaking her head fondly as they all broke into laughter.

"But I haven't tasted the jam ones yet, Mama," Michael protested, his mouth still full.

"How about the lemon ones instead?" Petunia suggested brightly as she scooped him up with ease, settling him on her lap and placing a plump lemon cookie into his waiting hand.

Anna huffed a breath, exasperated but smiling. "You are undoing all my hard work, Aunty."

"Nonsense. I am merely fulfilling my grandmotherly duties," Petunia replied airily, doting on the boy with unabashed pride.

"Now you know what she's done to our children over the years," Lizzy said, exchanging a knowing look with Peggy, who nodded emphatically.

Titan chose that very moment to leap onto the bench beside Lydia, who gave a startled laugh as the tiny pug promptly attempted to steal a bite of her biscuit.

"Titan!" Anna called, but the little creature had already snatched a crumb and darted beneath the table.

Plato, ever the dignified sentinel, gave a slow blink and lowered his great head to peer under the table, more curious than disapproving.

"I do believe Titan considers himself king of this household," Lydia said with a soft chuckle as she leaned down to scratch behind Plato's ear.

"If not king, then certainly tyrant," Anna muttered, eliciting more laughter from the ladies gathered.

It was the very sort of afternoon Anna once believed only existed in stories, and now, it was hers. Entirely and beautifully hers.

***

Later that evening, after supper had been thoroughly enjoyed and the household had retired to their various pursuits, Colin turned to Anna with a most enigmatic smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

"I have something to show you," he said with a voice that always preceded one of his surprises.

Anna tilted her head, suspicion and amusement both lighting her expression. "Should I be worried?"

"Only if you mistrust your husband's taste in romantic gestures," he returned, producing a length of soft silk and stepping behind her.

"Colin—"

"Trust me," he whispered against her ear, tying the blindfold gently but securely over her eyes.

There followed a short walk—Anna's arm entwined with his, her skirts brushing over dew-soft grass, the night air perfumed with honeysuckle and woodsmoke. She asked him no fewer than three times what he was about, and each time, he replied only with a maddening, "You shall see."

At last, they stopped.

He released her hand and untied the blindfold, letting the silk flutter to her shoulders. Her breath caught.

Before her lay a most enchanting scene: a moonlit picnic spread across the banks of the old stream. The very same stream where, years ago, she had picnicked with friends as one of Colin's guests. The memory pressed sweetly against her chest.

Lanterns and candles glimmered all around them, their golden glow dancing across the rippling water. Fireflies flitted lazily in the warm summer air, and dragonflies skimmed over the stream's surface as crickets chirped and frogs crooned a low, melodic rhythm. It was magic made manifest.

"A moonlit picnic," she breathed, her voice soft with delight.

Colin guided her forward with care and settled her upon the embroidered blanket.

"My, I wonder if I've any room left after the evening's feast," Anna said, laughing lightly as she surveyed the charming display—bowls of ripe berries, soft cheeses, delicate pastries, and a bottle of Italian wine chilled in a stone bowl.

"Fear not. I instructed cook to keep the offerings light," Colin replied.

"Oh, yes," she said dryly, lifting a sugared apricot, "this spread is positively austere."

They shared a laugh, and the wine was poured.

Under the canopy of stars, Colin spoke of his earlier conversation with the gentlemen regarding the academies and the potential for expansion into charitable causes—taking in foundlings, offering education and trade training to the impoverished, and broadening opportunities for young women with talents in the arts.

"The idea was met with much enthusiasm," he said.

"As it ought to be," Anna said warmly. "It is a cause most dear to my heart."

Colin gave a satisfied nod. "And our son, it seems, has ambitions of his own. He is most determined to join the ranks of pugilists."

Anna arched a brow, suppressing a smile. "He did mention your reluctance on the matter."

"The imp," Colin chuckled.

"He is not entirely wrong," Anna murmured fondly.

"I think he might need the exercise. Aunt Petunia has been feeding him too many biscuits of late," she added, and they laughed again.

Then, Colin suddenly sobered. His gaze grew intense, and his voice quieted with purpose.

"I brought you out here to ask you something, Anna."

She tilted her head slightly, curiosity glinting in her eyes. "Yes?"

He drew in a breath. "Will you do me the honor of granting me four more dates after this one, Your Grace?"

A wide grin bloomed across her face. "I shall grant you a lifetime of dates, Your Grace," she replied, rubbing her nose playfully against his.

"Then there is nothing more that could make me happier," he murmured, pulling her gently into his arms.

"Are you certain?" she asked, one brow arched in teasing inquiry.

"I have you, Michael, and our loving and rambunctious family and friends. What more could a man possibly desire?"

"Mmm... how about another little lord or lady?" Anna let her hand drift to her stomach.

Colin stilled. And then, as the meaning settled, his eyes widened, a light flaring in them that left her breathless.

"You are with child?"

She nodded softly. "I have suspected for some time, but wished to be certain."

He looked at her then as though she had just placed the world itself in his hands. Emotion shimmered in his gaze.

"You have given me the world, Anna," he whispered.

"Then let us build it together."

"We already are," he said, covering her hand on her stomach with his own, pride and wonder radiating from every inch of him.

"I love you, dear wife," he said, kissing her tenderly.

"I love y—"

But he stole her words with another kiss.

"You never let me finish," she whispered when they parted.

"You show me love in ways words could never hope to match," he murmured, and kissed her once more.

Anna let herself melt into the moment, into him, and into the soft sounds of their hearts, steady and sure.

The End