Page 32 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)
EPILOGUE
TEN MONTHS LATER
Anon’s Adventures Continue
W ith the next Season rapidly approaching, this author has chosen to take some time to review the events of the madcap previous Season, not least of all the exploits of the infamous Belmont girls.
Miss Emily Belmont, now the Duchess of Clapton, was revealed to be the famous and mysterious painter ‘Anon,’ and subsequently thrilled the public and the Prince Regent with five beautiful paintings depicting key moments in his Royal Highness’s life.
Anon has been quiet of late. Not surprising, considering that she is currently heavy with child—due any day, according to our sources—and growing into her new position as duchess and unofficial leader of London’s Art Society. However, this author—and I’m sure the dear readers feel the same—hopes fervently that Anon will continue to thrill us with new paintings and new ways of looking at our rather spectacular, little world.
After all, if a woman can produce the greatest paintings in England at this time, it begs the question— what else could a woman do?
“There, there, darling, it’s over now,” Daphne soothed, dabbing sweat from Emily’s brow. “You’ve done so marvelously well. Childbirth is awful, isn’t it?”
Emily leaned back against the pillows, breathing heavily. On the other side of the room, Octavia was talking to one of the midwives—all terribly expensive and terribly good at their jobs, hired by Cassian—while Anna folded linens in the corner.
The birth had gone well, it seemed. Emily knew her family well enough to know that they would be flapping and panicking, running here and there if there was any danger.
“I think we’re rather good at having babies, in our family,” Daphne continued, smoothing back Emily’s damp, sweaty hair from her forehead. “Mine went rather well, too.”
Emily smiled up at her twin. “I can hardly believe that we’ve got a child each, you and I, with only a few months between them. How odd.”
“I don’t think it’s odd. Twins do everything together, do they not?” Daphne grinned, winking.
Emily gingerly propped herself up further. The bed sheets had been changed, replaced by fresh, clean ones, and pillows had been fluffed and placed behind her shoulders. She craned her neck to where the midwives gathered around a shallow bowl.
“My… My baby? Is he well?”
Octavia lifted her head, her eyes shining. “He’s beautiful, darling. We’ll bring him to you right away. He’s a quiet little thing, just looking up at us with big, curious eyes. You’ll love him.”
Somebody knocked on the door.
“Octavia? Daphne? Anna?” Cassian’s muffled voice came. “I’ve been waiting out here for hours. Will nobody tell me what is going on? Is my wife all right?”
“The duchess did very well. You can come in shortly,” one of the midwives called back.
She handed a tiny, swaddled bundle to Octavia, who brought it carefully over to where Emily sat.
Emily found herself staring down at her newborn baby, her little boy, a little dazedly, feeling like it was all a dream.
I’m a mother, she realized, bewildered. This is my baby.
He was tiny, smaller than she had expected, with a purplish, wrinkled face and barely-there tufts of dark hair on his soft, little head. As Octavia had told her, he did not cry much, but only stared up at her with large, curious eyes.
Her chest tightened, and she felt quite suddenly as though she could not breathe.
“Shall I let him in?” Octavia asked quietly. “Your husband, that is.”
Emily licked her dry lips. “Yes. Yes, please, Mama.”
Octavia leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She moved silently to the door, gesturing for Daphne, Anna, and the midwives to follow her.
Cassian burst in, white-faced with worry. He blanched when he saw the bloodied linens in the corner and the bowl of gory water.
“Emily!” he gasped. “The blood…”
Emily giggled. “Don’t you remember my painting of the Prince Regent’s birth? Childbirth is a bloody business. Now, are you going to come and see your baby or not?”
Cassian stood very still in the center of the room. Behind him, the last midwife slipped silently out of the room, smiling wryly, and closed the door behind her.
He looked… afraid. That was the only word Emily could think of to describe him. His hands curled and uncurled into fists by his sides, and he swallowed thickly.
“My child,” he whispered. “I… I never imagined… Emily, I don’t know what to do.”
She smiled at him, patting the rumpled sheets beside her. “Come sit.”
He came, crawling onto the bed, sitting up and putting his hands in his lap like a nervous schoolboy.
Chuckling, Emily handed him the swaddled bundle. “Here, take him.”
“Him? It’s a boy?”
She nodded. “It doesn’t matter, of course. But we have a little boy.”
“I think I would have liked a little girl too,” Cassian murmured. “I rather had my heart set on a pair of twins, like you and your sister. You two are so close, and I don’t… I don’t want my child to be alone.”
He held the swaddled child a little awkwardly at first, but then he seemed to relax into it, cradling the baby in the crook of his arm.
The baby blinked up at him, then opened his mouth, revealing gums and a tiny pink tongue.
“He’s beautiful,” Cassian said, sounding almost bewildered.
Emily shifted to lean against her husband, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Yes, I know,” she murmured. “What shall we call him? I thought we could name him after your brother if you want.”
She glanced up at him, trying to read his expression.
The past few months had only cemented their love for each other. Marriage was certainly not the rosy, flower-scented affair that romance novels portrayed. It was something deeper, more difficult, and simply almost impossible to define. At times, Emily was only sure of two things in her life—that she wanted to paint and that she loved Cassian.
“No,” Cassian said, the words seeming to come with an effort. “We might give him Matthew as a middle name, but I want my son to be his own person. I don’t want to think of my beloved brother every time I look at my son, and I don’t… I don’t believe that Matthew would want that for him either.”
“Very well. I’m open to suggestions, then.”
Cassian thought for a moment, tentatively reaching down and running his finger across his son’s forehead.
“How about Arthur? It’s a classic name, very heroic.”
Emily smiled, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. “Arthur is perfect.”
They sat in silence, staring down at their newborn son. The grandfather clock in the corner began to chime, making Emily flinch.
She smiled to herself. “Happy birthday.”
“What? Hm?” Cassian glanced up at the clock, then gave a surprised chuckle. “Ah, of course. I am thirty years old. I must say, it’s nice to share a birthday with my son.”
“But this means that you’ll receive your inheritance. You fulfilled the terms of your father’s will. You produced an heir before your thirtieth birthday. You did it, Cass!”
He was silent for a moment, then broke out into a slow smile.
“I do believe you’re right. I have done it. Do you know, I entirely forgot about my father’s ridiculous deadline. I only thought of you, Emmie, and our baby.”
“That’s as it should be,” Emily murmured, smiling.
Cassian lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“I love you, Emily,” he rasped. “I cannot imagine what my life would have been like without you. And I cannot imagine how it would have been like if you had not… if you had not fought for me the way you did. I certainly did not deserve it.”
“You are too hard on yourself, Cassian,” she reproved, lifting her hand to his cheek. “You always have been. I do not like it. I love you , remember? One doesn’t mind fighting for those one loves.”
He smiled softly, glancing down at the baby once again.
The child appeared to have fallen asleep, his little face screwed up. Daphne had already warned Emily about what newborns were like—screaming and wailing and demanding to be fed at all hours of the day and night—but at that moment, Emily simply did not care.
“Well, I can promise you this,” Cassian said, his voice soft. “You won’t have to fight for me anymore. Because I am yours, Emily. Heart, body, and soul.”
Emily smiled sleepily up at him. “That is very nice to know.”
“Although perhaps I should call you Anon ? The rest of London does. They’re also desperate for your next painting, by the way.”
Emily perked up. “Perhaps I might paint a portrait of Arthur?”
“You could, although I’m not sure the rest of the world is going to be as fascinated by our baby as we are.”
She chuckled to herself. “You might be right, Cassian. You might be right.”
The End?