The Bridgertons Happily Ever After - By Julia Quinn Page 0,72
them, but she would definitely have known how many there had been of each color. And Gregory would not be surprised if the governess came to him later and said that Katharine had insisted they go for an extra mile so that the “pinks” caught up with the “yellows.”
Fairness in all things, that was his Katharine.
“Mimsy says the babies are to be named after Aunt Eloise and Aunt Francesca,” Katharine said, after kicking her foot back and forth thirty-two times.
(He’d counted. Gregory could not believe he’d counted. He was growing more like Lucy every day.)
“As usual,” he replied, “Mimsy is correct.” Mimsy was the children’s nanny and nurse, and a candidate for sainthood if he’d ever met one.
“She did not know what their middle names might be.”
Gregory frowned. “I don’t think we got ’round to deciding upon that.”
Katharine looked at him with an unsettlingly direct gaze. “Before Mama needed her nap?”
“Er, yes,” Gregory replied, his gaze sliding from hers. He was not proud that he’d looked away, but it was his only choice if he wanted to keep from crying in front of his child.
“I think one of them ought to be named Hyacinth,” Katharine announced.
He nodded. “Eloise Hyacinth or Francesca Hyacinth?”
Katharine’s lips pressed together in thought, then she said, rather firmly, “Francesca Hyacinth. It has a lovely ring to it. Although . . .”
Gregory waited for her to finish her thought, and when she did not he prompted, “Although . . . ?”
“It is a little flowery.”
“I’m not certain how one can avoid that with a name like Hyacinth.”
“True,” Katharine said thoughtfully, “but what if she does not turn out to be sweet and delicate?”
“Like your Aunt Hyacinth?” he murmured. Some things really did beg to be said.
“She is rather fierce,” Katharine said, without an ounce of sarcasm.
“Fierce or fearsome?”
“Oh, only fierce. Aunt Hyacinth is not at all fearsome.”
“Don’t tell her that.”
Katharine blinked with incomprehension. “You think she wants to be fearsome?”
“And fierce.”
“How odd,” she murmured. Then she looked up with especially bright eyes. “I think Aunt Hyacinth is going to love having a baby named after her.”
Gregory felt himself smile. A real one, not something conjured to make his child feel safe. “Yes,” he said quietly, “she will.”
“She probably thought she wasn’t going to get one,” Katharine continued, “since you and Mama were going in order. We all knew it would be Eloise for a girl.”
“And who would have expected twins?”
“Even so,” Katharine said, “there is Aunt Francesca to consider. Mama would have had to have had triplets for one to be named after Aunt Hyacinth.”
Triplets. Gregory was not a Catholic, but it was difficult to suppress the urge to cross himself.
“And they would have all had to have been girls,” Katharine added, “which does seem to be a mathematical improbability.”
“Indeed,” he murmured.
She smiled. And he smiled. And they held hands.
“I was thinking . . .” Katharine began.
“Yes, pet?”
“If Francesca is to be Francesca Hyacinth, then Eloise ought to be Eloise Lucy. Because Mama is the very best of mothers.”
Gregory fought against the lump rising in his throat. “Yes,” he said hoarsely, “she is.”
“I think Mama would like that,” Katharine said. “Don’t you?”
Somehow, he managed to nod. “She would probably say that we should name the baby for someone else. She’s quite generous that way.”
“I know. That’s why we must do it while she is still asleep. Before she has a chance to argue. Because she will, you know.”
Gregory chuckled.
“She’ll say we shouldn’t have done it,” Katharine said, “but secretly she will be delighted.”
Gregory swallowed another lump in his throat, but this one, thankfully, was born of paternal love. “I think you’re right.”
Katharine beamed.
He ruffled her hair. Soon she’d be too old for such affections; she’d tell him not to muss her coiffure. But for now, he was taking all the hair ruffling he could get. He smiled down at her. “How do you know your mama so well?”
She looked up at him with an indulgent expression. They had had this conversation before. “Because I’m exactly like her.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. They held hands for a few more moments until something occurred to him. “Lucy or Lucinda?”
“Oh, Lucy,” Katharine said, knowing instantly what he was talking about. “She’s not really a Lucinda.”
Gregory sighed and looked over at his wife, still sleeping in her bed. “No,” he said quietly, “she’s not.” He felt his daughter’s hand slip into his, small and warm.
“La la la Lucy,” Katharine said, and he could hear her quiet smile in her voice.