Page 6 of A Wicked Duke's Arranged Marriage
Henry smiled fondly down at the little girl as he ruffled her hair, his eyes moving warmly over the lot of them despite the stress such an expression put on his face due to the irregularity of its use. “Peregrine, Lucy, Thomas, and Irina?Why, that cannot be! Those are my godchildren! And last I saw of those scoundrels, they were barely higher than my knee!”
“You just saw us!” Thomas argued, his voice still raspy with the lisp of toddlerhood as he put his hands on his hips and glared Henry down.
“Now, now,” their father finally intervened, a twinkle in his green eyes as he looked over his brood. “You’ll have to forgive His Grace; he is getting on in years, you see. He must not remember that we called on him only a fortnight ago!”
“Simon!” his wife hissed despite the giggle that followed it.
“You should pay better heed to our dear Lady Fethmire, Lord Fethmire.” Henry chuckled, stepping forward to kiss her cheek as Simon made a disparaging noise from beside them. “She, at least, remembers her manners.”
“Only on account of you feathering her with so much praise and compliments,” Simon muttered, nudging Henry with his shoulder as Henry looked down with another smile at the babe in Lisbet’s arms.
Four children.
There had been a time that he would have laughed at the very idea of Simon, Earl of Fethmire and one of London’s mostnotorious rakes, ever even settling down. But to be so happily married as well as blessed with four children like he had been? It was as near to a miracle as anything that Henry had ever seen.
“To tell the truth is hardly flattery, old friend,” Henry answered easily, bending and picking Lucy up to settle on his hips as she reached up with both hands. “Now, tell me, what prompted this visit here?”
The two old friends shared a fond look, Simon leaning in to put his arm around his wife as he shrugged. “It is simply us calling on a friend,” he answered with a laugh. “We are in the country; where else would we go? You know as well as I that my country manor will unlikely be as well-stocked as yours so soon upon arrival. And I fancy a good dinner and a nice glass of port.”
“Simon!” Lisbet chastised again, rolling her eyes. “What he means, dear Henry, is that he missed you so terribly that he made every excuse to leave town to come and see you here.”
“And to climb trees!” Peregrine added with an excited grin.
“And go on walks!”
“And all of the other things that we cannot do in town quite so easily, yes.” Lisbet laughed, smiling happily along with her children.
“I knew it must be such a reason,” Henry confided in a faux whisper to Lucy on his hip. “As if your father would ever run out of port!”
They all laughed at that, Henry feeling something within him unfurl at that first breath of warmth in the manor in so long. Something about the presence of children dared not let even this old, draughty mausoleum be depressing in their company.
“Come inside, I’ve no doubt you’ve driven all the way here from London. Dinner is no doubt close to being served, and I’ll see what I can do as far as some prior refreshments are concerned. Lisbet, if you’d like, Simon and I can take the children so that you can freshen up after your journey.”
Henry's manners slid seamlessly into place like an old familiar, if rarely worn coat, Lisbet’s answering smile all the thanks he needed.
“You’re a godsend, Henry,” she murmured emphatically as she all but foisted her youngest off onto her husband and hurried to do just as he had suggested.
Simon made all the appropriate grunts and groans to make it seem like he was being inconvenienced, but Henry didn’t miss the loving way he stared after his wife as she left. Or the smile he continued to wear as the two of them sojourned into the parlour with the lot of rascals he had produced either.
There was something that inspired warmth and happiness just by their arrival, echoes of a long-distant past and something murkier … the promise of something that niggled in the back of Henry’s head as he allowed himself to rest briefly from his grief in their company.
Maybe it was just rest itself; Lord knew Henry got little of it these days.
***
It was several hours later, dinner finished, and a handful of minutes after Lisbet wrestled the children out of the sitting room to herd them up for bedtime before Henry and Simon were given an opportunity in which to catch up beyond the odd gossip and child-friendly tale.
The fire roared in the hearth as Henry poured them a glass of port each, his face sore from all the smiling and laughter the children had coaxed out of him.
Simon sat in what he had years ago dubbed his ‘favourite’ armchair, his green eyes knowing as he watched his friend slowly settle in the absence of the children. The smile on his face gradually slid off, but the frown lines that had been there when they arrived had not quite reappeared just yet.
“You haven’t told me anything interesting about things here,” Simon challenged as Henry handed him his glass and slid into the chair across from him.
“There’s not much of interest to share,” Henry answered honestly, shrugging off the inquiry.
Simon snorted. “I do keep telling you to join us for a Season in London. Lisbet knows–”
“A great many eligible ladies,” Henry cut his friend off dryly, the lack of interest in his voice bordering on sharp. “So you’ve said. For more than a year now.”
