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It was one of those rare glaring sunny days of summer in Hampshire. Drake came outside holding his daughter, little Philippa, against his shoulder. The four-month-old girl possessed brown hair and brandy eyes like her father. She’d been napping after her bottle and had just woken up, and her father brought her to the garden and the sun.
“Is she awake already?” Hester asked.
“Yes. How about Philip?” Her twin brother lay in his mother’s lap, basking in the sun. The sound of his father’s voice made him open the magnificent green eyes he’d inherited from his mother.
“For someone who took their time to produce an heir, you did a right good job of it.” Titus, sitting with his pregnant duchess and Edward on a chaise not far from them, said teasingly. The one-year-old toddler slid from his father’s hold to explore the lawn.
Two-year-old Claire walked from Harris to the little boy on the grass, followed by three-year-old Daniel who already took up the leadership of the group. He’d asked his father, Edmund, to join the others.
“They made up for lost time.” Added Harris, sitting near Edwina.
"I like the choice of names," Edwina commented.
"Like Romulus and Remus, I suppose," Philippa said. She'd become so surprised to learn Lord and Lady Worcester would name their twins after her.
As a duchess, Philippa had done a lot for the Worcesters in the months after Hester’s marriage. Upon seeing what happened in the theatre, the duchess and her duke had made it a point to stay in London exceptionally to help get the ton at the Marquess’ and Marchioness’ feet. Something Philippa accomplished with flying colours.
Otilia, Edwina and Philippa were glad to walk Hester through the maze of aristocratic etiquette without the awkward feelings Hester would have had with a governess. Her friends’ help made her utterly thankful. The skills as an actress made it possible to compose any character, including that of the public image of the Marchioness of Worcester.
“One of these days we could present The Aeneid,” Oliver suggested, referring to the epic poem by Vigil about the foundation of Rome.
“Probably after the second play Lord Worcester is writing.” Eli risked. Unsurprisingly, Drake had continued his forays as a playwright, sharing the direction of the plays with his father-in-law.
Her father and brother had also been besotted by the twins at first sight.
Hester looked at her friends and family gathered in the garden as deep contentment invaded her. It'd been a busy year. The season for The Plight of Sarah Borne finished with an even bigger roaring success before they retired to the country to await their child. Soon after the New Year, she’d gone into labour. And Worcester had gone into despair. Were it not for Edmund, Harris, and Titus, he’d have torn his own Georgian house down with his own fists.
Until the midwife came to inform him that he fathered twins.
Then that giant of a man acquired this enthralled look of pride and wonder his friends had refrained from commenting on, fully aware that they boasted it when their first-born came into this world.
As he entered their chamber, dishevelled, wrinkled clothes, and sleep-deprived eyes, Hester had only words of love for him. She introduced Philippa, the eldest by ten minutes, and Philip to their father. He held both new-borns and eyed her as if she was not of this world. “How on Earth did you do this?” he’d asked, still thunderstruck.
“I got a little help.” And gifted him with a smile riddled with exhaustion. The sight of which propelled Drake to yell orders to make his wife comfortable quickly so she could rest.
Hester didn’t know how he’d react when she told him she intended to resume The Plight coming autumn. First things first, she decided as Philip now demanded his bottle.
“The names suit them perfectly.” The dowager Marchioness of Worcester approved as she came to the garden to join the group.
That had been another issue Hester took into her hands: Bridge the estranged mother and son back into some semblance of civility. After all, Hester would not allow her children to grow up without their grandparents on both sides.
While in London, she'd invited the dowager for a stay of a few days in Worcester House. It'd taken all her diplomatic prowess to convince Drake to accept his mother as a guest. And since he wanted Hester all for himself, he agreed to reopen his mother's townhouse and re-establish her allowance. The dowager was utterly grateful to the daughter-in-law she initially shunned, but to whom she warmed to, seeing the efforts the younger woman had made to re-unite her head-strong son with his even more head-strong mother.
Taking her granddaughter in her arms, she strolled with the infant, not disguising her love for her grandchildren.
As Drake observed his mother’s dedication to his children, he cast a grateful glance at his wife.
Brown, the butler, excused himself to announce that luncheon had been served in the summer terrace adjoining the conservatory, and Drake and Hester followed their guests there.
No one saw the accomplice looks the duke and duchess exchanged, for the conservatory held precious memories for them.
One after the other, the couples retired for a nap; the Worcesters included. Which gave the dowager ample opportunity to have her grandchildren all for herself. And spoil them rotten.
“It’s going smoothly,” Drake said as they closed their chambers. He looked at his wife, love overflowing from his gaze.
“As I knew it would.” She said while nearing the window to absorb the beautiful greenery outside.
Drake came behind her and laced her by the waist with his two arms, head bending to inhale the skin on her nape. “Oh, yes, Lady Know-It-All.”
