Abigail was quiet for so long that Stephen’s bum took exception to the hardness of the bench, and yet he waited.
“What did Harmonia have to say about all this?”
“A very great deal. She wants a small estate in Kent and Endymion de Beauharnais’s ring on her finger. She does not want me.”
“She’s daft.”
How I love you. “Perhaps, but de Beauharnais truly has her best interests at heart, and he’s protective of Nicky.”
Abigail gathered up her reticule again. “Harmonia is passing up your tiara to raise sheep in Kent?”
“And perhaps to give Nicky some siblings to boss about. Are you abandoning me yet again?”
“This bench is making my backside ache. I have much to think about.”
Stephen rose and shrugged out of his cloak, then laid it on the bench. “Move closer to me. You’ll be more comfortable.”
Abigail sank onto the bench, and Stephen came down immediately beside her. The next time she tried to bolt, he would seize her by the hand if need be.
“This is complicated,” Abigail said slowly.
“It doesn’t have to be.” He ventured an arm along the back of the bench. “I love you, and I would like to spend the rest of my life with you. I will play whatever role in Nicky’s life best suits his needs, but that in no way precludes me from being a loyal, faithful, and passionate husband to you.”
Abigail’s head came to rest on his shoulder. “You’re sure, Stephen? I have strong opinions, I will not be told what to do, and God help anybody who speaks ill of those I care about.”
He shifted closer and took Abigail’s hand. “Do you know why I hate society balls?”
“Because of the dancing?”
“That too, but mostly because they are just too damned long. Standing about in the buffet line, trying to manage two plates and a cane, standing in the reception line, struggling through a promenade…But when I was your escort, I could lean on you.”
“Lean on me?”
“Physically.” He demonstrated. “Lean on you, and sturdy creature that you are, you don’t even notice. My leg barely hurt at all the morning after the Portman do. Harmonia showed me to the nursery today. It never occurred to her that navigating stairs would be hard for me. She tore around that house like a whirlwind, and I could barely keep up. I don’t have to ask you to slow down. You are inherently considerate, and I treasure that about you.”
Abigail’s fingers closed around his. “Your brother said something to me today.”
“If Quinn was impolite to you, he’s a dead big brother.”
“He was very kind. He said a duke fights the hard battles, the thankless battles, because he wants to be worthy of the duchess riding at his side. He’s a good man, your brother.”
“He’s a good man in part because he found the right duchess.”
Abigail curled closer, scandalously, marvelously close. “I want to be the sort of woman who can inspire a duke to fight the hard battles. The battles in the Lords, the battles for the children, for decency, for wounded soldiers, and so much more. I want to be the sort of woman who can love my husband’s son, even if nobody knows he’s my husband’s son, and who can ride into battle beside the man I love.”
A peace settled over Stephen, and a profound joy warmed his heart. “Say that last part again, please.”
“I love you.”
“Do you know what’s wonderful, Miss Abigail Abbott?”
“You are.”
“Mayhap I am, but what’s wonderful is you don’t expect me to propose on bended knee, and if I were ambitious enough to attempt such a feat, you’d help me up at the conclusion of my soliloquy.”
She peered over at him. “Would you like to propose on bended knee?”
Stephen thought about it, thought about getting mud on his breeches, and making a complete cake of himself in the middle of the afternoon, and of all the times nobody had thought to treasure Abigail for the wonder she was.
“Here we go,” he said, bracing his cane and sliding off the bench to take a knee. “Your hand, Miss Abbott.”
She drew off her glove and gave him her hand.
“Miss Abbott, our association has not been long, but my feelings for you are deep, constant, a trifle naughty, and very sincere. More than a trifle naughty, if we’re to be honest, and we must be or I do hope you will spank me. Will you do me the unfathomably great honor of becoming my wife, the answer to my every prayer, and the fulfillment of my dearest dreams?”
“Spank you?”
“Only if you want to.”
She enveloped him in a hug. “Yes, I will marry you. Yes and yes, and yes.”
Stephen kissed her, and the knee of his breeches grew damp, and he kissed her some more until a goose honked indignantly, and Abigail laughed and helped him back onto the bench. They stayed in the park for a long, lazy hour, discussing parasols that could conceal peashooters and riding crops that could conceal knives. When they made their way back to the coach, they did so arm in arm at the dignified pace of a future duke and duchess.
Epilogue
“Mama needs looser dresses,” Nicholas announced. “Papa Andy says I’m not to notice.”
Stephen had chosen a bench halfway across Berkeley Square from Gunter’s, and thus the boy’s announcement hadn’t fallen on gossiping ears.
“Between us fellows,” Stephen said, “my own dear Abigail might soon be needing looser dresses. Do you know what that means?”
Abigail and Jane were on the opposite bench, and Stephen’s two oldest nieces were kicking a ball across the grass. These afternoon outings with Nicholas had become a weekly ritual when all parties were in Town, though Nicholas had spent most of the winter with his mother and new stepfather on a small estate in Surrey.
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.”