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Not realizing Emalyn could hear them, the midwives had commented about the small width of Emalyn’s hips and the large size of Philip’s sons. There had been a stillbirth before Thomas, two miscarriages between Robert and Michael, and another stillbirth after. Philip’s fear of losing her after the last child plagued them both for months. But Emalyn wanted to give Philip as many children as he wanted, or at least as many as she could, and as she approached thirty—and as Michael edged toward the day he would leave the nursery—the tug for another child clutched her heart.
So, curled in her husband’s arms a few weeks ago, Emalyn had suggested that he not spill into the sheets for a while. Philip had been stunned. He made no secret that the possibility of losing his beloved wife loomed large in his mind, especially as he already had three sons. It had taken him almost a month of talking to his father, walking the grounds of Ashton Park, and spending time with his sons before he had agreed. Now they waited, enjoying a new burst of enthusiasm in their intimacy.
The boisterous energy of her boys still in her mind, Emalyn turned to Philip, but her smile vanished when she saw the somber look on his face as he stared at the closed door. “Philip?”
“I’ve been too lax.”
She shook her head. “They are just boys, and they aregoodboys.”
He took a deep breath. “Yes, but by the time I was Thomas’s age, my father had already instilled in me a sense of duty. An understanding of what I was meant to do. Of what the future held. I would never have—” His words broke off and his scowl deepened.
Emalyn stroked his arm. “There’s still time.”
Philip let out that breath. “But none to waste.”
Running a hand across his shoulders, Emalyn slid closer and leaned against him. “You are a great father. Never doubt that. Why not you talk to yours about it? I know he will be glad to offer his advice.” She smiled, imagining Solomon Ashton, the old duke, puffing with pride if Philip went to him about the family traditions and expectations. It had been her father-in-law’s prime topic of conversation at every holiday. She knew this Christmas would be no different.
Philip wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “I will. I just need to make sure we have a good stock of port in before I do.”
“Perhaps my father could send a case of Amontillado.”
“Bribery. I like it.” His kiss moved down to her lips, this one soft and comforting, without the hunger of the earlier ones. But as he pulled away, the blue of his eyes darkened and he held her tighter. “Do you want to—”
“After that display?” She put a hand against his chest, her fingers playfully tugging at the light scattering of blond hair there. “I suspect if we tarry too long, they will be back and even the strongest locks will not tarry them.” She ran her palm down his stomach, and his eyes widened as her voice turned husky. “And I’d rather take my time with you, husband. No rushing.”
He caught her hand before it reached its destination and brought it to his lips. “Agreed, you wanton minx. I will be slow and thorough tonight.”
Emalyn giggled as if she were eighteen again and pulled away, slipping from beneath the covers. “If we are not too exhausted from the journey.”Christmas at Ashton Park.She relished the coming weeks. It had been her favorite time of year since she turned twelve. She could barely wait to see what decorations the duchess had pulled together for this year’s ball. It was always glorious—and would always remind her of the first time she had seen Philip there by the rosemary tree.
Philip, her beloved, who tugged on the bell pull, then padded—barefoot, naked, and humming the wassailing song—into the dressing room.
Emalyn grinned, then shrugged into her dressing gown, tying the sash tightly around her waist. Her hips had widened with seven pregnancies, but Emalyn remained pleased that she only had to use stays to narrow her waist on special occasions. Her blessing—and her curse—she thought wryly.
Although...
She paused and ran one hand down over her abdomen. It was too soon for any physical change, but... were her courses late? She would check with Mary, but had November’s not arrived the first of the month? This was now the tenth. Could it—
In the dressing room, Philip paused in his humming to murmur something.
“What did you say?”
He emerged, a silly smile on his face, and took her in his arms again. “You do know,” he said, “that you are a miracle in my life.”
Emalyn shook her head. “Just your wife.”
“And I thank God for you every day.”
Emalyn kissed him, a bare brush of her lips against his. “A daughter would be wonderful, do not you think? A little girl to twist you around her fingers and make you roar at any man who looked twice at her?”
His smile broadened into a slightly twisted grin. “You want to give those three a baby sister. You must be mad, woman.”
“That just means she will learn to manage men early. It will be good for her.”
“Like it was you?” He pulled her closer.
“Growing up with brothers did give me a distinct advantage when it came to winning you.”
Philip shook his head. “No. With you, all it really took was one chance encounter. In the snow. By that bloody rosemary tree. You called me a lanky hound and threw a snowball at me. I was smitten.” He stroked her hair, pulling one strand down her shoulder and draping it over the rise of her breast, his gaze following his fingers. “Emalyn?”
“Yes, my love.”
He looked up at her, his eyes solemn. “Don’t let me fail them. Don’t let me fail my sons.”
She tightened her hold on her husband. “You won’t.Wewon’t. They will become the best of men. You already are. They will be too. And, if they are as blessed as we, they will find the kind of love we did.”
He kissed her temple. “I could hope for nothing better.”
The End
