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Somewhere after midnight, her eyes grew heavy. Lady Asquith pressed her gently toward the chaise and then pulled a shawl over her shoulders.

“Sleep,” the dowager said. “Simon will come home.”

Home. The word had been deliberate and uttered with a knowing sparkle.

Lenora was home, she realized. Soon they would wed, and then she would never be without a home again.

Sleepily, Lenora glanced up at the portrait of Simon’s father. He seemed to be smiling down. She noticed a very small dimple and her heart skipped.

“He would have been delighted with the match. As am I. Now”—Lady Asquith’s expression turned stern—“I told you to sleep.”

“Yes, Godmama.” Lenora did as she’d been bid.

Sometime in the small hours, she woke to footsteps thundering up the back stairs. She rose in tandem with the dowager, fully alert. Simon appeared in the room, flushed and a little weary, but fully himself and completely unharmed.

“Millie is fine,” he said. “Neville, too.”

“Thank heaven,” Lenora breathed.

Lady Asquith nodded as if this was just as she’d expected. Then, she moved from her throne to a discreet chair by the fire.

Simon strode across the room, gathered Lenora against his chest, and rained kisses all over her face.

Lenora felt his urgency, his love, not only to her bones, but deep within her, as if his devotion could seep into the tiny life pulsing inside.

He’d ridden with purpose and speed. His wind burnt cheeks were proof. Impossibly, however, he smelled divine.

“Did you tell my mother everything?” he asked in a whisper.

“I did. And you were right.” She pulled back just enough to see his face. “She was not entirely surprised.”

“She never is.” He glanced toward his mother with an expression blending exasperation with gratitude.

Lady Asquith busied herself by vigorously rubbing the smudges out of her quizzing glass, but her ghost smile and the slight crinkle around her eyes made her look mildly smug.

“She’s preening,” Lenora whispered.

Simon expelled a half-chuckle. “You once told me there was truth in acting. When my mother fainted the other night, I finally understood what you meant.” He raised his voice. “Isn’t that right, mother? You fainted because you weren’t willing to risk another Wainwright spectacle, so you created one of your own.”

“Tut,” Lady Asquith replied. “Lenora was tired. She and the baby needed to rest.”

“You couldn’t have known at that time!” Lenora exclaimed. “I hadn’t yet realized myself.”

“Child,”—her glance was both longsuffering and fond—“never underestimate a dowager.”

“I won’t,” Lenroa replied.

Lady Asquith smiled.“Good. And here’s a recipe for life. Prioritize your loved ones at all costs—”

“Heaven and earth,” Simon interrupted.

“Quite.” Lady Asquith nodded. “But never forget to gather your allies, too. Resolute and clever allies beat brute strength nine times out of ten.”

Lenora stole a glance at her love. “Are you suggesting,” she asked in a teasing voice, “that trust and the sharing of information are the foundation of a good life?”

Simon gazed down, knowing. “Someone taught me that lesson not so very long ago.”

Lady Asquith snorted. “About time.”