'It is true, she did,' the duchess of Glenkirk said, coming to stand by her husband's side. 'Besides, India, you were parted from your son but five and a half months, not five years. Deverall was Caynan, and you regained your child. Stop dwelling on what might have been, and be glad for what is,' her mother said sensibly.
The ice that had been encasing India's heart suddenly cracked as she looked at her son toddling about the gardens, his nurse in pursuit. Rowan Leigh, the future earl of Oxton, was a sturdy little boy with his father's dark hair and deep blue eyes. At seventeen months of age he was a happy little boy who would never have any memory of his few months in a highland cottage. Her mother was right. The worst hadn't happened.
'Will you promise me never to doubt any of your children again,
'I swear it!' the duke of Glenkirk said fervently, kissing his daughter's hand.
'I shall hold you to it when Fortune finally goes in search of a husband,' the countess of Oxton warned her father. The infant at her bosom murmured impatiently, and, laughing, India switched her daughter to her other breast. 'Adrianna is such a little piglet,' she said, gazing adoringly down at her week-old daughter.
'And every bit as beautiful as her mama,' Deverall Leigh said, coming to stand by his wife's side. Then he smiled at his mother-in-law. 'I believe, Jasmine, that your granddaughter has your turquoise eyes, although I am told it is too soon for me to tell. Still, I see that unique shading in Adrianna's eyes.' He touched his daughter's tiny dark head with a gentle finger.
'Let us hope she leads a quieter life than we have led,' the duchess of Glenkirk said dryly.
'The great-great-granddaughter of Skye O'Malley?' James Leslie said with a chuckle. 'I think not, madame. I think not! Adventure seems to be in the blood of this family's women. Heaven only knows what hazards and risks this pretty wench will take when she is grown.'
'She might turn out to be like Great-aunt Willow,' India said. Then she saw the twinkle in her husband's eyes, and, hearing the unrestrained laughter bubbling up in her parents' throats, the countess of Oxton was forced to concur. 'You are right, Papa. You are doubtlessly right.
Bertrice Small
