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Augustus groaned and tossed a chicken drumstick, picked clean, onto his china plate. After the footman packed the remains of their picnic and carried it away, Augustus leaned back onto his hands and watched his nieces and nephews romp in the grass nearby. “I’m conscripting them into the Thirteenth Hussars! Their stamina is indomitable.”
William wasn’t laughing. “Remind me of this moment once you have children, and we’ll see how amusing it is to imagine them amongst the rank and file of the Army!”
Bea rubbed her husband’s knee briefly before falling back against her corner of the blanket. Augustus had already collapsed onto his back on the other side, his head on his joined palms.
A minute later, William stretched out next to her and traced a tendril of her hair against her throat. Despite the look on his face, she was mortified in part, for the curl stuck wetly to her. Despite the summer weight of her walking gown and the protection of her parasol, this morning’s exertions and the day’s temperatures left her more than dewy. A bead of sweat had just rolled between her breasts.
With a slow sweep of his fingertips, her husband combed her errant tresses back up toward her bun. She closed her eyes, enjoying the air on her neck.
“Augustus is resting,” he murmured. “That man can sleep anywhere. I’m going to go occupy the children for a bit so you can have a snippet of peace. Unless the winds change, that storm is heading our way. When Isabella and Ben return to the house for their afternoon rest, we should all seek shelter.”
“Very well, William. This heat alone could be dangerous.”
She rolled to her side and watched the scene unfold between William and the children. It was something she had seen many times, yet it never failed to melt her. After making an impromptu crown of woven tall grass for Miriam, he danced with her. The next crown went to Isabella, but when he settled it on the top of her head, she pulled it down until it encircled her forehead. They danced for all of a few seconds before she tugged at her father’s hands, at which point he lifted her and ran, making her fly. Ben then wanted the same and took a turn. When Edmund returned from his hunt for proper sticks, he and William practiced fencing tactics.
Taking turns holding her breath, such as when her smallest children flew in the air, and smiling, Bea observed them. But by the end, she had to roll onto her back and stare at the cut-outs of blue sky through the green leaves above. Wearing only tight riding trousers and a simple shirt, William was a long way from the House of Lords or any London drawing room. Oh, with his snowy white shirt, no one would mistake him for a laborer.
Unmistakable, too, however, was his love for his children. The playfulness. His strong thighs…
When he sank back onto the blanket next to her, breathing hard, smiling happily, she drank the sight in, but she couldn’t do more than smile distractedly. His brow was damp, as was the hollow of his throat.
“I’ve told the children they have until the count of a hundred, then it’s time to leave,” he said. “Hannah will whisk Ben back, and…” His voice trailed off as he took in her gaze, a gust of wind ruffling his thick hair.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, pulling them from their reverie. William looked up at the tree. Within the space of a short time, the leaves went from rustling gently to being bandied about. He took her hand. “Do you trust me?”
Bea wasn’t entirely certain why he was asking, but she knew the answer, and after her nod, he opened his mouth and turned toward his brother.
“I’m already awake,” warned Augustus. “And yes, I know. Captain Dalfour will lead the expedition back to Candleton Hall.” After standing lithely, he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Dalfour children! In formation!March!”
“Hannah and I must try this technique,” Bea said, marveling as she watched her children begin their journey home without so much as a protest.
Without a backwards glance, Bea abandoned her parasol on the blanket for the last servants to gather and take back to the house. She and William headed in the opposite direction of the rest of their family—in the direction of the ominous clouds.
With the threat of the storm, Bea knew they didn’t have time to tarry, so she followed William’s brisk pace. “Almost there,” he encouraged as they neared the peak of a steep, verdant hill.
Their rewards for cresting it were two-fold, and they stopped briefly, panting lightly, to enjoy both delights. Atop high ground, the increasingly powerful wind was blocked no longer, and it lifted and rippled the clinging fabric from their skin, coated with perspiration. Meanwhile, they took in the lovely view. At the bottom of the hill stood a neoclassical white marble structure, situated amongst overgrown greenery on the edge of the only lake on the estate.
“Candleton Hall’s own Temple of Zeus,” William said. “Built by the first Marquess a century ago.”
It was undeniably beautiful; its placement near the lakeshore was idyllic. Bea had only seen it once before, during her first tour of the estate a decade earlier, but even then, it had struck her as out of place.
“Why is it so distant from Candleton Hall? Why was it all but abandoned?”
William turned to face her instead of the lovely view below. “My great-grandfather returned to England a war hero, having expanded the Empire’s territory at the expense of the Spanish and French. He was eager to make his mark on his new lands. Gardens and temples invoking Ancient Greece were in fashion. He planned to build the most grand in all of England.”
Bea glanced down at the building, which was not immense, but quite luxurious. Perhaps the Marquess had run out of funds? “What happened?”
“He married,” he said softly, with a hint of a smile. “I’d never pondered it until now. I simply assumed he’d become aged and distracted, I suppose. But looking down at it with you, I understand finally—or at least I hope I do. I want to believe my great-grandfather had what I’m imagining for him. What I want for myself.”
“What’s that, William?”
“Not just heirs, but a family. A marchioness to whom he was devoted.” His eyes lingered on her mouth. “Day and night.” His gaze returned to hers. “I want to believe that when he married, he realized the glory and honor of this estate weren’t to be found in marble monuments. It was through being a steward of these lands and its people. Most of all, in loving those closest to him.”
Tears filled her eyes, but for once, they were borne of pure happiness. “I hope so. But whether or not it was true for him, it can be for us.”
“My Beatrice, my visionary.” He held out his hand once more, and they made their way down to the temple.
Bea had never gone past the columns into the structure, but it looked largely as she expected, and importantly, the wealth of surrounding white marble brought a most welcome sense of coolness and shade. At some point in decades past, the statues were stripped from their pedestals and moved into the mansion. In the center of the rectangular structure was an altar, installed atop a matching slab of marble.
