reached his house, Fred’s wailing had upset his sister Sophie, who was crying as well, and what with one thing and another, Alastair and Colin were up, too. The only child peacefully sleeping, in fact, was Margaret. Griffin appeared at the nursery door only to find that his poor wife had the desperate look of a woman in need of rescue.
Griffin took Fred and popped him into the cradle; wonder of wonders, he fell asleep. Nanny took charge of Sophie, Lyddie took Alastair to the kitchens for a glass of milk, and Griffin picked up his poor wife, tired as she was, and carried her all the way down the hill to the river.
They sat there for at least an hour, just staring at the water and ignoring the faint sounds of mayhem that continued to issue from the house. The moon turned the water into a shimmering silver plate.
Griffin thought there was probably nothing more lovely than to have his wife’s round bottom in his lap and to rest his chin on her hair and feel her breathing against his chest.
After a time Colin came trotting down the hill with a bundle in his arms, trailing a bit of pink blanket.
Phoebe rose and took Fred—crying again—then settled down in a different chair to feed the child, who appeared to have the appetite of a future giant.
Colin leaned against his father’s shoulder in a companionable sort of way.
“I like the way you brought Fred down here,” Griffin said, winding his arm around his eldest son’s shoulder. “Good man.”
“Had to be done,” said the pirate.
“A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”
Fred burped, and Colin wrinkled his nose. “Do you think he’ll sleep any better tomorrow night? He doesn’t seem to sleep at all.”
“Probably not,” Griffin said. He looked over at his wife’s bright hair. He could just see the curve of her cheeks as she murmured to their new son.
“Do you suppose you could stop having babies now?” Colin asked with a sigh. “There are five of us, you know. It seems like an awful many.”
Griffin’s heart swelled with the pure joy of the moment. All those years on board ship, he’d grappled with adventure and death and mayhem. He thought he was proving himself, but he didn’t really understand what it was to be a man until he returned home.
“Five seems like a good number to me,” he said, hauling Colin’s lanky body over the side of his chair and into his lap.
“I’m too old to sit in your lap,” Colin protested, his skinny legs flailing a moment. But then he settled against Griffin’s shoulder, and two seconds later he was asleep.
Griffin reached out and took his wife’s hand. “I love you,” he said quietly.
Phoebe smiled at him. She was more beautiful than she’d been when they married, more beautiful than she’d been when he returned from the sea. She would only get more lovely every year . . . and he would only love her more.
“Damn,” he said quietly. “I don’t even know what to do with the way I feel for you, Phoebe.”
She smiled again, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. “Just love me, Griffin.”
He raised her hand to his lips. “There’s no question of that, my darling.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare . . .”
“My darling Poppy,” he said smugly.
A NOTE FROM ELOISA
There’s nothing more irritating than a story that ends with a loose thread! So, you may be wondering, who won the bet? Which pirate proved the more seductive, Griffin or James?
The answer can be found by comparing Griffin’s success here to James’s success in The Ugly Duchess, my most recent fairy tale. That novel is spun, obviously, from Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Ugly Duckling.” My version puts together a duckling and a pirate, with a touch of “Cinderella”—and a dash of Coco Chanel. Theo, the duchess in question, is a witty, lovable heroine. And of course, James (and Griffin) sail the seven seas, tattooed and muscled and altogether delectable. Want to read the first three chapters? They follow just after this letter. I do hope you enjoy The Ugly Duchess!
If you like rewritten fairy tales, I’d love to introduce you to my series. So far I’ve written A Kiss at Midnight (a version of “Cinderella”), When Beauty Tamed the Beast, and The Duke Is Mine (a version of “The Princess and the Pea”). The last fairy tale is probably the least well known. Remember the story of a princess who