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“H old on tight,” Andrew said to his two-year-old son, who clung to his back as he galloped around pretending to be a horse.

“Papa, Papa,” yelled Aiden. “Faster. Go faster.”

“You want faster?” Andrew bellowed. “I’ll give you faster.”

Emmeline smiled at their antics as she sat on a blanket beneath a large English Oak on the lawn at Blackstone Hall, holding their four-month-old son, Alexander.

They’d left London for Andrew’s country seat when Aiden arrived, but they traveled to London often for Parliament and to visit friends.

Her mother preferred London to the country and kept her abreast of the gossip.

Not that she believed everything she heard.

Although there had been a little snippet regarding Hollingsworth recently that she thought Andrew might find amusing.

“Papa, again.” Sprawled on the grass on his stomach was her husband. Aiden was straddling his back and pulling on Andrew’s linen shirt, no doubt choking him.

“Give me a minute to rest.”

He pulled his shirt again, and Andrew made gagging sounds. “No rest, Papa. Horsey ride! Get up, old horsey, get up.” More tugging and gagging.

Giggles burst from Emmeline at hearing their son call his papa old.

As she expected, he rose, and Aiden got his way as Andrew galloped around, making horse noises again.

Her heart burst at how blessed they had been since their nuptials.

Two healthy sons and many friends they loved.

Most of whom would arrive later that day for a fortnight of entertainment.

Many times, like today, when she sat watching Andrew and Aiden play, she remembered back to when she first met Andrew’s and Aiden’s namesake, Mr. Aiden Fitzpatrick, her first husband and her present husband’s onetime best friend.

When she’d met Andrew, he was the Earl of Quincy, and now their son, Aiden, was the Earl of Quincy.

Twinges of sadness still visited her from time to time when remembering Aiden Fitzpatrick, and she knew Andrew experienced them also.

But they both believed he would be happy for them for the life they’d forged together.

They’d honored their love for him by naming their firstborn after him: Aiden Patrick Hampton.

“Andrew,” she called out, waving her hand, “It’s time for the boys’ nap.” She handed little Alex off to his nurse while Aiden’s nanny approached him and took his small hand in hers.

When they were alone, Andrew collapsed on the blanket and groaned. “I need a nap.”

Yet, somehow, he rolled over, facing her with a mischievous twinkle in his beautiful green eyes, and leaned in for a kiss.

She leaned away. “I thought you needed a nap?”

“Not anymore,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close, and kissing her deeply. “Have I told you today how much I adore you? How much I love you?”

“I believe you did this morning when you woke me up.” She pushed his shoulders so he lay flat on the blanket. Raising her skirts, she straddled him, coming down with a sigh. “Now I have you where I want you. You had your fun in the wee hours of the morning. Now it’s my turn.”

Laughter, deep and throaty, wrapped around her heart. “I am yours to take at will.”

This man, her husband, the Duke of Blackstone, was incredibly precious to her. She was so fortunate that he chose her and that he loved her. Every day, she woke up with a smile on her face and a heart overflowing with love for her family.

She leaned down and whispered in her love’s ear. “I love you with all my heart and soul and everything else I have.”

THE END