“I’m sorry.” The agony in his voice was so stark, she was immediately stricken with guilt.
Inhaling deeply, he released his white-knuckled grip on the table and dropped into a chair opposite her. “As soon as we’re done here, I’ll talk to Bessie myself,” he murmured, understanding there were limits to his willpower and he’d damned near lost control a moment ago. He shoved a number of papers toward her. “Here, take a look. I thought you might like something to keep you busy in the country.”
“I rather thought you and our babe would keep me busy.” A sudden suspicion entered her voice. Was he leaving her here?
“Would you mind adding the care of Maple Hill to your duties?” he asked, grateful to have something other than sex to discuss, already feeling a modicum more relaxed.
She glanced at the numerous heavily scribed sheets and then at him, her gaze incredulous. “Maple Hill? How-I mean… Maple Hill?” she whispered.
He smiled. “It’s all yours.”
“Mine? You don’t mean it! I couldn’t-”
“Of course you could. I want to give you something for the child you’re giving me, although,” he added, his dark eyes warm with affection, “my gift is not so splendid by half.”
“How-when… I mean-tell me how it came about that you have Maple Hill?” Her father had lost it to his creditors two years before his death.
“After you left England, I made the new owners an offer they apparently liked.” He shrugged. “I missed you I suppose, although I’m not sure I knew it. But I wanted Maple Hill. That I knew.”
“You never said anything…”
He gazed at her from under half-lowered lashes. “There was a great deal of… uncertainty in our relationship,” he said softly.
She smiled. “But, now, I’m not going to run anymore.”
“And I’ve changed my priorities,” he added with an answering smile.
She softly laughed. “Do you think this means we’re all grown up?”
“Probably as grown up as we’re likely to be,” he replied with a cheeky grin. “But don’t change. I like you just the way you are.”
She winked. “For my part, I’d like you
“Two hands out of three?” he offered, thinking perhaps those wardens would save him from himself.
“Loser asks?”
“Done.”
“You know I always win,” Caro murmured.
“I always let you win, you mean.”
“No, you don’t.”
His brows flickered. “Yes, dear… I’m sure you’re right.”
Epilogue
It was questionable who let whom win that after-noon with their skills so evenly matched. In their new harmonious accord, however, they compromised, going hand in hand to ask what had to be asked, embarrassing not only themselves in the process, but Bessie and Rose as well.
After a constrained and stumbling interchange between the two parties, the duke and duchess were given a “proceed with reservations” answer that they observed with diligent caution and consider-able bliss in the months that followed.
In the fall, to the delight of the young couple, a healthy, robust heir was born at Monkshood. He was plump and pink, had all his fingers and toes in perfect order, sparkling green eyes like his mother, a charming smile like his father, and the sweetest of dispositions.
And any latent fears the parents may have had concerning the health of their child were instantly dispelled.
With the birth of their son, the lives of a young boy and girl who had been first, the best of friends; in time, lovers; and now as man and wife, the most celebrated and captivating love-match in the ton, were brought full circle.
And life was again as it had been in their youth.
Carefree and bright with hope.
Susan Johnson
