The Perfect Arrangement (The Not So Saintly Sisters #4) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,53

never felt so terrified or excited or overwhelmed in all his life.

The midwife and the Lady Kingsley exchanged suspicious grins.

“Your little marquess is as perfect as his mother, for certain.” She laughed out loud. “More than perfect, if I say so myself.”

The two sisters met one another’s eyes and giggled when he pulled the blanket back so that he could examine his naked and squirming son.

He stared for a moment and then blinked in astonishment.

The Duchess of Crawford laughed. “Congratulations, Lillian, Warwick. Your perfect little marquess is a girl.”

“A girl?” Lillian leaned forward. With painstaking care, Christian lowered his daughter—his exquisitely beautiful daughter—into his wife’s arms.

“I’ve never seen anything so wonderful in my life,” Lillian whispered, her fingertips gently touching their daughter’s cheek. “She’s so soft, Christian.”

“She’s tiny!” Christian marveled.

“She did not seem so tiny five minutes ago.”

Christian turned to stare into Lillian’s reassuring eyes—in awe—overwhelmed with affection.

She beamed back at him.

“We have a daughter, Christian.”

“A daughter.” He could not keep himself from grinning. “It seems we will have to decide on a different name, my love.” Because Lord Gabriel Abron Calvin Christian Masterson, Marquess of Yardley, was far too masculine of a name for this little lady.

He stared down into eyes much bluer than his own, at her blond hair and perfect little rosebud lips. “She’s perfect,” he whispered.

“Not a marquess,” Lillian agreed with a laugh.

“Not at all.” He gazed in awe as this tiny little hand wrapped around his finger. “A little lady instead,” he added. “A perfect little lady.”

Bonus Epilogue

Thirty-eight years later

Lillian arranged her skirts around her and watched out the window as the landscape flew past them.

“Remember when it took us over a week to drive from Gretna Green back to London?” She leaned into the man seated beside her. “Everything moves so much faster now.” The trees near the tracks were practically blurs as the train carried them across the countryside.

Her husband of nearly forty years squeezed her hand. “The length of that trip had less to do with our mode of travel than the duration of our stops.” His chuckle rumbled beside her, more familiar than her own.

Having spent the winter at their country estate, the two of them were returning to London for the season and, of course, so that Christian could fulfill his responsibilities in parliament. Her grown children and their families would begin arriving in the days to come.

More excitement than usual buzzed this year, as Queen Victoria was returning to London.

Having isolated herself to the country the five years since Prince Albert’s death in 1861, Her Majesty had succumbed to political pressure and would appear publicly in order to preside over the State Opening of Parliament this year. Even now, Lillian’s sympathy for the queen had her blinking away tears.

“Best trip of my life,” Christian added with another squeeze.

Lillian returned the squeeze her husband had given her, grateful beyond measure for the time they’d had together.

And although they had faced some hardships, she wouldn’t trade them for the world.

With five grown children now, and three grandchildren, their home had never lacked laughter or the occasional tears, but most of all, it had never lacked love.

“What of our summers spent in Brighton?” So many of those warm evenings, after kissing the children goodnight, she and Christian had walked together in the moonlight, sometimes barefoot. And more times than not, they had rushed back to the beach house and made love.

He was nodding. “I’ll admit our Brighton summers rival it but…. That ride to and from Gretna Green…” The smile dancing on his lips mirrored her own.

After the fire, in the early years of their marriage, there had been times when her husband had lived almost frantically. Loving her frantically, loving the children frantically. And although he’d rationally declared that the curse wasn’t real, Christian’s fear of his impending death hadn’t magically disappeared.

But it had diminished.

Being honest with herself, Lillian had suffered some of the same fears herself.

They had promised to always talk about it with one another, and their remedy had been to live each day to the best of their ability.

Likely, their lives had been even better because of it.

And as he remained healthy and alive through each anniversary, each birthday, each landmark in time, the fear slowly ebbed away. Other distractions took over.

They’d supported one another through her mother’s death, and he’d encouraged her through her last pregnancy, which had been more difficult than the others. When the baby hadn’t lived, they’d mourned together.

They had faced all the joyous