Page 111 of One Night with a Prince

Epilogue

London

July 19, 1821

Marriage changes a man, and not always for the worse.

—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress

The cannons and gunfire and other celebratory explosions had gone on all afternoon, which was why Gavin didn’t hear his butler’s approach until the man spoke.

“The first of the guests has arrived, my lord.”

Gavin had been a baron for five years and still couldn’t get used to being called “my lord.” “Thank you.”

He closed the account book for the Blue Swan and laid it aside on the desk in his study. Gone were the days when he spent hours at the club poring over the books. It was just as easy to do it at home, especially now that he’d hired a manager. Just as easy…and far more pleasant. His butler still stood nearby.

“Is there something else?” Gavin asked.

“Shall I inform her ladyship of the guests’ arrival?” the butler asked. “Or would you prefer to do it yourself?”

“She’s not down there already?”

“No, my lord. She was called to the nursery. Something about another Tweedledee emergency, I believe.” His butler was trying hard not to smile and failing miserably.

“I’ll fetch her,” Gavin said, chuckling. “You go explain to the guests about Tweedledee emergencies. If you can.”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlThe butler headed off downstairs, while Gavin went in the opposite direction. As he approached the nursery, he heard Christabel speaking in even tones. “I told you, your papa is too busy right now to decide who will be Tweedledum. He’ll do it later. And if you don’t behave, I’ll make you both Tweedledee.”

“Papa has to do it, or it doesn’t count,” answered a child’s voice. Smothering a laugh, he paused in the doorway to watch. As always, at the center of the family contretemps was his black-haired, four-year-old daughter, Sarah, who’d inherited her father’s deviousness and her mother’s temper. Toddling after her was his two-year-old son, John, whose hair already held a hint of red and whose stubborn insistence upon doing whatever his sister dictated had landed him in trouble more than once.

Trying futilely to reason with them was his wife. His beautiful, adorable wife, whom he loved more every day. And to think he’d almost thrown her away for some vengeance that would have brought him naught but grief.

“If you won’t let me do it,” she said, “then you’ll have to be patient and mind Nurse until after dinner—”

“It’s all right,” Gavin said as he entered the room. “I’m here.”

“Papa!” his children cried as they raced over to throw their arms about each of his legs. He swallowed the lump that stuck in his throat every time he looked down to see those faces light up with joy.

“Makeme Tweedledum, Papa,” Sarah cried.

“No,me, Papa,” John said.

He ruffled their hair. “If I make you both Tweedledum, will you stop plaguing your mother?”

He must have been mad when he’d first read them the nursery rhyme and encouraged them to play the parts. But who would have thought they’d turn it into the competition of the century?

“We can’t both be Tweedledum,” Sarah complained. “John has to be Tweedledee. He was Tweedledum last time.”

His son’s lower lip began to tremble. “John Tweedledum. Not Sarah. John.”

“That’s not fair!” Sarah protested.

Gavin hid a smile. “I tell you what—you can be Tweedledum for the first hour, and John can be Tweedledum for the second. All right?”

Sarah nodded solemnly, which meant that John instantly followed suit.

“Jane?” he said.