the pillow beside her. It was still warm. Tristan must have just left. She hummed softly to herself, and, drawing her wrapper from the chair beside the bed, walked to the window. The sun was just peeping over the treetops. Tristan must be going for a ride. He liked the park best early in the morning before it was filled with other equestrians.
She watched Will lead Tristan’s large, black gelding from the stable. She was actually learning to appreciate the beauty of the beast. She stretched, raising her arms far above her head.
The whole world had changed in two months. She pressed her face against the cool glass. The time had flown, but it had been a lifetime. Tristan had proved to be everything in a husband that she had dreamed of on that long ago summer evening. He listened to her. He praised her. He played with her. Oh, how he played with her. Even alone in her room she could feel her color rise. She had thought she would be past the blushes by now.
Today she would tell him. It was past time, but she had wanted to be sure. It would not do to be mistaken again. It had been on the tip of her tongue for a week, but she had wanted to consult with Dr. Howe first.
She wanted to dance around the room in her excitement. Where was Tristan? His horse was saddled and ready so where was her husband? She pressed her face flat against the window trying to catch sight of him. The only movement in the yard came from Will and the horse. She would never understand how such a small boy could be left in charge of such a huge beast.
It was not that she was still frightened of the creatures. She had even let herself be seated on Buttercup’s back and led around the yard a few times. It was not an enjoyable experience, but not a dreadful one either.
Where was Tristan? Will was growing tired of waiting. She could see it in the way he edged from foot to foot and looked around the yard as if seeking some great adventure. Finally he looped the gelding’s reins over a post and went to stare into a puddle. Boys and puddles. There was an endless fascination. She hummed softly as she watched Will pick up a pebble and drop it into the water, the ripples spinning outward. He looked so much like Tristan must have as a boy, like her baby would . . .
There was a tap at the door and her maid entered. She chose a light day dress. Despite the heavy showers of the night before the last days had been increasingly warm and she was glad for thin muslin and high waists. She chatted with the maid while her hair was brushed and put up. She was just slipping her feet in dainty leather slippers with a slight heel when there was the clatter of hooves on stone below. She sang softly to herself as she went to peer out the window again.
She must have missed hearing Tristan ride out. Was he back already? She looked around the yard and finally saw Tristan coming up from the alley. He was on foot and not alone. Another man was with him, not a gentleman by the cut of his coat. Behind them, on a lead, came a slim chestnut mare. Tristan said something to the man and then walked to the house.
A moment later she heard the pound of his boots on the stairs. She pinched her cheeks and waved the maid out of the room.
“I’ve brought you a present,” Tristan said, swinging the door open and striding into the room.
“A present?” She walked over to him and playfully started patting his jacket pockets.
When her hands started to slip lower he caught them and lifted them to his lips. “You are such a contradiction, my sweet.” He kissed her palms. “I’ve never heard you say a dirty word, or use a curse. You still blush redder than an apple when I tell you what I’d like to do to you or look at you in a certain way, but when it comes to action – well, can I say you’re very good at action without causing you to blush? Evidently not.” He released her hands and pulled her tight. He lifted her against him trailing kisses over her cheeks. “I do so love your blushes.”