His question was quiet, his expression unreadable.
“The first time, I think. I haven’t had my… I haven’t bled since that first time.”
He stepped closer and enfolded her in a gentle embrace. For a long moment he said nothing. Her bellowing, blustering, teasing, beloved fiance said not one word.
And then, very softly, his lips at her ear. “Bartholomew, I think. Uncle Bart is Her Grace’s favorite brother, though she’d never say so. He put me on my first pony and supported my decision to buy my colors.”
“It’s a good name.” Though on a daughter, it might be a trifle awkward.
The moment didn’t call for pragmatism, though. Percival remained silent, holding her, until Esther realized— budding wifely instinct, perhaps—that he was
She remained in his embrace a long while, the scent of the roses rising around them, the soft summer air stirring a lock of Percival’s unbound hair against her cheek.
“Are you all right, Esther? Carrying a child can be hard on some women.”
“I have never felt a greater sense of well-being than I have since accepting your proposal, Percival Windham.”
In the sigh that went out of him, Esther realized he’d needed to hear her say that. He would probably need to hear her say that many times in the ensuing months, years, and—God willing—decades. Fortunately, it was the simple truth.
He kissed her ear and nuzzled her temple. “I will take such good care of you, my dear, that short of the benevolent intercession of the Almighty Himself, nobody could take better care of you.”
“I know. I’ll take care of you too.”
“And of our children.”
Another sweet moment passed, and then Esther took her Percival by the hand—he seemed to have lost some of his customary boldness—and led him into the home wood. When they emerged in time for tea some hours later, not even Her Grace remarked the grass stains Percival had acquired on the knees of his breeches.
This story is my first published novella, and as always when an author takes a new direction, there are thanks due. Deb Werksman, my editor, first suggested I try a shorter format. Dominique Raccah, my publisher, gave the OK to acquire the work and has been enthusiastic about its positioning. The usual suspects at Sourcebooks—Skye, Susie, Cat, and Danielle—deserve much thanks for putting up with a dynamic schedule. My thanks also go to my dear readers, who have come to hold Percival and Esther in almost as much affection as I do. Their Graces didn’t encounter entirely smooth sailing once married, but that’s another story…
Grace lives in rural Maryland and is a practicing attorney. She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached through her website at graceburrowes.com.
