Page 46 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)
“ I am telling you, raspberry is for the indecisive,” Cecilia declared, her nose turned up as she held a tart. “It doesn’t know if it wants to be sweet or tart.”
“Is that not the very definition of complexity?” Valentine drawled lazily, plucking a cherry from the bowl between them. “Much like your arguments, Dearest.”
Abigail gasped. “Are you calling me complicated?”
“I’m calling you layered, Dearest,” he said smoothly. “Like a particularly opinionated trifle.”
Cecilia let out a laugh, the sound light and open. It was a good day. One of those golden, ordinary days that somehow felt extraordinary.
The meadow beyond the estate rolled out like a patchwork quilt, dotted with wildflowers and the lazy shimmer of afternoon sunlight.
A white blanket was laid beneath a tree in full bloom, upon it a cheerful disarray of strawberry tarts, chilled lemonade, and a scandalous amount of jam Cecilia had packed herself because for some reason…
a particular reason, she could not get enough of it.
“You ate the last of the cherries,” Cecilia said flatly, eyeing him.
He looked entirely unrepentant. “I saved you the lemon.”
“I loathe the lemon.”
“Then I saved you from the lemon.”
“Valentine.”
“Yes, my love?”
“That was the last of Cook’s cherry jam until next week.”
He tilted his head toward her, eyes narrowed. “If I recall correctly, you declared last week that you were done with cherry.”
“I was in a mood,” she muttered, plucking a blade of grass and winding it tightly around her finger. “A temporary one.”
“All your moods are temporary. Some just return with suspicious regularity.”
Cecilia rolled her eyes and lay back on the blanket, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand. “You are insufferable.”
“Mm,” he hummed, reclining beside her. “But entertaining. Which is arguably better.”
She gave a snort, but it lacked heat. Her heart was thudding, just a little.
She had a secret, but she wasn’t sure how to tell it to Valentine.
He hadn’t noticed, he never noticed when she was truly out of sorts.
Or perhaps he noticed and pretended not to until she came out with it. She could never tell with him.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, nudging her knee with his. “You keep fidgeting.”
She turned her head toward him, one brow arching. “What are you now, a physician of moods?”
“No. Merely a man attempting to court his own wife.” His voice dropped slightly. “Is it working?”
Her breath caught. He had that effect on her, even now. Especially now. She reached over and flicked a crumb from his sleeve, a feeble distraction. “You’ll know when it works. There will be applause and perhaps a medal.”
“I’ll settle for a kiss.”
Her cheeks flushed crimson as she leaned in and pressed one to his cheek. “There. You are now decorated.”
He made a show of sighing. “How gallant, thank you. Yet, I sense a deeper disturbance beneath your general tart-related grievances.”
Cecilia bit the inside of her cheek. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her skirt, then smoothed it out again. She took a breath, glanced at the trees, the clouds, the plate of forgotten biscuits.
Valentine sat up slowly, as if instinctively sensing the shift. “Cecilia,” he said quietly. “What is it?”
She turned her gaze to him, her eyes bright and a little uncertain. “I was thinking about the season next year. About Dorothy’s debut and all the events we’ve promised to attend.”
He frowned slightly, puzzled. “Yes? We’ll manage it. I can cancel half the things we have to do and concentrate on what you think it important. We will prioritize. If it’s too much, we don’t have to go.”
She smiled faintly. “That’s just it. I may not be able to escort my sister to any of it. It’s her debut season, and I feel terrible.”
His brows lifted. “Why on earth not?”
She hesitated, just a second more, and then let the words slip free. “Because I’ll be busy. Very likely waddling about and craving cherry jam and fainting at the sight of boiled eggs or something. Emma loathed hard-boiled eggs when she was busy too.”
Valentine blinked. “You’ll be...”
“With child,” she whispered, watching his face closely. “I’m with child, Your Grace.”
For a heartbeat, he said nothing. Then his eyes widened and something joyous and unguarded broke across his features. “You’re certain?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Cecilia,” he breathed, and in a rush, he was pulling her into his arms, holding her tight and laughing against her hair. “A baby? We’re having a baby?”
She nodded again, laughing now, and blinking away the tears that pricked behind her eyes. “Yes, darling. We are. Abigail is getting a sibling.”
Valentine pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands cradling her face. “I love you,” he said, reverently, suddenly so serious. “More than I ever imagined I could love anything. You’ve given me everything, Cecilia.”
“And you’ve made it safe to want everything,” she whispered, hugging him back.
“A baby?” a voice came from behind them.
They turned to see Abigail standing a few paces away, a biscuit in hand and her eyes as wide as saucers. “You’re having a baby?”
“Where did you come from?” Cecilia laughed and opened one arm. “Come here, goose.”
Abigail ran toward her and threw herself into Cecilia’s side. “Does this mean I’ll be a sister?”
Valentine looked at her solemnly. “Yes, and I have no doubt that you will be a very good one.”
Abigail beamed. “I’ll read to her. Every night.”
“Her?” Cecilia asked with raised eyebrows. “How are you so certain it’s a little sister?”
“I know!” Abigail giggled. “I just know!”
Cecilia kissed the top of Abigail’s head and then turned back to her husband. His eyes were still fixed on her with the same awestruck tenderness she had grown used to seeing over the last six months. He leaned in and kissed her slowly, fully, as if they had all the time in the world.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was low and sure. “You, Cecilia Price, are the very best thing I have ever done with my life.”
She smiled and touched her fingers to his cheek. “Then let’s do one more brilliant thing together.”
He grinned. “Oh, we will. Just you wait.”
The End?