Page 44 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)
Five Years Later
“Three!” Alice called out, one hand shielding her eyes against the bright spring sun. “Two! One! Ready or not—James Forrest, get back here this instant!”
Gregory’s three-year-old son giggled madly as he abandoned his hiding spot behind a rose bush, toddling across the lawn with his harried nurse in tow.
“Just like his father,” Joanna sighed as she sat on the blanket laid out beneath a massive oak. “No sense of proper game rules whatsoever.”
“I heard that,” Gregory called from where he was setting up the Pall Mall course with Dorian.
His mock offense was somewhat undermined by his lunge to prevent young James from making off with a mallet.
The spring afternoon was perfect—warm sunshine, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of new roses, and the grounds of Ashthorne alive with the sound of children’s laughter.
Across the lawn, Thomas was attempting to teach his young son the finer points of croquet, while Evelyn looked on in amusement.
“Mama!” a clear voice rang out as four-year-old Charlotte Fairfax came running, her copper curls flying behind her. “Papa says that you must come and see what he’s done to Uncle Gregory’s ball.”
“Does he, indeed?” Alice shared a knowing look with Joanna.
Their husbands’ Pall Mall matches were legendary for their creative interpretations of the rules.
“I assure you it was entirely within the rules,” Dorian protested as Alice approached, though his innocent expression was belied by the wicked gleam in his eyes. He caught her around the waist and pressed a kiss to her temple. “How is Lawrence?”
Dorian had decided to honor his late friend’s memory by naming his boy after him. Indeed, Alice had loved the idea, so it had been an easy agreement. Sarah had been deeply moved too—it felt as though now they were connected like a family, beyond blood. Like her little Edmund and little Lawrence—as well as Charlotte, of course—were cousins, in a way.
“Nanny just took him back up for his nap.” Their one-year-old son had made a brief appearance earlier, charming everyone with his cherubic smiles before exhaustion claimed him. “Though Charlotte seems to have enough energy for both of them.”
Indeed, their daughter was now attempting to demonstrate proper mallet technique to young James, who appeared more interested in eating grass when his nurse wasn’t looking.
“Speaking of energy.” Joanna tilted her head and nodded toward Miss Rebecca Swarthmore, who was being blatantly pursued across the lawn by Lord Pepys’s youngest son. “Some things never change.”
“Ah, young love,” Gregory mused as he joined them. “Though Miss Swarthmore’s mama appears ready to breathe fire at any moment.”
True enough, the formidable matron was watching the couple’s progress with hawkish intensity, her fan moving in sharp, agitated patterns.
“Poor child.” Alice remembered the days of being scrutinized by the ton’s matrons. “Though Henry Calloway seems quite determined.”
“As determined as another young buck I remember,” Dorian murmured in her ear. “Though I seem to recall meeting you in a less savory establishment.”
“Hush.” But Alice couldn’t help smiling at the memory. “At least Miss Swarthmore won’t have to resort to such desperate measures.”
“Mama!” Charlotte’s voice interrupted their reminiscing. “James is eating flowers again!”
“Oh Lord.” Joanna hurried to rescue both her son and the gardens. “I swear he’s worse than his father for getting into mischief.”
“I resent that,” Gregory called after her, though his grin suggested otherwise.
The afternoon progressed in pleasant chaos. The Pall Mall match eventually devolved into creative sabotage, with Charlotte solemnly declaring herself the referee despite having made up most of the rules herself.
Young James finally exhausted himself and was carried away to nap, while the older children started an elaborate game of hide and seek among the hedgerows.
“Tea is served,” Wilson announced with his usual perfect timing as several footmen began setting up tables beneath the oak trees.
“Just in time,” Seraphina said, joining them with her four-year-old daughter and three-year-old son. “Diana was about to stage a revolt over missing cake. Which spurred little George into the same revolt.”
“As any sensible person would,” Gerard agreed, “Isn’t that right, poppet?”
“Absolutely!” the little girl declared with all the authority a child could muster.
“I want cake too!” George exclaimed, jumping up and down in excitement.
They settled around the tables, the children corralled by their various nurses while the adults enjoyed a moment of relative peace.
Alice watched contentedly as Charlotte immediately began regaling Diana and George with what appeared to be a very dramatic retelling of the Pall Mall match, complete with wild gestures.
“She gets that storytelling ability from you,” Dorian murmured, his hand finding hers beneath the table.
“The dramatic flair is all yours, I’m afraid.”
Alice squeezed his fingers, remembering how he’d spent an hour the previous night acting out all the parts in Charlotte’s favorite bedtime story.
Their peaceful moment was interrupted by a commotion near the rose garden. Young Henry Calloway had apparently seized his chance for a private word with Miss Swarthmore, only to be thwarted by his quarry’s mother, who had appeared out of thin air.
“Poor boy,” Thomas murmured as he accepted a cup of tea from Evelyn. “Though he’s going about it all wrong. If he wants to court the girl properly, he should—”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t be taking relationship advice from someone who needed his sister to arrange his marriage,” Gregory suggested innocently.
“I seem to recall someone else requiring rather substantial assistance in that department,” Joanna retorted, though her smile was fond as she watched their son being unsuccessfully encouraged to eat a sandwich rather than wear it.
“I insist that was all part of my carefully crafted strategy.”
“Was your strategy to drive me mad with your opinions about music until I agreed to marry you just to make you stop?”
“Yes. Did it work?”
Joanna’s laughter was answer enough.
A fresh round of cake was served as the afternoon light turned golden. Charlotte had somehow convinced her father to give her another Pall Mall lesson, though it mostly involved her hitting the ball in random directions while Dorian pretended to be horrified by her ‘natural talent.’
“She’s going to be a terror at social events,” Alice mused, watching their daughter deliberately send a ball into the flower beds.
“Good,” Dorian said firmly. “The ton could use a little shaking up. Besides, look how well it worked out for her mother.”
“Are you comparing our daughter to a lady who visited a brothel to save her brother?”
“I’m saying that she comes from a long line of remarkable women who aren’t afraid to break rules when necessary.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Though perhaps we’ll wait a few years to tell her that particular story.”
Their quiet moment was interrupted by the sight of the young buck making another attempt to approach Miss Swarthmore, only to be thwarted once again by the girl’s ever-vigilant mother.
“Poor boy,” Dorian mused, watching the drama unfold. “Though his technique could use some refinement.”
“Not everyone can be as smooth as you, darling,” Alice teased. “Though I seem to recall a certain duke being rather less than subtle in his courtship.”
“I was perfectly subtle.”
“You dragged me out of a brothel.”
“And look how well that turned out.” He pressed another kiss to her temple, both of them watching as Charlotte demonstrated her creative interpretation of Pall Mall rules to an attentive audience of flowers.
“Charlotte, darling!” Alice called as the sun began to set. “Time to say goodnight to your brother before bed.”
Their daughter skipped across the lawn, her dress spotted with grass stains and her copper curls escaping their ribbons entirely. She was beautiful and wild and perfect, Alice thought, just like the love that had created her.
As they made their way inside, their friends’ laughter and their children’s joy floating in the evening air, Alice squeezed Dorian’s hand. “Happy?”
“Deliriously.” He pulled her close, watching as Charlotte skipped ahead of them, chattering to her nurse about her victory at Pall Mall. “Though I still say you cheated in that last game.”
“I did nothing of the sort.” Alice’s smile was pure mischief. “A duchess would never stoop to such tactics.”
“No?” His eyes sparkled with the same love and desire that still made her heart skip a beat. “Then perhaps we should discuss proper strategy later. In private.”
“Perhaps we should.”
As the sun set over Ashthorne, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, Alice thanked whatever fate had led her to that brothel six years ago. Their marriage of convenience had turned into something far more precious—a love story for the ages, complete with all the chaos and joy that came with it.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way.
The End.