It was a damp day in February, the skies dark and the clouds hanging low, yet Haynesdale House in Grosvenor Square was filled with merriment and activity. A babe had given his first cry just after the dawn and all the household celebrated the arrival of the duke’s son and heir. There would be punch in the kitchens for the staff, and well-wishers already brought congratulations to the door. The foyer was perfumed with any number of bright floral bouquets and a celebratory dinner was being prepared, the savory scents drifting through the corridors.
In the ducal suite, the duchess sat before the fire in a fresh gown, her dark hair in a plait that hung over her shoulder. Her husband was beside her in his dressing robe, their infant son in his arms. The two were lost in admiration of the child, the duke lifting his gaze on occasion to kiss his wife sweetly, and then soundly.
“Your mother will be back at any moment to hold him again,” Alienor teased and he chuckled.
“If not Sylvie.”
The contented parents smiled at each other, lost in the peaceful haven of their chambers. They shared another kiss, one that was longer than the others thus far this day.
“We might secure the door, and retire to bed together,” the duke suggested and Alienor almost agreed.
She could not deny anyone else in the household the opportunity to admire their son, though. She stroked the fine hair on his head as he slept contentedly. “He is entirely perfect, is he not?”
“He is indeed, my lady.”
“How curious that his hair is so fair, like white silk,” Alienor mused.
“But eyes as green as those of his mother.”
Alienor smiled at Damien. “Are you certain you had a part in this, sir?” she teased and he laughed aloud.
“My father was fair and his father before him. It is common for DeVries children to be fair.”
“Like Eliza,” Alienor said, recalling his sister’s coloring. She finished the beef broth that had been brought to her and set the cup aside, tucking up her feet as she nestled closer to Damien’s warmth. “I had thought we might name him for your father.”
“And what of yours?”
It was a fine notion. “Percival Armand DeVries,” she said, testing the combination upon her tongue.
Damien nodded agreement. “It has a resonance,” he agreed and they smiled at each other.
“Fit for a duke,” she agreed, then sighed contentment. “Who would have imagined that our meeting at Rockmorton just over a year ago could end so merrily? The earl had a new son arrive then, and the baron’s son was born this past Christmas.”
“And your book is published, with Esmeralda Ballantyne making her final appearance at its publication at Christmas.”
Alienor smiled. “Be warned: that might not be her final appearance, sir.”
“No?”
“I like the idea of both Esmeralda and Mrs. Oliver. They provide possibilities .”
Damien smiled down at her, untroubled. “The fact remains that adventures begun a year past have come to fruition. I entreat you, my lady, not to strive to exceed such accomplishments before our son’s first birthday.”
But Alienor only smiled. “Our adventures, Your Grace, have only just begun.” They shared another kiss, one that warmed her more than the flames on the hearth. Her husband had a look about him that promised the revelation of a secret and she smiled. “You scheme, sir.”
“I do not scheme,” he replied with such indignation that she laughed. “I have a gift for you, no more and no less.”
“I have no need of more gems,” she protested.
“So says every woman until she opens the box, but fear not, I did not indulge in gems for this occasion.” His eyes gleamed as he presented an envelope to her, conjuring it from beneath the chair. “I thought something less conventional would be appropriate.”
“You become positively unpredictable, sir.”
“I must somehow retain your interest.”
She smiled at him, turning the envelope in her hands. “You prepared for this.”
“One must prepare for all gifts, particularly those that are to be surprises.” He nodded at the envelope and she opened it.
The contents were written in French and it took her a moment to realize what she held. “You have bought a house in Paris!”
“No, I bought an apartment in Paris, one that is on the top floor of a building alongside the Seine, with an exquisite view of Notre Dame cathedral.”
Alienor gasped. It was in the very building she had shown him.
Damien leaned closer to slide his fingertip along one line of type. She read her own name there and understood before he spoke. “In fact, I bought the apartment for you. It is yours, Alienor, for I thought the possession of your own abode might prove that you are no man’s captive.”
She turned to look at him, awed that this man understood her so well and loved her all the more for it. “I hope that you will visit it with me. It would be a lonely business to live without you now that I have become accustomed to your company.”
“I thought you might never ask,” he said, bestowing another kiss upon her. “I like the prospect of visiting Paris more often, and am so glad to know someone who might offer me accommodation there.”
Alienor laughed at him. “What will you do now that you have fulfilled all of my dreams?”
Her husband grinned, looking like the reckless young man she had once met. In truth, he was infinitely more reliable than anyone she had ever known.
“I suppose we shall have to conjure some new ones,” he murmured, eyes gleaming.
“Be warned that I do not foresee much difficulty with that.”
“I was hoping you might say as much,” he purred and she stretched to kiss him soundly for his very worthy suggestion.
She had spoken aright: their adventures together had only just begun and she could not wait to see what they might accomplish together. Already they had two fine children to their credit, and a love that defied expectation, after all.