While they’d always missed Papa before, this seemed to be different and Caroline knew why. For the first time in their very young lives, the girls felt that Reeve truly loved and valued them. They no longer had to wonder if they were inconvenient burdens, because he had endeavored well before his departure to demonstrate their importance to him.
He’d left an even bigger void in their world than he had before because he was more tangibly and lovingly part of it.
“I wanted nothing more than to come home to all of you.”
“And you did,” said Caroline.
Reeve glanced around them. “Where are the beautiful little creatures? This is all lovely, but suspiciously serene.”
“They were abed. Edgar sent Alice to rouse them as soon as he knew it was you.”
“Were you asleep, too?”
“No,” admitted Caroline. “I have found it inordinately difficult since you left.”
For more than one reason, she thought. Little one, you have kept me up more than I thought was possible.
It was far too early in her pregnancy for her to show, and Reeve had no notion that he was holding both his wife and future child in his arms.
“Papa!”
Shrill, happy, ecstatic shrieks came from the steps as both of the girls came sprinting to them.
Caroline turned slightly and saw that Alice had all but given up trying to keep Phoebe or Sophie in hand. The girls ran on their little legs, still clothed only in their nightrails, slippers, and shawls. They must have seen their Papa through the windows.
She smiled her thanks at the maid and realized approvingly that several lights were now lit in the manor. Duckie and the duke’s valet had both disappeared, as had Edgar. They were readying things as best they could for Lord Malliston’s abrupt return.
No one would be going back to bed for some time tonight. There was too much joy in the air. Caroline would be completely unable to make either Phoebe, who usually could tire easily, or Sophie, go back to sleep especially if they knew the adults were still awake. Nor would she want to impose such a thing upon them. This was too special a night.
Reeve scooped Phoebe up in his arms as Sophie, who felt herself much too dignified for that in her advanced age, tugged at his dirty trousers.
“Papa,” Sophie said. “We did not know you would be home tonight.”
Meanwhile, Phoebe goggled at Reeve as though he was an apparition.
“Neither did I, my sweet,” he said. “They stuck me in a carriage and off I went.”
“I missed you,” said Phoebe firmly.
Mirroring her seriousness, Reeve said, “And I, you, little one.”
“Will you have to leave again?” Sophie demanded.
“No,” said Reeve. “We are staying together. I shall simply refuse to leave my wonderful family, no matter who sends me a summons.”
Caroline couldn’t manage to keep her secret to herself, at that.
It was all too surreal and beautiful out here under the stars. As though Heaven itself was pleased at this turn of events, the sky was clear and looked down upon them. The girls. Reeve.
“Our growing family.” Caroline made sure she spoke in a tenor that Reeve could hear.
She was rewarded by his look of pure surprise as he nearly dropped little Phoebe, but he recovered his poise enough to eke out, “Truly?”
Then his surprise was supplanted by utter delight. Caroline nodded in affirmation.
“How long?” he asked, almost dreamily.
“As you see,” she said wryly, but with pleasure, gesturing at herself, “not very long. But long enough to know for certain.”
“To know what for certain?”
Sophie was completely mystified. For her, her parents might as well have been speaking Spanish or German. But she could sense that the exchange was somehow important.
Smiling, Caroline got on her haunches so that she could be at eye-level with Sophie, careless of the dirt. “You and Phoebe are going to have a little brother or sister.”
Sophie said prosaically, “Well, I already know how to take care of Phoebe. I don’t see how I would be bad at taking care of another sibling.”
Caroline bit back a laugh at her forthright response.
“Oh!” exclaimed Phoebe from her perch in Reeve’s arms. “I shan’t be the baby, now.”
Caroline waited to see if this was a good or bad pronouncement. She wanted the girls to be happy, but also understood it was a massive change for all of them and did not expect it to be easily digested by her daughters.
Reeve appeared to share Caroline’s thoughts, for although he looked radiantly pleased, he said neutrally, “No, darling.”
But Phoebe giggled and said, “I didn’t want to be the youngest forever.”
Relief written on his careworn, exhausted face, Reeve said, “Then you have your wish.” He kissed the top of her head. After sharing a long, happy look with Caroline, he suggested, “Well, perhaps we should all head indoors? It is the middle of the night. And I’ve received the happiest news I could have… so I feel a drink may be in order. Or celebratory biscuits and hot chocolate for those young ladies who cannot yet partake in strong drinks.” He winked at Sophie and Phoebe.
Caroline rose and took his left hand. “It seems we have a new life to begin together.”
Shifting Phoebe in his grasp, Reeve bent down and kissed Caroline softly. It was a promise of the sweet things to come. “I can hear the pianoforte calling, too.”
Enjoy an excerpt from Duke of Sorrow by Whitney Blake, a rising new author in Regency Historical Romance.
Prologue
Will awoke to full darkness. Utterly disarming, it felt like a weight on his face.
Weight, he thought. He wasn’t imagining it. All of his knowledge of field medicine seeped back into his mind. No clear memories of what had happened to him, though. Flashes of bloodied grass, brains—not his, of course, but they belonged to someone he was rushing to treat—clinging on to the long stems like sludgy pink snails. Then a light so bright he couldn’t discern whether it represented excruciating pain or literal sunlight. He did recall laying on his back for some time, unable to make out anything around him as his eyes seemed to gradually fail, fading out the sky and clouds above, while his ears rang with a high-pitched whine.
He brought gentle fingers to the planes of his face, which he suspected were completely covered. His mouth and his chin were not. And he could breathe through his nostrils. This feels like… like a dressing of some kind… no. Lord, have I been… have I been that badly injured? That’s too terrible to even consider.
He wasn’t in any pain, particularly, though he supposed his head did hurt somewhat.
Where was he?
What happened?
Weakly, he brought his hands to his face again and was horrified to feel the slight scratchiness of a different, hardier dressing over his eyes. He stopped poking at it. Fearing the worst, he called for the last person he recalled seeing, a fellow physician who was looking after men in the lulls they could exploit for such a purpose.
“Peter,” he croaked. Somewhere in the oppressive and tactile dark that surrounded Will, he heard light footsteps rushing toward him and tried to imagine seeing the tall, ginger lad who had just seen his twenty-fourth year.
“Thank God you are awake, my lord,” Peter said fervently.
“Peter, we’ve been through that enough. Just… Will.”
“You are the Duke of Ravenwood,” said Peter. “I won’t always be allowed such familiarity.” He was a commoner, albeit one who had studied the healing arts thoroughly. He and Will had served together in battle, tending to the wounded or giving comfort to those who would not ever recover.
“Only recently,” Will said dismissively. “Peter, tell me. Why can’t I see?” As he adjusted to his surroundings, he realized he was on a cot. He couldn’t hear much.
Though he could not see him, he could sense Peter’s disquiet. Something about the way his breath caught and hi
s limbs shuffled. Will felt the air eddy around him.
“You don’t remember anything?”
“Just the red grass. Slick. Going to poor Livingstone. He had half of his brain poking out of his skull. I knew I couldn’t save him. I thought, maybe if I gave him some…” Will sighed, frowning. “Some of the opiates… it might ease his passing. He could not have said nor done much, but I’m sure he was in pain.” Abruptly, he sat bolt upright on the cot and Peter’s hands gently forced him back down by his lean shoulders. “The battle. Salamanca. I can’t hear a thing. Is it done?”
“It is, my lord. Our victory. You are in a tent waiting to be sent home.”
Will only breathed a shallow sigh of relief. “Good. Now, what have I suffered?”
He only gathered that Peter knelt because he heard the young man’s left knee pop. It always did. Then Peter’s face was nearer to his ear. “What I am going to tell you won’t be pleasant. Please be calm.”
That’s the last thing you should tell a man when you want him to be calm, thought Will, wryly. But his heart started to palpitate and he swallowed. Peter knew he was generally a very calm man, almost to the point of docility. For him to caution Will to stay calm could only mean that whatever these bandages signified, it was a few large steps past bad.
“Very well, I shall try.”
“You were within range of an exploding shell. Something nasty.”
“And?”
“While you were tending to Livingstone, it struck you.”
“I assume it did so in my face,” said Will, attempting for the life of him to remain as clinical as possible.
“Yes,” said Peter, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Shall I be able to see when these bandages are removed?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Will fought the acute urge to vomit. He thought of everything waiting for him at home. He was betrothed—what woman would want him like this? He imagined that even if he regained some of his sight, which was not promised, his face was probably disfigured. He nodded. “I see.” Bitterly, he amended, “Well, I don’t, but… you know what I mean.”
Get Duke of Sorrow now in eBook or in paperback!
About the Author
Whitney is a bit of a wanderer and something of a bluestocking. She’s been telling stories since childhood, when she would rewrite the endings of her favorite books and movies (or add “deleted scenes” to them). When she’s not writing or reading, she enjoys cooking, dancing, and going for long walks with no specific destination in mind.
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