Her Secondhand Groom(103)
Juliet nodded numbly. “Does that mean you still don’t want me to conceive?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I know,” she agreed. “But you just said me, you, and the girls.”
“Well, who else is there?”
“Nobody right now, but―”
He cut her off with a kiss. “No buts. You’re right, though. That’s all there is right now, but, like you, I’m hoping that will change in the coming months. In fact, the prospect of having a child with you is the only thing that kept me from traveling to London today to see if it were possible to renounce my title.”
“Pardon?”
He rubbed his thumbs along her cheekbones. “If not for the prospect that we might have a son together who might feel cheated his due if he had to take an occupation as a smithy rather than a viscount, I would have renounced my title if necessary to win your affections back.”
“Do you mean it?” she asked, tears in her eyes.
“With all my heart.”
She squeezed him in a tight hug. “Oh, Drake.”
He stiffened. “That’s another thing, Juliet. I hate it when you call me Drake.”
“You do?” She loosened her hold on him.
He nodded. “Quite a lot, actually. A man’s Christian name is a more fitting name for a wife to call her husband, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” she agreed. A teasing smile bent her lips. “Which would you prefer I call you? Kirkpatrick or Kirkpatrick Ludwig?”
A broad smile crossed his face. “I should think just Patrick will be sufficient, you teasing minx.”
“Just Patrick it is, then,” she said with a wink.
“Now that we have that worked out, shall we go home?”
“Yes, let’s.”
Epilogue
September 1820
“Patrick, stop!”
“Why? He likes it.”
“I don’t care if he likes it. The longer you do that, the longer we’ll have to sit here.”
Patrick shrugged and tickled the little boy sitting on his knee again. Peals of contagious giggles filled the air once again.
“Patrick, I mean it, stop.”
Patrick shot a wide grin at his wife. “Why don’t you come over here and make me.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Oh, I like it when you’re tempted.”
“That will be enough of that,” Mr. Swill said from behind his canvas.
Juliet’s skin grew pink. “Kate, would you be a dear and reach over and fix your papa’s cravat?”
“There’s nothing wrong with m―” The rest of the sentence was cut off as Kate pulled his cravat so tightly it nearly choked him to death.
“That looks much better, Kate. Thank you.”
Patrick scowled and reached up to loosen his strangulating neck cloth. “Was that necessary?”
“Yes,” Juliet and Kate said in unison.
Patrick shook his head. It’d been more than five years since his wedding to Juliet and she was still able to keep him in his place with just a few words.
Mr. Swill stood. “I do believe I’m done.”
Before the last word was out of the man’s mouth, the children were to their feet and scrambling off the picnic blanket.
“Come look, Maman,” Helena exclaimed from the other side of the canvas.
A huge smile crossed Juliet’s lips. She’d long ago confided in Patrick that no matter how many times she heard it, being called Maman by any of her children never seemed to lose the ability to fill her with a warm, tingly sensation. He returned her smile, nearly bursting with excitement at the knowledge he alone could give her such a wonderful gift.
Patrick reached forward and took her hand. Interlacing their fingers, they walked together to the other side of the canvas.
Juliet gasped. “It’s wonderful.”
“Yes, it is,” Patrick agreed.
“He’s captured us all perfectly.”
“That he has.” Patrick let his eyes travel the canvas. In the middle sat Celia, Helena, and Kate. All three wearing pale green dresses were positioned in the middle of the picnic blanket. Celia was standing on her knees. Helena was sitting on her right hip with her legs in front and her face looking over her shoulder toward the artist. Kate sat in a similar position except her body was facing the viewer and the picnic hamper was positioned right in front of her with her left hand holding up one side of the lid. Behind the older girls, stood the three-year-old twins, Laura and Miranda. Both wore apple red dresses and had their brownish-blond hair in braids that came down and rested on their shoulders. To the left, on the edge of the blanket, sat Patrick. He smiled. Finally, there was a portrait painted where he didn’t resemble an angry bear. In fact, he didn’t look angry in the least. The grin Mr. Swill captured on his lips looked as if it split his face in half. Directly on his lap, sat one-year-old Myles. Then, Patrick looked to the right. Half-sitting, half-lying on the other edge of the blanket wearing a yellow dress and the most beautiful smile was the one who held them all together: Juliet.