Page 31 of Joy to the Earl

“Well, they have their own house, but they could come to visit whenever they liked. So, what say you?”

Felicity scrunched up her nose. “Hmmm. I think you and Mama should get married first. Wellington wants to be a bridesmaid. I could call you Papa.”

Rosalind took Jack’s hand as he froze and stared at Felicity in astonishment. Then she smiled at her daughter. “That sounds like a marvelous idea. What do you think, Jack?”

“I would…I would like that very much,” he said gruffly.

“Good-oh,” said Felicity, wriggling off the seat and peering through the carriage window at the frozen white landscape. “Come on, then. Let’s go see the big, big house. I bet they have apple tarts.”

They stood on the bottom step of Wakefield House for a long moment, and again a feeling of apprehension twisted her stomach as the full implications of their future plans hit her. She would be a countess. Living here, amongst the ton. Amongst the peers she’d hated her whole life.

“All will be well,” said Jack softly in her ear. “We can take part in society as little or as much as we want. Once I’m confirmed as Earl of Lynthorpe, I’ll need to take my seat in the House of Lords, but we can stay in the country whenever we want if you don’t enjoy town. And if you want to continue your fine work with couples, I’ll set aside rooms for you.”

Rosalind squeezed his hand. “I didn’t know how much I wanted that until you said it. Knowing you support my endeavors…”

He shrugged. “You have a gift. It can’t be squandered. I’m going to set up a small workshop for myself as well.”

Abruptly the front door swung open.

“My lord!” said the butler. Then he saw her and Felicity, and a huge grin almost split his slightly wrinkled face. “Lady Nelson! And a little miss! Come in, come in out of the cold.”

Hoisting Felicity up onto his good hip, Jack held out his other arm. “My lady?”

Taking a deep breath, she stared again at the imposing townhouse. Today was the start of a brand new life for all of them, and it would be nerve-wracking and difficult as well as exciting. But as long as they were together, they could do anything.

Smiling, Rosalind curved her hand around his arm, and they marched up the front steps toward their future.

Epilogue

Lynthorpe Park, Devonshire, December 1814

“No, Papa. If you go that way, all your men will be dead.”

Jack sighed, and shifted his collection of intricately painted tin soldiers back into their previous position. One day he might defeat his five-year-old daughter in the art of peninsular warfare, but today was not that day.

“What about over here then, captain?”

Felicity Nelson Wakefield shook her head, and absently scratched behind a purring Wellington’s ears. “Dead.”

“Here?”

“Deader.”

“Hmmm,” he said, rubbing his jaw to hide a grin. “Might I have a moment to confer with my aide-de-camp about the situation? It is Christmas Day after all, goodwill to men and so forth.”

“Very well, because it’s Christmas. But I don’t know how much help he will be. Everyone knows new recruits are no good. No good at all. Just ask Wellington.”

Nodding gravely, Jack reached into the cradle he’d carved, and straightened the soft wool blankets covering the tiny sleeping form of Richard Samuel Wakefield, Viscount Dryden.

Sometimes he had to pinch himself to believe this was his life now, that in the space of a year he’d gone from Jack Reynolds, lonely virgin bachelor and impoverished carpenter, to Jack Wakefield, wealthy earl, husband, and father. But it was all true. And this Christmas Day he had so much to be thankful for, even if his strained relationship with the dowager Lady Lynthorpe might never be mended. What he did have was the most clever, loving, kind, and sensual wife in the world in Rosalind. A precocious, whip-smart adopted daughter in Felicity. Good friends like Phillip and Claire Vale, and Nathan and Annie Chisholm. Even eccentric extended family in the form of Donald and May, and in some ways, his butler Griggs.

But his most recent cherished gift, was his and Rosalind’s three-week-old son. Before Richard’s birth he’d been a mess, worrying about the size of the child, if Rosalind would be well, if his eye defect would be passed on. Nothing had been more terrifying than pacing the hallway outside the birthing chamber for hours, while hearing his wife’s groans and pained cries. But at dawn on December third, the door opened and a weary but smiling physician informed him her ladyship had done a sterling job, was tired but quite well, and his lordship was the father of a fine son.

And a bonny baby Richard was, with a cap of wispy blond hair, a perfect pair of emerald green eyes like his mother and sister, and a set of lungs that certainly boded well for cross-chamber speeches in the House. Names hadn’t even been difficult—while careful consideration had been given to Felicity’s suggestion of Ensign Woodsprite Sunshine Fairy, they eventually settled on Richard after Rosalind’s father, and Samuel after Jack’s grandfather.

“A-ha! Here you all are,” said Rosalind, ambling into the nursery wearing a thick quilted satin dressing gown.

Jack frowned in concern, and carefully got to his feet. “What are you doing up? You are supposed to be resting.”