“First, I will paint you.”

Nathaniel passed Ivy a pink tulip, occasioning another blush, and Constance’s heart beat harder. “Thank you, Rothhaven, for this.”

“Thank you, Constance, for this.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “You know, I once wanted nothing so much as to pass through life unseen, to slip quietly from one shadow to another. I wanted only peace and privacy, and someday—maybe—to know my daughter was well and happy.”

“I wanted to hide as well, to be left in peace while I waited for the next seizure. I wasn’t very ambitious, was I?”

“And now?”

“Oh, I think eight is a nice number.”

“Eight?”

“Children. Ivy will make a superb big sister. Nathaniel will try to out-uncle Walden and Lord Stephen, and Her Grace will teach our daughters how to climb trees. Althea will commiserate with you as she deals with the same challenges regarding her own offspring.”

“What a gorgeous family portrait you paint, Rothhaven. I should have luncheon served out here.”

“And have guest rooms made up for Reverend Shaw, Mrs. Hodges, and our daughter.”

Constance was so busy being happy and enjoying the sheer pleasure of cuddling with her husband that she at first missed Rothhaven’s choice of pronoun.

“Our daughter?”

“Why not, if Ivy will have me as an honorary step-papa? I would hate to be the only Your Grace underfoot when you are Mama Constance and Walden and his duchess will be Uncle Quinn and Aunt Jane. Doesn’t seem fair that I alone should be saddled with a title when the family is together.”

The only reply Constance was capable of was to hug him and hug him and hug him, until Jane hooted at the sight, Quinn muttered, Nathaniel and Althea kissed, the reverend and Mrs. Hodges began applauding, and Ivy tossed her tulip at the happy couple.

Acknowledgment and Author’s Note about Terminology

One of the prominent topics in this little tale is mental health as it was understood in the Regency era. Regarding terminology, I faced something of a quandary. At the time, idiot was a term of medical art, not to be confused with lunatic. Lunacy or insanity was potentially curable; idiocy was on the order of a birth defect and considered permanent. I don’t like using words such as this, or madhouse, madness, lunatic asylum, insane, and so forth, but to dodge off into less fraught modern terms would introduce an element of anachronism.

Members of my family are diagnosed with mental and neurological illnesses. I don’t choose the period-appropriate terms lightly. I use them because they make the story more historically accurate, and a better reflection of what Constance and Robert had to overcome as they won the battle for their happily ever after.

Which they did. Handily.