On short notice, Stephen hadn’t been able to locate a suitable property in Kent, and Harmonia had fallen in love with one he’d found in Surrey. The immediate neighborhood boasted a marquess, a baron, an earl, and a viscount. De Beauharnais had decided the matter when he’d seen the windows on the northern side of the top floor.

Across the walkway, Abigail took a spoonful of raspberry ice and licked her top lip. She did it on purpose as her slight smile and the small lift of her empty spoon confirmed.

“Ladies wear looser dresses when they are going to get a baby,” Nicky said. “The baby grows inside them and then pops out like a calf or a foal. Papa Andy says Mama will have a baby this summer and we must pray that she comes safely through her travail. Is her ladyship to have a baby too? Will she get a boy baby?”

“Any healthy baby will be a blessing without limit.” And the wonder and terror of that eclipsed anything in Stephen’s experience. His respect for Quinn and Jane—parents to four children—had grown with each passing week. And oddly enough, the succession absolutely did not matter and never would, alas for the peerage’s priorities. Being Abigail’s devoted husband and the loving father to his children of any description counted for everything. “Is vanilla still your favorite flavor, lad?”

“Yes, my lord. Might I go play?”

Stephen ruffled Nicky’s dark hair. “Of course. You’re outnumbered by the ladies, so give a good account of yourself.”

The boy was off the bench like an arrow shot from a longbow, and his laughter soon joined that of his cousins. Abigail changed benches, coming down beside Stephen.

“What were you two fellows conspiring about?”

Stephen took a bite of melting vanilla ice. The plane maples were leafing out into their spring glory overhead, pigeons strutted on the walkway, and shrieks of childish glee punctuated the air.

“Every time he calls me my lord, I want to howl, Abigail, but then I think about you, who lost a child, or Champlain, whose life was a protracted farce, and my tantrum dies aborning. Nicky and I were talking about babies, and why ladies sometimes have to wear looser dresses. I gather Harmonia is on the nest.”

Abigail set aside her spoon and bowl. “We will keep her in our prayers, of course.”

Abigail and Harmonia had reached some sort of understanding, much as Stephen and Endymion had. The past was the past, an unhappier time that had borne some challenging consequences. The present, however, was a joyous contrast, simplified by a shared desire to see one little boy thrive.

“You know I love you madly,” Stephen said, kissing Abigail on the lips.

“Shameless man. Kiss me when your lips won’t give me frostbite.” Frostbite was apparently an occasion for smiling. “How is today’s experiment working?”