Page 95 of Before I Was Yours, My Earl
“That is splendid,” the Dowager Duchess put in. “I shall ask Mrs. Henshaw to ferret out all the baby clothes, especially the christening gown. And we shall bring down the cradle and have it refurbished.”
Evelyn and Mayson exchanged a fond glance, remembering a glorious afternoon and how much they had enjoyed rummaging through Hillsworth’s attics, bringing down the carved wooden cradle previously occupied by many little Rutleys, and rummaging through trunks until they found the store of baby clothes.
Some of them had been in sad shape, fit only to use as patterns. But their baby would not lack for clothing. Evelyn’s clever way with a needle had seen to that. She had also spun lamb’s wool into the finest yarn, and knitted a tall stack of sweaters, hats, and booties.
“I will be glad to help with that,” Evelyn said. “Just let me know when.”
“Of course, my dear,” the Dowager Duchess said. “It would be like old times, except that I would not ask you to take a letter. Thank you for sending your sister to me. She is not you, but she is still a marvelous companion.”
One of the youths came up to Mayson just then. “Bowling green mowed and cleared of snakes, My Lord. Shall I bring out the bowls?”
“Please do,” Mayson said. Then he looked around the table at the other people seated there. “Anyone care for a game?”
Blanche, Darrius, Lord and Lady Carletane, and Mr. Petersen all strolled down the newly mown bowling green to enjoy a game or two, leaving Evelyn sitting with the Dowager Duchess.
“Are you happy, my dear?” the Dowager Duchess asked.
“Extremely happy, Your Grace,” Evelyn replied. “Mayson is everything I ever dreamed of, and more besides. I will always remember John with love and respect, but what we had is as a candle to the sun. How are things with you? How is Darrius faring?”
The Dowager Duchess sighed. “Things with me are as they have been for a long time. I am too old to seek another husband, but I am glad for you, Evelyn. As for Darrius, Blanche seems to have a firm hand upon him, and he is happier than I believe I have ever seen him. I thought my George had gone completely astray in planning this match, but I believe it will be the making of my son.”
“That is good to know, Your Grace.”
“Indeed it is, Lady Hillsworth.”
Evelyn laughed. “How strange that sounds. I keep looking around for the grand lady who has such a title.”
“You are every inch a gracious lady,” the Dowager Duchess assured Evelyn, “More so than some who were born to the title. If Mayson had not claimed you, I think you might have captured my son’s heart.”
Evelyn forbore reminding the Duchess of the proposition Darrius had made to her. Best to leave that little contretemps in the past where it belonged. “I think Blanche does a much better job managing him than I ever would have done,” she said instead. “It seems that her judgement was sound, and that they are both well content. More than that, Blanche tells me that with careful management, the estate is pulling out of debt and perhaps will even turn a profit in the coming year.”
“I think you are right,” the Dowager agreed. “They seem well suited. And now that Blanche no longer feels ill, her parents are also feeling much better, and doing better. It was a very strange time, but all’s well that ends well.”
When the sun had coasted down the sky in the west, the party broke up. Darrius and Blanche rode away in the shabby carriage with her parents. Mr. Petersen took his collection of snakes and walked down to the village. Evelyn’s sister, Leah, arrived with the dower house carriage. Mayson and Evelyn walked with the Duchess and helped her up into it.
When all the guests were gone, Mayson gave Evelyn his arm, and they strolled up to the house where the cook had a country dinner waiting for them.
They chose to dine in front of the drawing room fire, since it was just the two of them. Evelyn reclined on a sofa, bolstered up by pillows. Mayson lounged on an ottoman beside her, leaning an elbow on the curved headrest.
A basket of strawberries from the Tolware greenhouse sat between them. Evelyn picked the green stem off one and fed it to Mayson.
“Should I not be feeding you?” he asked. Then he returned the favor.
The strawberry juice stained her lips. He bent his head, and kissed her. Evelyn tasted the warm cleanliness of his mouth, mint overlaid by strawberries.
“I love you,” she whispered against his lips.
“And I love you,” he replied. He laid his hand upon the rounded mound of her stomach, and they both laughed when a tiny internal thump nearly bounced his hand up from where it lay. “When this little one is born, will you dance with me again? I used to dream of dancing with you. The reality was even better than my dreams.”
“Oh, so gladly, Mayson.” She fed him a strawberry, and they kissed again.
Wordlessly, they cuddled each other, sharing strawberries and the occasional long, slow kiss. When the strawberries were gone, Mayson scooped her up off the couch, staggering only a tiny bit with her weight.
“I can walk,” Evelyn protested.
“I know, but I like carrying you,” Mayson replied. “It makes me feel manly.”
Evelyn giggled. “You are manly. You do not need to prove it.”
A short while later, they were curled together in their large, soft bed, exploring such pleasures as were possible when, as Evelyn put it, one of them felt like a beached whale-fish.
After a time, they lay entwined, with Evelyn on her side, and Mayson curled around her back, her head on his arm. “I could stay like this forever,” he said.
“So could I,” Evelyn replied.
The End?
