Page 112 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“There is something else I wished to ask you,” she said. “Before I lose my nerve entirely.”

“You may ask me anything.”

“I should like,” she said, and here her composure faltered just slightly, colour rising warm in her cheeks, “I should like for us to have another child. Not to replace anything, nor because I think Sarah is somehow not enough, but I find, after this morning, after very nearly losing everything that matters to me in the space of a single terrible hour, that I do not wish to wait any longer for the things I want most in this life. I want a family with you, Ronan. If you should want the same.”

For a moment he could not speak at all, his throat too tight with the sheer, overwhelming force of everything the day had brought him.

“I would love that,” he said at last, his voice rough with feeling. “I would love nothing in this world more, Augusta, than to build a family with you. Sarah, and whoever else God sees fit to bless us with besides.”

She laughed then as the last of her nerves dissolved into happiness.

EPILOGUE

Three Months Later

The gardens at Ravenhill had never seen so much noise nor so much chaos, and Augusta thought, standing at the top of the terrace steps, that she had never in her life seen anything half so lovely.

Blankets had been spread across the lawn and upon them sat half the nurseries of the county, or so it seemed, along with their mothers and fathers. Charity’s little boy was attempting to crawl directly into a bowl of strawberries, while Duncan hovered nearby.

A little further along, Temperance sat with her daughter balanced on one knee, laughing at something Harper had said, their son already deep in some elaborate game of pursuit with Matilda across the far end of the lawn, both of them shrieking with delight.

“She will ruin that dress before luncheon,” Augusta observed, watching Matilda leap a low hedge.

“She will ruin three more before the Season is out,” Charity said, coming to stand beside her sister, one hand resting lightly on her own son’s back. “How are you feeling? Truly, I mean, not the answer you have been giving everyone else all morning.”

“Truly, I am wonderful,” Augusta said, and found she meant it entirely, despite the faint, persistent queasiness that had dogged her every morning this past fortnight. “Tired, and a little unwell some mornings, but wonderful.”

“You are glowing,” Charity said, studying her. “I noticed it the moment we arrived. I did wonder.”

“We have told no one yet beyond family,” Augusta said, lowering her voice though there was no one near enough to overhear. “It is very early still. I should rather wait a little longer before the whole of the county begins offering opinions.”

“Speaking of which.” Charity’s eyebrow arched with unmistakable meaning. “Prudence tells me you have been sending letters to half of London these past weeks. Something about musicians?”

“I have decided,” Augusta said, with the particular firmness of a woman who has thought a great deal about a decision and does not intend to be argued out of it, “that I should like to throw one final ball before I am too large and too tired to properly enjoy it. I find I do not wish to wait until after the babe comes.” Augusta smiled, watching Sarah dart past below them, shrieking with laughter as Gregory chased her across the lawn.

“Besides. It seems the right sort of thing to do, does it not? After everything. A room full of light and music and everyone we care for, safe and happy in one place. I find I want that rather badly just now.”

Charity’s expression softened, understanding passing between them without need of further words. It had not been so very long since that terrible morning in the wood, and though Sarah had recovered, Augusta suspected she herself would carry the memory of that fear a good while longer yet.

“Then we shall help you throw the finest ball this county has seen in a decade,” Charity said firmly. “I shall speak to Duncan about the musicians myself; he knows every decent quartet from here to London. And Temperance will want to help with the flowers.”

“I heard that,” Temperance called from her blanket.

“I speak only good things,” Charity called back, entirely unrepentant, and the two sisters laughed together in a manner that drew several curious glances from across the lawn.

The morning wore on in much the same happy, chaotic fashion. Cassian and Prudence arrived a little after eleven with their two children in tow, the elder of whom immediately attached himself to Joseph and Matilda’s game with the seriousness of a general joining a campaign already in progress, while Stephen and Maria settled themselves near the roses with their own small daughter, deep in conversation with Ambrose and Daphne, whose youngest had only just begun to walk.

Even Phillipa had come, arriving somewhat later than the rest and looking, Augusta thought, a good deal more at ease than she had in months.

Whatever had passed between them these past weeks… and Augusta had her suspicions, though neither party had confirmed anything… it seemed a decidedly happy development, and one Augusta intended to press for details on the very moment she found a private moment to do so.

It was Ronan who finally offered her the excuse to slip away from the noise for a little while.

“Sarah has informed me,” he said, handing her one of the glasses, “that I am a very poor bear, and that Gregory is a far superior one, and that I ought to take lessons from him if I wish to be permitted to play again this afternoon.”

“You have been thoroughly usurped,” Augusta said, laughing despite herself.

“Entirely. I have never in my life felt so wounded by so small a critic.” He glanced back toward the lawn, where Gregory was currently being buried beneath an alarming pile of children and cushions, laughing. “I find I do not particularly mind the demotion, in truth. It is rather wonderful to watch her so unafraid. So entirely herself again.”