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So much had changed in their small part of the world in the last five years. So much had changed in London too. Arthur had convinced Matilda to press charges against Ezra Cowper. Justice wasn’t easy to achieve when it came to matters against peers of the realm and their children, as Ezra was the grandson of a powerful earl. But they’d successfully put him in prison for two years. Everyone at Castleton had slept much easier knowing Ezra couldn’t hurt any other women, at least for a time.
Florence eased the nursery door open and crept up to the little bed that held her son. He was four years old now. Every day, she thanked the heavens for the miracles life had given her. A husband and a son when she’d thought she’d be alone the rest of her life. She kissed his forehead and then turned to the cradle that held the future Earl of Castleton, who was only six months old.
“Sweet dreams,” she told the sleeping babe, then turned at last to the bed of Matilda and Arthur’s eldest child. But the bed was empty.
“Emma?” Florence whispered in the darkness. Growing worried when she heard no response, she went back out into the corridor. Emma had a way of escaping the nursery to go exploring. Or, as she said her tiny little voice, “to have adventures.”
“Emma?” Florence whispered again. The girl giggled somewhere nearby and after a long minute of searching, Florence found the dark-haired child peering down the stairs at the late-coming guests as they headed toward the ballroom.
Florence chuckled and picked up the four-and-a half-year-old girl. “Emma, you little scamp.”
“Mama and Papa are dancing?” she asked.
“Yes, I imagine they are, or soon will be. You should be in bed.”
“I want to see them dance,” Emma insisted.
“Oh, very well.” Florence carried the girl downstairs. They hid at the edge of the ballroom where she knew they wouldn’t be seen and watched Matilda and Arthur dance at the center of the lively crowd. Florence held one of Emma’s little hands and rocked her in circles as though they were waltzing, just like the people on the dance floor. When Emma’s head fell against Florence’s shoulder as she drifted to sleep, Florence grinned. It worked every time to put the little darling to sleep.
“I see so much of your parents in you,” she whispered. “You’re always off on adventures.” She made her way back to the nursery, but stopped at the top of the stairs when Emma’s father called out to her.
“Let me take her, Florence,” Arthur said.
“Oh, I don’t mind.” Florence assured him.
Arthur’s gray eyes twinkled as he climbed the stairs. “Please. I only have so many years left before she grows up.”
Florence passed the little girl to Arthur. He nuzzled the child’s hair and kissed her forehead. He smiled down at the child, though she was fast asleep.
Matilda appeared in the corridor. “Arthur, where did you go?”
“Up here. Our little one snuck out of bed again, darling,”
Matilda chuckled as she joined him at the top of the stairs. “Oh? She takes after you with her penchant for getting into trouble.”
“And she takes after you,” Arthur said. “She hit me with a snowball this morning. I think she throws harder than you do.”
Matilda laughed and stroked Emma’s dark curls back from her face before she kissed her daughter’s forehead.
“Thank you for finding her, Florence.”
Florence smiled. “She wanted to see you dance.”
“Oh?” Arthur chuckled and cuddled the sleeping child closer against his chest. Love shone in his eyes as he looked at Matilda. “Perhaps we should dance with her in the ballroom tomorrow. Show her how mama and papa waltz.”
Matilda stood on tiptoe and kissed Arthur on the lips. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
Florence shook her head at the lovebirds. “I really don’t mind taking her to bed. You two have guests to visit with.”
“Nonsense. No one will notice we’re gone.” Arthur held out his free hand to Matilda, and the pair disappeared into the nursery.
“Are you all right, my love?”
Florence turned to the sound of her husband.
“Oh yes.” She slipped her arm in Andrew’s and they returned to the ballroom.
“Up for one more dance?” he asked.
