The Bridgertons Happily Ever After - By Julia Quinn Page 0,66

she shrieked. “Gareth!”

“I did it,” she whispered, gazing down at the pool of jewels now spilling from her left hand. “I did it.”

And then she bellowed it.

“I DID IT!!!!”

She looped the necklace around her neck, still clutching the bracelet and ring in her hand.

“I did it, I did it, I did it.” She was singing it now, hopping up and down, almost dancing, almost crying. “I did it!”

“Hyacinth!” It was Gareth, out of breath from taking four flights of stairs two steps at a time.

She looked at him, and she could swear she could feel her eyes shining. “I did it!” She laughed, almost crazily. “I did it!”

For a moment he could do nothing but stare. His face grew slack, and Hyacinth thought he might actually lose his footing.

“I did it,” she said again. “I did it.”

And then he took her hand, took the ring, and slipped it onto her finger. “So you did,” he said, leaning down to kiss her knuckles. “So you did.”

Meanwhile, one floor down . . .

“Gareth!”

Isabella looked up from the book she was reading, glancing toward the ceiling. Her bedchamber was directly below the nursery, rather in line with the washroom, actually.

“I did it!”

Isabella turned back to her book.

And she smiled.

On the Way to the Wedding

In writing the 2nd epilogues, I have tried to answer readers’ lingering questions. In the case of On the Way to the Wedding, the question I heard the most post-publication was: What did Gregory and Lucy name all those babies? I’ll admit that even I don’t know how to craft a story revolving around the naming of nine infants (not all at once, thank heavens), so I decided to start the 2nd epilogue right where the first one ends—with Lucy giving birth for the last time. And because everyone—even the Bridgertons—must face hardship, I didn’t make it easy . . .

On the Way to the Wedding:

The 2nd Epilogue

21 June 1840

Cutbank Manor

Nr Winkfield, Berks.

My dearest Gareth—

I hope this letter finds you well. I can hardly believe it has been almost a fortnight since I departed Clair House for Berkshire. Lucy is quite enormous; it seems impossible that she has not delivered yet. If I had grown so large with George or Isabella, I am sure I should have been complaining endlessly.

(I am also sure that you will not remind me of any complaints I may have uttered whilst in a similar state.)

Lucy does claim that this feels quite unlike her previous confinements. I find I must believe her. I saw her right before she gave birth to Ben, and I swear she was dancing a jig. I would confess to an intense jealousy, but it would be uncouth and unmaternal to admit to such an emotion, and as we know, I am Always Couth. And occasionally maternal.

Speaking of our progeny, Isabella is having a fine time. I do believe she would be content to remain with her cousins throughout the summer. She has been teaching them how to curse in Italian. I made a feeble effort to scold her, but I’m sure she realized I was secretly delighted. Every woman should know how to curse in another language since polite society has deemed English unavailable to us.

I am not certain when I will be home. At this rate, I should not be surprised if Lucy holds out until July. And then of course I have promised to remain for a bit of time after the baby arrives. Perhaps you should send George out for a visit? I don’t think anyone would notice if one more child was added to the current horde.

Your devoted wife,

Hyacinth

Postscript—’Tis a good thing I did not seal the letter yet. Lucy just delivered twins. Twins! Good heavens, what on earth are they going to do with two more children? The mind boggles.

“I can’t do this again.”

Lucy Bridgerton had said it before, seven times, to be precise, but this time she really meant it. It wasn’t so much that she had given birth to her ninth child just thirty minutes earlier; she’d grown rather expert at delivering babies and could pop one out with a minimum of discomfort. It was just that . . . Twins! Why hadn’t anyone told her she might be carrying twins? No wonder she’d been so bloody uncomfortable these last few months. She’d had two babies in her belly, clearly engaged in a boxing match.

“Two girls,” her husband was saying. Gregory looked over at her with a grin. “Well, that tips the scales.