Frederick placed a hand over his heart and turned toward his wife with wounded dignity. “My love, betrayal from you pains me most.”
Juliet’s brows lifted. “Then you must have led a very sheltered life, my lord.”
Frederick’s grin softened as he looked at her, and the change in his face was so immediate, so unguarded, that Emmeline felt warmth spread through her chest.
Nine months of marriage had made Frederick gentler. Happier. His gaze lingered on Juliet as though the rest of the garden had briefly ceased to exist.
A hand tugged at Emmeline’s sleeve.
Lord Weston stood beside her chair, his silver hair neatly brushed, his face healthier than it had been in years. The country sun had warmed his skin, and the terrible strain that once haunted his eyes had softened.
Rowan and Frederick had kept their word. Her father’s estate matters had been untangled with patience, his investments steadied, his pride preserved wherever possible. He was no longer a man being crushed by quiet ruin.
“May I hold my granddaughter?” he asked softly.
Emmeline’s throat tightened at once. “Of course, Papa.”
She placed the baby carefully into his arms. Little Clara, with her dark wisps of hair and solemn gray eyes, blinked up at him as if deciding whether he was worthy of her attention.
Lord Weston looked down at her and went still. “Oh,” he breathed.
Emmeline’s eyes stung.
Clara reached up with one tiny fist, caught the edge of his neatly trimmed whiskers, and pulled.
Lord Weston’s mouth opened in shock. Then he laughed, a thick, broken laugh that brought tears to his eyes.
“She has spirit,” Margaret said gently.
“She has her mother’s determination,” Rowan replied, coming up behind Emmeline.
Then his hand settled at the back of her chair, warm and familiar, and her body leaned toward him by instinct.
“She has her father’s habit of gripping what she wants and not letting go,” Emmeline said, looking up at him.
Rowan’s mouth curved. His gaze dropped to hers, and for a moment the garden, the laughter, the family around them all blurred beneath the heat in his eyes.
“I have never heard you complain,” he murmured.
Her cheeks warmed. “Rowan.”
“Yes, Duchess?”
She looked away quickly, only to find Juliet watching them with knowing delight.
“Behave,” Emmeline whispered.
Rowan bent closer, his breath warm near her ear. “Not tonight.”
Her pulse leaped.
Across the lawn, Aaron shouted, “Father! You must try!”
Rowan straightened with a sigh that suggested great sacrifice. “Must I?”
“You must,” Aaron insisted, running toward him with the kite string. “Mama taught me. Now she must teach you.”
Emmeline smiled slowly. “Yes. I believe she must.”
