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"Let nature be Rory's guide." Scollard took Julian's goblet, refilling it after he'd poured himself a drink. "Your wife is an extraordinary woman."
"I know." Julian seized his glass with a nod of thanks.
"Shall we have that toast?" The lighthouse keeper pursed his lips. "Quickly, I think. 'Twould be best if you downed that entire goblet before confronting Mrs. Peters. She's not entirely pleased with you." Abruptly Mr. Scollard halted, shaking his head as if to refute his own words. "No, I'll have to amend my timing. As things stand, 'twould be best if I lingered over my verbal tribute. Partly because I have much to extol and partly because Emma will use these extra minutes to wash everyone up and then to usher both herself and Mrs. Peters from the room. That way you'll have but one other person to encounter when you reach Aurora's bedchamber besides your wife herself—and I have a strong suspicion you wouldn't miss meeting that new occupant for all the world." So saying, Mr. Scollard raised his glass, waiting unti
l the other two men had followed suit. "To two splendid men, Slayde and Julian, and to their exceptional wives, Courtney and Aurora. To Tyler—" He bowed solemnly at the tot, who stared at him with enthralled green eyes. "—whose welcome birth perpetuated the Huntley name in the most wondrous of fashions. To all the Huntleys and Bencrofts, reunited after sixty years, yet united wholly for the first time this day. And to the incomparable outcome of that ultimate union, an essential treasure conceived in love on a storm-tossed sea." Scollard's peaceful gaze swept from Slayde to Julian to Tyler, then rose to the ceiling overhead, clearly including the occupants of the second floor in his tribute. "Welcome," he said softly, a faint mist veiling his eyes. An instant later the mist was gone and he smiled, concluding his toast. "Here's to all of you. The joys will now abound, illuminating your lives and eclipsing the hardships of the past—now and forever."
Tyler made a cooing sound and clapped his hands.
Slayde and Scollard chuckled affectionately, then drank.
Julian didn't. "Something just happened, didn't it?" he asked Scollard quietly. "A moment ago, when you stared upward—you were sensing something. Was my child being born?"
Scollard arched a brow. "You haven't secured my toast with a drink. Do so, and fulfill its prophecy."
Taking a dutiful gulp of brandy, Julian continued to scrutinize Scollard's expression. "You haven't answered my question."
"No. You have." The lighthouse keeper met Julian's stare, conveying volumes with his gaze.
Eyes damp, Julian nodded, then bowed his head, giving silent thanks to the heavens.
"Your gratitude has been received and embraced," Scollard said with solemn assurance. "Now finish your brandy. But don't refill your goblet. You won't have time."
Julian complied, wondering when anything—other than Mr. Scollard's tea—had ever tasted this good.
"Julian?" Courtney hovered in the sitting-room doorway, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with happiness. "Your wife's patience is officially gone. She says to advise you she has no intention of savoring this prize alone. According to her, you embarked upon this adventure together, and together you shall reap its rewards. I'd suggest you go to her bedchamber posthaste."
Julian's empty goblet struck the sideboard with a thud. "Is Aurora well? And our babe…?"
Courtney crossed over and squeezed Julian's hands. "Mother and child are both healthy and strong. Congratulations, Merlin. You're a father. Now, go. Your family awaits you."
Trembling with reaction, Julian bolted from the room, nearly knocking down Gin and Daniels, who were celebrating in the hallway, slapping each other's backs, and opening two new bottles of gin.
"We're proud of ye, Merlin!" Gin called, waving his bottle in the air. "Is it a boy or a girl?"
"I'll let you know." Julian kept going, taking the stairs three at a time, then rounding the landing and racing down the hall.
He paused before Aurora's closed bedchamber door, his hand shaking as he knocked.
"Come in." It was Aurora's voice, weak but clear, that beckoned him, and Julian nearly swooned with relief from the sheer joy of hearing it.
He entered slowly, cautiously, noting that the room was empty save Aurora—who was propped against her pillows—and the tiny bundle she clasped in her arms.
"Julian." She held out her hand, and Julian was beside her in a heartbeat, bringing her palm to his lips. She looked so pale, so drawn, dark circles casting shadows beneath her magnificent turquoise eyes.
"Thank God you're all right," he breathed, kissing her fingers, her wrist, her hand. "You look exhausted, soleil. I'm so sorry. Was the pain unbearable?"
"Only until Mrs. Peters put our daughter in my arms," Aurora replied softly, watching her husband's expression.
Julian's breath caught and his head came up. "Our daughter?" he repeated.
"Come meet her." Aurora caressed his jaw, urged him closer as she tucked the blanket away from the sleeping infant.
Julian stared, emotion knotting his chest in tight irreversible fists as he feasted his eyes on the miracle he and Aurora had created through their love.
Tiny features met his scrutiny—eyes closed in slumber, dark lashes sweeping fine-boned cheeks, a straight upturned nose, and a pink rosebud mouth—Lord, it was like seeing a miniature Aurora, only with a small cap of his ebony-colored hair. "She's you," he said in a choked voice.
"Not entirely," Aurora demurred. "Her hair color is yours. So are her eyes. When she awakens you'll see. They're like fiery chips of topaz. Isn't she beautiful?"
