Mrs. Watson’s sigh of relief was audible. “Thank the Lord for that, Your Grace, I was at my wits’ end, for with eight children we haven’t the room for guests.”
He smiled and glanced back at Sarah whose welcoming committee was bearing her inexorably forward toward the door.
“Watsons!” said the vicar sharply. This command had a magical effect, for all the children stopped talking and lined up from eldest to youngest, even Sarah with the dog in her arms, and chorused, “Yes, Papa.”
Robert’s lips twitched. Mr. Watson might look mild-mannered, but he clearly still held sway over his brood. “Introduce yourselves to His Grace.”
At this command, Sarah stepped out of the line and joined him with a shy smile, murmuring, “They are a bit overwhelming. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he murmured back as he turned his attention to the children.
“I am Deborah,” said a striking young woman with dark ringlets and blue eyes, dropping a graceful curtsy.
“I am Ruth.” With her father’s unfortunate nose and pale blue eyes, she was less comely than her sisters, and her curtsy was awkward.
“Mary,” said the next one, whose rounded face and burgeoning figure suggested she was on the cusp of womanhood.
“Hepzibah!” said the youngest of the girls with a certain air of world weariness. “But please call me Zibby, for I hate Hepzibah!” She was still a child, and she was the fairest in coloring with blonde curls and the same pale blue eyes as her elder sister.
Next came the three boys who each gave him a neat bow as they rattled off their names.
“Emanuel.” Brown hair and brown eyed like Sarah.
“Japheth.” Dark like Deborah.
“Ezekiel.” Blonde like Hepzibah.
The biblical nature of their names wasn’t lost on him.
“I am very pleased to meet you all,” he said gravely.
“Are you really a duke?” asked Ezekiel with a wide-eyed look.
“I am.”
“You don’t look like one,” Japheth said skeptically.
“Shut it, you two!” said Emanuel, flushing with embarrassment for his younger brothers.
“Are you really going to marry Sarah and take her away to live in your castle?” This from Zibby.
“Yes, I am.” He glanced sideways at Sarah who was smiling slightly tearfully. He took her hand and squeezed it gently.
“I think it is very romantic,” said Mary softly and blushed bright crimson.
“That is enough, children. Go and wash up. Supper will be on the table in fifteen minutes.” Their mother intervened before any more embarrassing questions could be asked.
The children filed into the house and the younger ones ran noisily up the stairs. He suspected none of them did anything quietly. With the children out of the way, Mr. and Mrs. Watson greeted Lady Holbrook and ushered their guests into the house, followed by the eldest two girls who were clearly adults.Hadn’t Sarah said they were twenty and eighteen?They bore Sarah and Lady Holbrook away upstairs to put off their bonnets and traveling cloaks and wash up, while Robert was conducted to the vicar’s study, and Mrs. Watson disappeared toward the back of the house, no doubt to see about supper.
“Would you care for a drink, Your Grace?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Robert accepted the glass of sherry handed to him and took the seat he was waved to near the fire.
“This is certainly an unexpected turn of events,” said the vicar, taking his own seat and nursing his drink. “While we always hoped our Sarah would make a good match, we never expected one of this magnitude. You’ll forgive us if we appear a little stunned.”
“I understand, sir. It has all transpired rather quickly.”
