meet the twins, but since they’d both begun to wail, the ladies took them in with their nurses. I expect Charlotte andLizzie to be back any moment. Here, Hawke, why don’t you hold Georgie, just to get the proper feel of being a father?”
Before Hawke could protest, March had placed the baby into his arms, a transfer received with such stiff-armed clumsiness on Hawke’s part that he marveled that March would trust him with his son. The baby never stopped moving, kicking and wriggling and waving his small impotent fists in Hawke’s face while making the most alarming chirps and small cries.
“I do not believe he likes me, March,” Hawke said, desperately wishing March would take his offspring back before Hawke caused some hideous harm to it.
“He likes you fine,” March assured him. “If only Lizzie could see you now! There is nothing that melts a woman’s heart faster than the sight of a large man with a small baby.”
“Lizzie?” Hawke repeated, not daring to take his gaze away from Georgie. “Is she another nursemaid?”
Again March and Brecon laughed. “No, no, that’s what we call Lady Elizabeth within the family,” March said, “and so you shall, too, once she gives you leave.”
But Hawke was too occupied with watching the infant, who likewise stared at him, until at last the child decided to concede the contest. Georgie blinked twice and squawked, then spit up a dramatic amount of foul-smelling curdled matter directly onto the front of the coat that Giacomo had so lovingly prepared.
Instantly Peg reappeared. “Pray permit me to take his lordship, Your Grace,” she said briskly, carrying the baby away before he launched another assault.
“Well, now, you’ll forgive Georgie for that, won’t you?” March said apologetically, handing Hawke his own handkerchief for mopping. “At least he gave you a proper salute.”
“A salute?” Hawke said, aghast. No mere blottingwith a handkerchief would redeem his coat, and the more he tried, the worse the mess seemed to become, the smell now clinging to his hand as well as his coat. If this was what baby heirs did, then his mother could find her grandchildren beneath a cabbage leaf, for he wished nothing further to do with the creatures. “That is what you call it? A salute ? Damnation, March, I reek worse than a sailor at the dog end of his leave, and I—”
“Ah, at last,” Brecon said pleasantly. “Here are the ladies to join us.”
“I can’t bear to look myself, Charlotte,” Lizzie said. “Tell me, tell me quickly! Is he truly there?”
“It would appear that he is,” Charlotte said as they walked through the garden together. “Finally! I knew we could trust Brecon to capture him. Come now, Lizzie, you’re dawdling. You don’t want Hawke to think you’re reluctant.”
“Why shouldn’t I, when he certainly has been?” Lizzie’s heart was racing so fast and her stomach was twisting into such knots that she prayed she wouldn’t expire here on the garden path beside the roses. “Does my gown look well enough? My hair hasn’t come unpinned, has it? Do I—”
“You look lovely,” Charlotte assured her for what must have been the thousandth time. “That gown becomes you most wonderfully. Hawke is sure to be enchanted. You’re like a fresh blossom in the garden.”
In any other circumstance, Lizzie, too, would have been enchanted by her gown: a pale yellow brocaded silk, strewn all over with a pattern of pink and deep red carnations, with double-flounced cuffs at the elbows and a delicate lace scarf tied loosely over her shoulders. Coral beads circled her neck, and pearl drops hung from her ears. Because they were out-of-doors, she wore awide-brimmed hat of Milano straw with a froth of yellow ribbons on the crown. Charlotte had pinned the hat to tip coquettishly low over Lizzie’s face to shield her from the sun, but Lizzie was more thankful that she could hide beneath the curving brim.
“That’s curious,”
Before Hawke could protest, March had placed the baby into his arms, a transfer received with such stiff-armed clumsiness on Hawke’s part that he marveled that March would trust him with his son. The baby never stopped moving, kicking and wriggling and waving his small impotent fists in Hawke’s face while making the most alarming chirps and small cries.
“I do not believe he likes me, March,” Hawke said, desperately wishing March would take his offspring back before Hawke caused some hideous harm to it.
“He likes you fine,” March assured him. “If only Lizzie could see you now! There is nothing that melts a woman’s heart faster than the sight of a large man with a small baby.”
“Lizzie?” Hawke repeated, not daring to take his gaze away from Georgie. “Is she another nursemaid?”
Again March and Brecon laughed. “No, no, that’s what we call Lady Elizabeth within the family,” March said, “and so you shall, too, once she gives you leave.”
But Hawke was too occupied with watching the infant, who likewise stared at him, until at last the child decided to concede the contest. Georgie blinked twice and squawked, then spit up a dramatic amount of foul-smelling curdled matter directly onto the front of the coat that Giacomo had so lovingly prepared.
Instantly Peg reappeared. “Pray permit me to take his lordship, Your Grace,” she said briskly, carrying the baby away before he launched another assault.
“Well, now, you’ll forgive Georgie for that, won’t you?” March said apologetically, handing Hawke his own handkerchief for mopping. “At least he gave you a proper salute.”
“A salute?” Hawke said, aghast. No mere blottingwith a handkerchief would redeem his coat, and the more he tried, the worse the mess seemed to become, the smell now clinging to his hand as well as his coat. If this was what baby heirs did, then his mother could find her grandchildren beneath a cabbage leaf, for he wished nothing further to do with the creatures. “That is what you call it? A salute ? Damnation, March, I reek worse than a sailor at the dog end of his leave, and I—”
“Ah, at last,” Brecon said pleasantly. “Here are the ladies to join us.”
“I can’t bear to look myself, Charlotte,” Lizzie said. “Tell me, tell me quickly! Is he truly there?”
“It would appear that he is,” Charlotte said as they walked through the garden together. “Finally! I knew we could trust Brecon to capture him. Come now, Lizzie, you’re dawdling. You don’t want Hawke to think you’re reluctant.”
“Why shouldn’t I, when he certainly has been?” Lizzie’s heart was racing so fast and her stomach was twisting into such knots that she prayed she wouldn’t expire here on the garden path beside the roses. “Does my gown look well enough? My hair hasn’t come unpinned, has it? Do I—”
“You look lovely,” Charlotte assured her for what must have been the thousandth time. “That gown becomes you most wonderfully. Hawke is sure to be enchanted. You’re like a fresh blossom in the garden.”
In any other circumstance, Lizzie, too, would have been enchanted by her gown: a pale yellow brocaded silk, strewn all over with a pattern of pink and deep red carnations, with double-flounced cuffs at the elbows and a delicate lace scarf tied loosely over her shoulders. Coral beads circled her neck, and pearl drops hung from her ears. Because they were out-of-doors, she wore awide-brimmed hat of Milano straw with a froth of yellow ribbons on the crown. Charlotte had pinned the hat to tip coquettishly low over Lizzie’s face to shield her from the sun, but Lizzie was more thankful that she could hide beneath the curving brim.
“That’s curious,”
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