Noise in the hallway outside heralded a tumble of vigorous masculine bodies into the feminine space. Silas, tall and rumpled and full of life. Anthony, large and steadfast. Brandon Deerham and his best friend Carey Townsend, both at sixteen on the verge of manhood.
Last and most beloved of all, her dearest Vernon. Tall, dark, and devilishly handsome. The silver frosting his black hair added maturity to his spectacular features. Recurring bouts of fever had taken their toll, but, thank God, during the last two years they’d become more infrequent. He hadn’t suffered a relapse in six months, the longest respite they’d had. Helena cautiously hoped that the worst was over.
His glinting green gaze found hers. The bond between them still thrilled her. She only had to think back to herself five years ago—to the others, also—to realize how generously the years had treated them. Anticipating his pleasure when she told him about the baby, she sent Vernon a private smile.
“Mamma,” Brandon said, loping toward Fen on his long legs. Like his half-brother Henry, he was golden fair and bore the look of his mother. “Uncle Vernon is giving Carey and me our choice of colts from this year’s foals. Isn’t that grand?”
“We trounced them into the ground, and that was the deal,” Carey stated emphatically. Along with his swarthy looks, he’d inherited his uncle’s forceful character.
Fenella turned aghast to Helena’s husband. “Vernon, that’s too much.”
He shook his head as he crossed to kiss his wife and lounge on the arm of her chair. “They had a devil of a convincing win at football. A bet is a bet.”
Since marrying, Helena and Vernon had become infrequent visitors to the capital. They spent most of their time at Shelton Abbey, raising the best horses in the country. Or so Helena proudly believed. That opinion had some justification. Artemis’s first foal had won last year’s Derby by a length and a half.
Nor had Helena given up her charity schools or mathematical work. Earlier this year, she’d started correspondence with an enterprising young man called Charles Babbage, who had plans to design a universal calculating machine. The possibilities were intriguing.
“I hope you both said thank you.” When Fen glanced at Anthony, he shrugged his helplessness to interfere.
“They played a right bonny game,” he said in his rumbling bass.
“They must have,” Fen retorted.
“Where are the holy terrors?” Silas asked, looking around.
“Upstairs with their nurses,” Caro said. “We couldn’t get a moment’s peace with them here. And it’s such an age since I saw Fen and Hel.”
“I’ll go up and release them from captivity,” Helena said, rising swiftly. Too swiftly. The room wavered in front of her, and she wobbled on her feet. “Oh, dear—”
“Helena?” Vernon leaped to his feet and whipped his arm around her waist.
She gulped for air as everyone crowded around, until Fenella, bless her, came to the rescue. “For heaven’s sake, step back, and let the poor woman breathe.”
“Aren’t you well, darling?” Vernon asked in concern.
Helena licked dry lips and struggled to form reassuring words, but Fenella beat her to it. “Of course she’s well. But now she’s in a delicate condition, she needs to stop bounding around like an overexcited kangaroo.”
“Delicate—”
Helena returned to herself in time to see his puzzlement vanish under a flood of delight. “Another baby?”
She nodded, overjoyed with his joy. “In late August, I think.”
“My love, you make me so damned happy.” Despite their audience, he caught her up in his arms and kissed her until she was dizzier than ev
er.
THE END
Don’t miss the first two installments in Anna Campbell’s sizzling Dashing Widows series, The Seduction of Lord Stone and Tempting Mr. Townsend.
Continue reading for an excerpt from:
The Seduction of Lord Stone
Book 1 in the Dashing Widows series
* * *