Under A Duke's Hand (29 page)

She sat up as he freed her arms. “Does your
hair need combing?”

He turned and gave her a quizzical look as he
untied her right ankle. “I imagine it does.”

“Because I can help you as well as your
valet,” she said. “I mean, I am exceedingly good at combing hair. I
wouldn’t pull your tangles or anything.”

He set to work on her left ankle. “I suppose
you may comb my hair if you like. If it would please you.”

She was probably only imagining the color
spreading across his cheeks. It was hard to tell with his tawny
Viking complexion. He ran a great tub of warm water in his bathing
room, and they sat in it together, and she did comb out his hair,
all the long, wild glory of it, so different from her tame black
locks.

He had commanded her, pleasured her,
confounded her feelings, but in this simple, intimate act she
finally began to feel like his wife. Not his duchess...she had
always known she was his duchess. Goodness, it was an impossible
fact to ignore.

No, she began to feel like his true wife,
treasured and loved.

“I suppose I have made you more trouble these
last few days,” she said regretfully, as they rose from the tub to
dry off. “With the gossips and such.”

He gave her a wry glance. “I expect it’s only
the smallest fraction of trouble you shall cause me over our
lifetimes. Don’t fret about it. Everything will work out in
time.”

“I’ll do what I can to fix things,” she
promised. “I’ll be a perfect, obedient duchess.”

They were both laughing before she could
finish. “I’ve heard that before,” he said. “But I would appreciate
your best attempt. You needn’t be perfect.” He took her in his arms
and gave her a noisy kiss. “Just love me. And stop hinting to the
king that our marriage is forgettable and that you would rather be
back in Wales.”

“I’ll try.”

He gave her bottom a hearty smack. “Don’t
try. Do.”

Gwen sobered as they crossed into his
dressing room. The shredded portrait still drooped in the corner.
“What will you do about that? Our painting?”

“I don’t think it can be saved. Or should be
saved.” He stared at it a long moment. “We’ve given one another a
second chance. I suppose we’ll give the artist a second chance too,
perhaps in the spring, if you don’t mind a bare mantel until
then.”

“But in the spring...” She brushed a hand
over her middle. “I might be expecting by then.”

He winked at her as he pulled on a shirt. “I
hope so. Then the following spring we can have a family portrait
made, in Wales, in our meadow, to create new memories there. Do you
think that would be all right?”

Sometimes her husband came up with the best
ideas. Gwen felt a warmth of happiness spread through her entire
body, even to her toes. “I think that sounds wonderful. Maybe we
can have a portrait made every year, as our family changes and
grows. We can commission portraits until we’re wrinkled and
old.”

“Absolutely. Very wrinkled and very old.”

Her husband was rapidly disappearing beneath
layers of fine clothing, while she remained naked, wrapped in a
towel.

“May I borrow your shirt again,” she asked,
“so I can return to my chambers and dress?”

He tugged away her towel and looked her up
and down. Oh, that look...it made her feel hot and lustful all over
again.

“I think I would rather watch you streak
naked across the hallway,” he said, pulling her closer to fondle
her breasts.

In the end he didn’t make her do any such
thing, although it was nearly teatime before they finally managed
to present themselves to their company in the front parlor. The
children were there too, playing and crawling about, fresh from
their afternoon naps.

“Look who it is,” said Townsend brightly, as
the ladies flocked over to Gwen.

“How are you, my dear?” asked Josephine.

“You look so well!” said Aurelia.

Gwen grinned at them. “I feel completely
better.” She reached to clasp her husband’s hand. “Arlington has
nursed me back to health.”

“I bet he has,” snorted Barrymore, who was
promptly stifled by Minette.

“It’s wonderful that Arlington has got you
feeling better,” said Minette, smiling between the two of them.
“And Gwen, my goodness, your convalescence has suited you. You’ve
got a glow.”

“Indeed she has. We’re overjoyed to see both
of you in such fine spirits,” said Warren. “We are all of us
happier than you can believe. Won’t you sit and have tea with
us?”

They agreed that they would love to. Gwen
turned to look at her husband, keeping hold of his hand. How
pleased he looked, and how happy, just like a man in love. It
seemed her maiden’s prayers in the meadow were to be answered after
all.

I wish...perhaps...someday he might come to
love me, if he’s the sort of duke who’s not too lofty to fall in
love.

As it turned out, he was not too lofty a duke
at all.

Chapter
Eighteen: Epilogue

Six years later

The afternoon was glorious, the sort of
sunny, breezy day that made one want to take off hats, gloves,
coats, and bonnets, and simply exist in the green surroundings.
Aidan clasped his wife’s hand in his lap. Now and again he turned
to look at her, even though it made the artist pull a frown. They’d
hired an Italian fellow this spring to paint them out in their
garden, which was only appropriate. Their family was growing like
flowers.

Gwen held the youngest, an infant cherub
named Louisa Rose, who made his heart clench in paternal adoration
each time she cooed or gripped one of his fingers in her little
fist. Their dark-haired three-year-old, Gareth, cuddled between him
and his wife on the picnicking blanket, content to play with his
toy soldiers. Their oldest son squirmed with restlessness on his
mama’s other side. He had been made to comb back his mop of gold
hair and wear a handsome coat and breeches like a big boy, when he
would rather muck about and play.

The strapping child was formally titled John
Daniel Worthington Drake, the Marquess of Wescott, and would one
day be the next Duke of Arlington, but for now, he most often
answered to Jack.

“When will they be here?” he asked his mama.
“We’ve been sitting here for
hours and hours.
”

“Not hours,” said Gwen, patting his hand.
“Only a half hour or so. I know it’s a trial, darling, but we want
to remember this beautiful day, don’t we? When we all sat together
and picnicked by the flowers?”

“I don’t care about flowers. I would rather
George come and play dragon-slayers with me.”

“That sounds like an apt game for the two of
you.” Aidan patted his son to sustain him in these “hours and
hours” of filial duty. “Have you heard of St. George and the
dragon?”

“My friend George is not a saint,” said the
boy.

“You can say that again,” murmured Gwen under
her breath.

It was true the Warren children had a
tendency to wildness. George, the oldest, was even blonder than
Jack and known for relentless activity. His younger sister Ella was
a tomboy of the first degree; Aidan suspected the unconventional
Josephine encouraged her in this. Ella would doubtless join the
boys in their dragon-slaying, while the youngest, Dennis, toddled
behind, dragging his favorite blanket.

“John Daniel,” said Aidan, so his son would
know he meant business. “You must sit straight and still beside
your mama, or baby Louisa will fuss. You must set the example for
Gareth too. We’ll be done in another quarter hour.”

“But I don’t like posing for pictures,
Papa.”

“Sometimes you have to do things in life that
aren’t very fun. It’s a nuisance, I know, but big boys learn to put
up with things. You’ll grow to be a grand duke someday, and people
will want to know what you looked like when you were five years
old. So you ought to put on your most handsome face and finest
manners and sit as still as you can until George comes. It won’t be
long now.”

Jack sighed, but stopped fidgeting. Aidan
well remembered the burden of duty at that tender age. He protected
Jack from it, to a point, but he would need self-discipline to
succeed in his future endeavors, so Aidan occasionally put his foot
down.

“Ba babba babba,” chattered Louisa.

Gareth giggled. “Mama, is Louisa speaking
Welsh?”

“Not yet,” said Gwen with a smile. “But
someday she will learn it, like you and Jack. How else could she
speak with her Welsh cousins?”

Yes, all of them had learned Welsh, although
the boys could speak circles around Aidan. When they went to
Cairwyn to visit the Lisburne side of the family, there were
chattering Welsh children all around, half of them with names
impossible to pronounce. The proliferation of cousins astounded
Aidan, as Gwen’s seven brothers got an astonishing number of
offspring on their wives. Of course, he and his friends had not
done so badly. They all had at least three little ones, with the
industrious Townsends having already reached four.

At long last, the artist left for the day,
and the other families arrived at Arlington House to the picnic.
Jack went running off with George and Ella, along with the Townsend
boys, Edward and Will. The Townsends’ oldest, Felicity, sat primly
and played with baby Louisa and her own baby sister Belinda. Lady
Felicity took her status as the oldest child of the bunch very
seriously, and like her well-mannered mother Aurelia, displayed
laudable breeding for a child her age.

Goodness, thought Aidan. That pretty little
charmer would make some man a powerful wife someday. Jack, perhaps?
It was tempting to match up their children, at least the ones not
too closely related. Jack and Felicity would make a likely pair,
although the Barrymores’ curly-headed twins might take issue with
that. The chattering mini-Minettes, Isabella and Constance, had
taken a shine to Jack in the past year and followed him everywhere,
so the dragon-slaying party grew to an unwieldy mob right away.

“Lord Augustine,” said Gwen to Barrymore and
Minette’s oldest son. “Aren’t you going to go off chasing dragons
too?”

“Perhaps in a while,” he replied, gravitating
toward the dark-haired Felicity. They were both quieter sorts of
children, not given to rambunctiousness. They both enjoyed music,
and sometimes played duets on the piano when the families got
together. If Aidan had to bet on any weddings, he would bet
there.

But who could tell where their hearts would
end up? He would never have thought he would find his legacy with a
Welsh-hellion fairy queen, who grew more beautiful and compelling
to him every year.

“What a magnificent day,” said Josephine,
lounging back on the grass.

“And Arlington has the most beautiful garden
in the spring,” said Aurelia. She turned to her husband. “Why, I
remember when you courted me here just before we married. We took a
walk about the garden, pretending to be in love.”

“Yes, as you begged me to break our
engagement. You also named me a blackguard, as I recall.”

The rest of them feigned horror.

“Such vitriol, Aurelia,” Josephine
chided.

“It hurt my feelings,” said Townsend, ducking
as Aurelia tossed a bit of crumpet at him.

“You had no feelings back then,” his wife
teased. “None of you did. You all had to be rescued by good and
patient women.”

“I don’t know who rescued whom,” said Warren.
“If not for me, Josephine would have been married to the Earl of
Stafford. Her entire inheritance would have gone to financing his
collection of obtrusive rings.”

“Obtrusive is one name for them,” said
Barrymore.

“I won’t argue that I was rescued,” said
Josephine, after the laughter died down. “Even if Warren’s methods
were somewhat questionable.”

“If you want questionable methods, look right
there,” said Warren, gesturing to Barrymore, whose given name was
Method.

“I can still beat you up,” said Barrymore,
rolling his eyes. “Although I won’t, in front of the children.”

The children took no notice of their parents’
conversation as they ran past the picnic blankets, shouting and
brandishing sticks.

“I don’t doubt they’ve got that dragon on the
run,” said Gwen.

“When shall we call them to eat?” Minette
asked.

Aidan reached for a cake, and handed one to
his wife. “I suppose when they’ve slayed an adequate number of
dragons, their hunger will get the better of them. It’s a perfect
day for playing. We ought to let them run.”

“How serendipitous, that Arlington’s garden
harbors such a vast number of dragons,” said Warren.

“At least it keeps them busy,” said
Josephine. She and Gwen pulled faces at baby Louisa as she began to
fuss.

Aidan ran a hand up and down Gwen’s arm. He
loved his friends. They were like family. He’d never been that
close to his own family, but now he had Gwen’s prodigious Welsh
clan, and of course, all these friends with their warmth and
support. He stared at the back of his wife’s neck, wishing he might
lick it. Later. Time for that later.

For now, he enjoyed the food and camaraderie.
The children made another pass, yelling and gesticulating with
their imaginary swords. “It’s hiding in the big marble cave,”
George shouted.

“Yes, in the big cave,” the curly-headed
twins echoed, dogging Jack’s heels. “You must go and kill it for
us, Jack.”

“The big cave?” Minette looked at Arlington.
“Have you a marble cave on your property? The wonders of this place
never cease.”

“We don’t have a cave,” said Gwen, laughing.
“The only marble thing is—”

She locked eyes with Aidan. Warren sat up
straighter, and Townsend jumped to his feet.

“Remember, you’re not allowed in the temple,”
Aidan shouted to Jack. “Tell the other children not to go in the
temple!”