She was angling around to some topic or other, being subtle, which Grey’s limited, and at present foggy, powers of divination grasped only vaguely.
“I love our daughters,” he said, shifting to crouch above her. “I love you. If we have ten daughters, I will be ten times more delighted than I am now, which is a physical impossibility. If you decide we’re through having children, I will content myself with three and spoil them all terribly when I’m done spoiling their mother to the best of my feeble ability. As long as you love me, Beatitude, we will manage splendidly.”
She clung to him for a moment, suggesting he’d bumbled into the reassurances she’d needed. “I do love you, Grey. I just want a healthy baby.”
He kissed her nose. “I want a healthy baby and a healthy mama. Let me know when I can share our good news with the rest of the family.”
“Give it another month. We’re still in the early days.”
He shifted to spoon himself around her. “Close your eyes, Beatitude. You’ve earned your rest.”
Grey closed his eyes and spared a moment for a prayer of gratitude—that he was married to this woman, that she was in good health, and that she was his best friend, lover, confidante, partner in mischief, and the mother of his children.
“I had a letter from Ash today,” Beatitude said, voice drowsy. “He’s put off his return to Dorning Hall for a week or two.”
Ash had tried spending the winter in Town. It hadn’t gone well, but then, his winters never did.
“Are matters in hand at the club?” Or had Sycamore created some scandal that necessitated Ash remain in London to manage an irate father, offended competitor, or wronged patron?
“Matters at the club go swimmingly, though Lady Della Haddonfield has run into a spot of bother—Ash was delicate on the details—and Ash will remain in London to afford her an escort from time to time. He expects to be down here in another month at the latest.”
Lady Della Haddonfield.
Among both Dornings and Haddonfields, hope had at one time flourished that Ash and Lady Della would make a match. Ash had decided that wasn’t meant to be. Grey wasn’t sure what Lady Della had decided, but if she was accepting Ash’s escort, she was either desperate or very forgiving.
“If he breaks her heart,” Grey said, “I will thrash him, mulligrubs notwithstanding.”
“And if she breaks his heart?”
Beatitude had the courage to name what other Dornings feared to mention. “Ash always recovers from his doldrums. He’d accept Lady Della’s rejection gracefully.”
But then what would he do? The family trod a careful line with Ash, neither hovering over him nor abandoning him, but the line moved from year to year, and only Ash knew where it truly needed to be.
Beatitude took Grey’s hand and settled it over her breast. “We could go up to Town, Grey. The weather is still fair.”
Grey wanted to go up to Town for Ash’s sake, of course. He could make suitable noises about voting his seat, though the truly important legislation was usually taken up after Christmas. He could pretend Beatitude wanted to do some shopping, and he could intimate that a summer in Dorset had left him longing for the blandishments of Town.
He hated Town, and Ash knew that.
Ash hated being coddled, as Grey and every other Dorning family member knew.
“We will rely on the dubious strength of Sycamore’s fraternal loyalty,” Grey said. “He has a way of not pulling his punches with Ash that seems to work. Ash is an adult, and an occasional bout of the blue devils doesn’t make him any less so.”
In fact, that burden gave Ash a more compassionate outlook on human nature than Grey himself had, too compassionate perhaps.
“You could go to Town without me,” Beatitude said, wiggling her hips in a manner that communicated itself directly to Grey’s breeding organs.
“Ash would be offended if I galloped into Town simply because he’s varying his routine by a few weeks. Who was it that told me to have faith in my brothers?”
Beatitude set up a slow, sweet rhythm. “You could send Willow around to assess matters.”
“No, I could not. Willow has puppies on the way. Beatitude, if you insist…”
“You love it when I insist.”
He did. He absolutely did. “Oh, very well. I admit it: I adore you. I am yours to command, and I always will be. Have your way with me, you merciless fiend.”